Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge

Ravicka #3

by Renee Gladman

“Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge is the third volume of Renee Gladman’s magnificent, melancholy series about the city-state of Ravicka, or about the architectures of its absence. It is tempting to read the Ravickian books as an extended allegory—of architecture itself, perhaps, except that architecture is already half-allegorical, its every element raised to prefigure whatever meanings can make their way to them. If any can. In Ravicka, meanings—indeed most contact of any kind—remain in abeyance, building, in absentia, the constitutive negative spaces of the narrative. There is a plot; it lays out zones of sheer ambience. Experiences, of which there are many, unfold as a redolent lingering in the structures of immateriality, the radical realities of the insubstantial. Gladman is a philosopher of architecture, though not that of buildings. Rather, she thinks (and writes) the drifts, partitions, and immobilities of identity, affect, communication, the very possibility of being human. Profound, compelling—haunting, even—the story of Ravicka is astonishingly ours.” LYN HEJINIAN

Genres: Fiction, The United States Of America, Novels, Poetry, United States, Female Authors, Literary Fiction

128 pages, Paperback

First published November 1, 2013

About the author

Renee Gladman is an artist preoccupied with crossings, thresholds, and geographies as they play out at the intersections of writing, drawing and architecture. She is the author of numerous published works, including a cycle of novels about the city-state Ravicka and its inhabitants, the Ravickians—Event Factory (2010), The Ravickians (2011), Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge (2013), and Houses of Ravicka (2017)—all published by Dorothy. Her most recent books are My Lesbian Novel (2024) and a reprint of her 2008 book TOAF (both also from Dorothy). Recent essays and visual work have appeared in The Architectural Review, POETRY, The Paris Review, The Yale Review, and e-flux, in addition to several artist monographs and exhibition catalogs. Gladman’s first solo exhibition of drawings, The Dreams of Sentences, opened in fall 2022 at Wesleyan University, followed by Narratives of Magnitude at Artists Space in New York City in spring 2023. She has been awarded fellowships and artist residencies from the Menil Drawing Institute, Harvard Radcliffe Institute, Foundation for Contemporary Arts, among others, and received a Windham-Campbell prize in fiction in 2021. She makes her home in New England.

Reviews

[S̶e̶a̶n̶ · Rating 5 out of 5]

As a country, this was our crisis: getting other people to see what we were seeing.

For her third volume in the Ravicka cycle, Renee Gladman employs the 'book-within-a-book' device to tell the story of the 'despair' or 'crisis' that has overtaken the city-state of Ravicka, as experienced by a small close-knit group of writers. The book is penned by the reclusive writer-architect Ana Patova, erstwhile lover of Ravickian novelist Luswage Amini, the narrator of the first section of the previous volume The Ravickians. Ana sends her book out into the world not so much to describe the crisis, for it is too difficult to do that, but to provide 'an index' to 'our bewilderment'. As the crisis begins, architecture is in flux. Ravicka's buildings are rearranging themselves and though no one sees them move, the results are obvious when attempting to travel anywhere specific. Meanwhile, the crisis within the crisis was one of communication. The writers struggled to communicate ('it made us silent with each other'), eventually failing to the point where they could only do so by stating the titles of their books out loud. Paranoia sets in:

You worried that the crisis was following you and, because of how closely it mirrored your own thinking, that you were the crisis.

Ana's book is organized into short one-and-a-half page bursts of poetic prose that form a disjointed narrative of sorts. As she states in her preface:

It does not tell our story. It cannot do that. Nevertheless, it opens toward you.

There is some temptation to, as Lyn Hejinian writes on the back cover, read these books as an extended allegory. Is the shifting architecture representative of urban decay and renewal, of gentrification and the resultant loss of identity and 'home' (both literal and sensorial) for displaced residents? Perhaps. For me, though, reading too much into these texts dilutes their effect. If anything, they simply feel relevant to our times, when as the quote at the top suggests, there often seems to be a collective (and largely futile) struggle to get others to see what we see. Such a crisis may well be averted by diverting this energy expenditure into efforts to see what others see instead.

[Nate D · Rating 4 out of 5]

Like Gladman's prior two Ravicka novels, this one is about language and architecture, their points of intersection, echo, or thematic vibration. There's only a ghost of the narrative threads traced by the prior two, but this works excellently by itself as a slow iteration of the continuing themes. Like Nicole Brossard's earlier works (Un livre for instance) this is a very open text rendering in spare poetic terms, allowing much room for active reading and reinterpretation. Each short text of the novel functions like a more ambiguous entry in Calvino's Invisible Cities (I'd come across this comparison with Ravicka before, but I didn't really see it in the first two books). In each, a conceptual premise of one's relation to words, buildings, and others is morphed and elaborated into airily traced structures from which multiple meanings may be drawn.

[AB]

Have you ever been to an art gallery and walked through that exhibition that makes you go "huh, that's neat"? But then that magic slowly fades away. That feeling is this book

[Drew · Rating 4 out of 5]

Each successive Ravicka book has taken us further inside the minds of the people of Ravicka and ANA PATOVA is no exception: Ana Patova, poet and author and student of architecture as well as love interest of Luswage Amini (narrator/main character of THE RAVICKIANS), has written a book about the collapse of Ravicka that seems to be happening across the board. This is that book - Gladman's entire novel is in fact this book written by Patova.

...or is it? As the architecture of Ravicka shifts and changes, the nature of the story changes too. People are both there and not-there, experiences both happen and do not happen. This one is a bit more brain-teasing in all respects, but a fascinating challenge for a reader to engage with.

[Jeff · Rating 4 out of 5]

The final book from Ravicka, this book was maybe more enjoyable in some ways but also really, really confounding. For every mystery unraveled, a new one pops up. The writing style is strange and foreign, which is the point, and it makes for a narrative almost of mini-episodes than anything else.

I don't have a lot new to say that I didn't say about the first two books, but the way this entire series succeeds in portraying foreignness and mystery is one I wish I could see more of. Just a beautiful read and a beautiful series on a whole.

[crowjonah · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a beautiful, attentive person at an intimate gathering of friends to whom I am merely an acquaintance, and whose language I've just begun to learn. They are patient with me, and generous in their tolerance of my pantomiming, but it's quickly evident to everyone that it'll be best for me to stand aside to watch the comings and goings. The shifts mesmerize, the drink is good, the chatter surprisingly sparse. It is warm. I will stay here as long as they'll have me.

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

the story of life in one of the invisible cities, perhaps. communication is largely accomplished through the writing of books that maybe aren't ever read. buildings move, and architecture is more about feeling that about walls and ceilings.

[Paul Dembina · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found this one harder going than the 1st 2 in this series. Ana Patova alludes to the mobile architecture affecting Rivicka in 2 page chunks.

[Kyle · Rating 4 out of 5]

From the beginning I loved the idea of this novel -- taking a character that we saw a small significant piece of in a previous Ravicka story, and exploring her experience. The book quickly becomes its own, separate from the story of Ana crossing the bridge. I wonder if this might be the most autobiographical of all the Ravicka books; it's mainly about Ana writing a book, which makes one assume that it's about the writing of /this/ book.

[Julia · Rating 3 out of 5]

perfect series for portioning out, in the trust that in doing so you'll end up reading each one at the "right" time, at least most of the time. the ravickians, at least, was right for a discomfiting period in new york cut short; ana patova crosses a bridge, a book in which the city is effaced even further, unstable, disappearing and reappearing as people and their relationships also disappear, reappear, wish for and know they should wish for something more than absence and sudden departure, is right for me now, in a very unsettled chicago. (transferred epithet.)

my favorite and most troubling, troubled wavering absence is gladman's own, her book that is ana patova's book "enclosures." ]not to be opportunist about enclosing something else here, but it makes sense that i read and had to read anne boyer's book garments against women after this (similar to how i read gladman's event factory and boyer's a handbook of disappointed fate in close succession last year?)—there's something weird about staying for too long in gladman's hazy floating allegorical world where everything is relentlessly residual, spiritual, dangerously light—an ominous anxious danger that never (and is supposed to never!) really reach a pitch beyond feeling and interpersonal feeling into something that feels—'feels'—material. garments against women is utterly grounded in material—this is the most obvious anodyne thing you could say about it. garments against women gives you a recipe for a good and simple chocolate cake and wants to tempt you into making it, to test out boyer's own inquiry as to whether we can write about objects without instilling in our readers a desire to acquire them. i suppose it's not certain that a desire to make is the same as a desire to acquire—but in this case both arise from a spectation, and a desire to have (what we desire also is that momentary feeling of a squeezed-out satisfaction in the humble cake, the grasping of a well-deserved goodness, a small non-luxury luxury, the right to small luxuries—and is it right to hunger after someone else's feeling rather than settle in your own, to hunger after someone else's feeling while also refusing the context in which it is rich and hard-won? how greedy can we be?). and perhaps the juxtaposition is to indicate not just canniness but that boyer, too, is uncertain as to whether they're borne out of similar pernicious impulses. so she sets them together, weighs them against each other, enacts in order to see if effected.
there are a lot of books that whether intentionally or unintentionally invite you in by presenting objects, feelings, experiences to crave or be taken aback by—how much must we own? the marvel of ana patova crosses a bridge, at least in part, must be that it presents you with absolutely nothing to want.

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm debating between 3 and 4 stars. In it's way it's academic, or like a long writing exercise. A lot of the book is about writing, the viewpoint and community, connection and disconnection of writing--I do believe that is a valuable subject. Perhaps I was in the mood for something less notioned. But I liked the whole series and will re-read at some point.

[J · Rating 4 out of 5]

Was initially turned off by the seeming narrative. Then, the narrative twisted and distorted itself, intriguing me. People left but didn't actually leave, they existed but also didn't. Architecture shifted and turned. Reading this book was an experience I've never had before. I was entranced and would like to read more by Renee Gladman.

[T. Dwella · Rating 5 out of 5]

Take your time with this one. It is a great piece of art and will flip and turn you around. Reading this piece was a little challenging but once I let go of expectations I progressed through it much more smoothly.

[Carrie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was waiting in the autoshop and I said to my mom, I'm reading the third in a series but I haven't read the second yet, so I'm not sure if I should be reading this. And someone else waiting looked over at me, like I'm a normal person who reads books that are in a series.

[Geoffrey · Rating 2 out of 5]

Well, it's short, I'll give it that! Otherwise...blah. I probably should've given the first book a higher rating, given how much better it is than the follow-ups.

[Bogi Takács]

I'll probably review all four books of the series together (G-d willing), stay tuned... :)

Source of the book: Lawrence Public Library (who ordered it on my request!)

[Megan · Rating 3 out of 5]

My least favorite of the Ravicka series though there is much to love here. It's the most lyrical, least narrative of the four books, gorgeously written but for whatever reason I was not compelled.

[Robert · Rating 4 out of 5]

Story of a Ravickian writer attempting to document the crisis in her town, Ravicka. Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge seems to me to be the easiest read of Gladman's Ravicka series, which is definitely not to say that everything (or anything) from the previous books (or even this book) is explained. Of Gladman's Ravika series, I like the style of this one the best; this book has the most quotable lines, & I found the images the most resonant. The shifting nature of time and place that's described in Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge reminds me of The Twilight World, & the hidden movements of Ravicka's buildings and spaces reminds me of China Mieville's short story "Reports of Certain Events in London". In each of these books, Gladman describes geography & architecture, but I'm always wondering what the geography & architecture is describing.

[Samuel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Even sparer and more cryptic than the previous Ravicka volumes, this is a book characterized by the impossibility of directed action. Characters set out on journeys that are impossible to complete; buildings move but can't be seen to do so; authors write books without meaning to, but have enormous difficulty writing the ones they *do* mean to; elliptical conversations somehow are unable to contain the words everyone knows they mean.

Although things happen, there's almost nothing in terms of a plot. The characters themselves often seem like empty frames. And yet, the book succeeds anyway, a haunted description of falling through a catastrophe of unmooring. The prose is unsettlingly self-contradictory, and yet gorgeous. There's more here than can be seen on a first viewing, both from the perspective of the characters, and from that of the reader. Brilliant.

[Alex Drogin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge is a very confusing book and I think that to think about it too much is to strip the story of the great impact it has on the hair’s of one’s arm. Having only picked up this third book in a set of three, I am unfamiliar with the state of Ravicka and the state of its disappearance. Despite this, the poetic passages transfix and generate a sense of dread, of impending hopelessness, of a slow and imminent collapse that maybe we are already in. To read deeply into these feelings, I think, will separate them from yourself. The wonder here is how the book speaks about such intrinsic aspects of life—anxiety, hope, desire, fear—while only ever suggesting that it might speak about them next.

[Kate Savage · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is undoubtedly a lovely little poetic book. So why did I find it so unpleasant? I think the problem is me, but also the time. I kept looking for politics. When I was young I looked for religion in everything, and now I am older and I look for politics. When I can't find any I get angry. That's not the fault of the book. This is a book about writing and that should be enough. But I find that so boring right now. Writing has no aura for me, no romance. I only care about the "crisis." I kept brushing aside the sentences to try to see the outlines of the crisis behind them. The sentences became obstacles, pests. I didn't reading it right. Well I also exist amid a crisis, so really can you blame me?

[Avery Marley · Rating 5 out of 5]

Renee Gladman’s Ana Patova Crosses a Bridge is a haunting meditation on absence, architecture, and the immaterial textures of human experience. Set in the city-state of Ravicka, the book lingers in negative spaces, tracing how identity, affect, and communication unfold in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. Gladman writes with philosophical precision, revealing the radical realities hidden within immobility and silence. This is a book that asks you to inhabit the spaces between meaning and being, and it lingers long after the last page.

[Jonathan Norton · Rating 3 out of 5]

The strongest work of the Quartet, possibly due (as Gladman explains in the Afterword to #4) she wrote it in a break whilst trying to solve the problems of #3. Ana Patova's voice and style is the best of all the narrators in this world, and she marks the bridge (so to speak) between the literal, material world of Ravicka in the earlier instalments, and the spectral, unstable dimensions in the later half.

[Annie Tate Cockrum · Rating 5 out of 5]

“My walking leaves a trace”

Breathtaking! The third in the Ravicka series and my favorite so far! Walking as mapping and writing as mapping. Beautiful writing about mapping with the body. We get an architectural POV from the writer Ana Patova as she walks the city as different buildings shift and change.

[Andrew Rolph · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maybe it’s user error - I feel like books like this you have to be in the right place at the right time - but I had a hard time holding on while reading this. Some beautiful passages, but I felt like there was nothing beneath my feet and reaching out for any thread to hold on to.

[Will · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Time passes. Everybody knew it, everybody wrote those words, everybody grew addicted to caffeine and wanted valium."

My third Ravicka book. It's such an interesting project, and one that I think deserves a wider audience. This one is a little wisp of quiet, yet portentous scenes.

[Samuel · Rating 4 out of 5]

do i understand what's happening all the time? no. do i feel whatever is happening really deeply? yes.

[Matthew · Rating 5 out of 5]

❤️

[Abi · Rating 3 out of 5]

im sorry i could not wait to be done with this

[Patrik Sampler · Rating 4 out of 5]

The writing is beautiful and strange, occasionally playful, occasionally menacing. Compared to the other Ravicka books I have read so far, this one is the most amorphous. I prefer Event Factory and Houses of Ravicka because they each have a clear centre, even if the content of that 'centre' is mysteriously inaccessible.