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Cigarettes
Cigarettes is a novel about the rich and powerful, tracing their complicated relationships from the 1930s to the 1960s, from New York City to Upper New York State. Though nothing is as simple as it might appear to be, we could describe this as a story about Allen, who is married to Maud but having an affair with Elizabeth, who lives with Maud. Or say it is a story about fraud in the art world, horse racing, and sexual intrigues. Or, as one critic did, compare it to a Jane Austen creation, or to an Aldous Huxley novel - and be right and wrong on both counts.
292 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1987
33 people are currently reading
3143 people want to read
About the author
Harry Mathews
68 books87 followersHarry Mathews was an American author of various novels, volumes of poetry and short fiction, and essays.
Together with John Ashbery, James Schuyler, and Kenneth Koch, Mathews founded and edited the short-lived but influential literary journal Locus Solus (named after a novel by Raymond Roussel, one of Mathews's chief early influences) from 1961 to 1962.
Harry Mathews was the first American chosen for membership in the French literary society known as the Oulipo, which is dedicated to exploring new possibilities in literature, in particular through the use of various constraints and algorithms. The late French writer Georges Perec, likewise a member, was a good friend, and the two translated some of each other's writings. Mathews considers many of his works to be Oulipian in nature, but even before he encountered the society he was working in a parallel direction.
Mathews was married to the writer Marie Chaix and divided his time between Paris, Key West, and New York.
Together with John Ashbery, James Schuyler, and Kenneth Koch, Mathews founded and edited the short-lived but influential literary journal Locus Solus (named after a novel by Raymond Roussel, one of Mathews's chief early influences) from 1961 to 1962.
Harry Mathews was the first American chosen for membership in the French literary society known as the Oulipo, which is dedicated to exploring new possibilities in literature, in particular through the use of various constraints and algorithms. The late French writer Georges Perec, likewise a member, was a good friend, and the two translated some of each other's writings. Mathews considers many of his works to be Oulipian in nature, but even before he encountered the society he was working in a parallel direction.
Mathews was married to the writer Marie Chaix and divided his time between Paris, Key West, and New York.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 83 reviews
May 3, 2023
Cigarettes is a book of secrets. It is a book of fine art and love affairs.
Love brings on elation…
Cigarettes is a book of relations and motivations… Motivations are complex and relationships are complicated. Families, parents and children, boys and girls, men and women…
Secrets become known, art fashions change, love affairs peter out… And this process is called life.
Love brings on elation…
Chronometrically his flight lasted twenty seconds. He passed one customer with her attendant; another, unaccompanied, who did not notice him; and a cleaning woman trundling a cart full of woolly sticks. In imagined time his course approached infinity, and during it he met other figures less palpable and far more real: his father jubilant at having his worst fears justified, his mother chalk-white on the sickbed to which his disgrace had brought her, the foul-mouthed trusty on his chain gang. He experienced terminal revelations about man’s fate and the nature of reality. He recognized truth as both absolute and incommunicable, time itself as irreversible and irrelevant.
Cigarettes is a book of relations and motivations… Motivations are complex and relationships are complicated. Families, parents and children, boys and girls, men and women…
Some males claim to dislike women, others to like them, but all share an original, undying fear. Every man is irrationally and overwhelmingly convinced that woman, having created him, can destroy him as well. Men are all sexual ingots. The distinction between dislike and like only separates those who resist women’s power by attacking them from those who try to exorcise it through adoration and submission.
Secrets become known, art fashions change, love affairs peter out… And this process is called life.
July 2, 2013
INTRICATE. That's the best way to describe the storytelling style of Mathews. This book surpassed my expectations. I normally don't like stories about rich people in a foreign city like for example, the unreachable New York in say The Bonfire of the Vanities (1 star) because I personally have difficulty in relating to the characters. However, Mathews chose not focus his story on the characters' wealth or its consequences and in the process alienate a poor man like me. Rather, Mathews focused on the relationships of the characters that I think all readers will be able to see themselves in one or some of them.
The story starts with Allan who is married with Maud yet having an illicit affair with her friend, Elizabeth. Amidst the fraud in the world of art, horse racing and sexual intrigues, Mathews took the time to humanize each of them by showing their relationships to the people around them. Mathews particularly focused on showing who they are: life histories, strengths, weakness, eccentricities and what have you.
Each chapter of the book is entitled with the names of two of the novel's characters. So, each chapter can be taken as standalone story until the whole thing takes the form towards the end of the book as more and more connections are established. I have never seen anything as clear as how Mathews structured his plot. It is like a statue that started as a mass of clay and slowly, step by step, takes a form of a beautiful work of art. It is just enthralling for me.
The last chapter is mind-blowing. I read it twice but still could not figure out who is talking. I tried checking the existing Goodreads reviews but none of them are by my friends and none has mentioned about this last chapter.
Lastly, the thing that made me flip through the pages day after day? It's Mathews' prose. It's Hemingway like in shortness and crispness. It's playful like Jane Austen. It's creepy and intriguing like Aldous Huxley. Yet, it's different. Mathews is a league of his own.
The story starts with Allan who is married with Maud yet having an illicit affair with her friend, Elizabeth. Amidst the fraud in the world of art, horse racing and sexual intrigues, Mathews took the time to humanize each of them by showing their relationships to the people around them. Mathews particularly focused on showing who they are: life histories, strengths, weakness, eccentricities and what have you.
Each chapter of the book is entitled with the names of two of the novel's characters. So, each chapter can be taken as standalone story until the whole thing takes the form towards the end of the book as more and more connections are established. I have never seen anything as clear as how Mathews structured his plot. It is like a statue that started as a mass of clay and slowly, step by step, takes a form of a beautiful work of art. It is just enthralling for me.
The last chapter is mind-blowing. I read it twice but still could not figure out who is talking. I tried checking the existing Goodreads reviews but none of them are by my friends and none has mentioned about this last chapter.
Lastly, the thing that made me flip through the pages day after day? It's Mathews' prose. It's Hemingway like in shortness and crispness. It's playful like Jane Austen. It's creepy and intriguing like Aldous Huxley. Yet, it's different. Mathews is a league of his own.
May 12, 2021
Perceptions, misunderstandings, miscommunication and intertwined relationships. All of these things affect each of us on a daily basis; probably more than we can appreciate. Mathews' novel explores these themes with a flourishing story line and a style that I have trouble describing. Mathew's is considered an experimentalist writer, but I believe that to be true about the structure of this novel rather than the prose itself. But I do love that prose. Just the slightest touch of humor here as well; really just a trace which fits perfectly with these characters he has created. I didn't love all of the characters though; could've done with less Lewis. Phoebe too. Ironically they are probably the two essential characters. They complicate the hell out of everything. But Maude, Elizabeth, Allan, Irene and Walter are all great.
I was surprised with the powerful ending. For some reason Mathews' style suggested he might make light of our silly tendencies. Instead he draws on the power of relationships and their longstanding impacts (or consequences). I need to read more Mathews.
A meaningful passage that I am really writing down for my own benefit; to remind my future self about Mathews talents:
I was only beginning to learn that the dead stay everlastingly present among us, taking the form of palpable vacancies that only disappear when, as we must, we take them into ourselves. We take the dead inside us; we fill their voids with our own substance; we become them. The living dead do not belong to a race of fantasy, they constitute the inhabitants of our earth. The longer we live, the more numerous the inviting holes death opens in our lives and the more we add to the death inside us, until at last we embody nothing else. And when we in turn die, those who survive embody us, the whole of us, our individual selves and the crowd of dead men and women we have carried within us.
I was surprised with the powerful ending. For some reason Mathews' style suggested he might make light of our silly tendencies. Instead he draws on the power of relationships and their longstanding impacts (or consequences). I need to read more Mathews.
A meaningful passage that I am really writing down for my own benefit; to remind my future self about Mathews talents:
I was only beginning to learn that the dead stay everlastingly present among us, taking the form of palpable vacancies that only disappear when, as we must, we take them into ourselves. We take the dead inside us; we fill their voids with our own substance; we become them. The living dead do not belong to a race of fantasy, they constitute the inhabitants of our earth. The longer we live, the more numerous the inviting holes death opens in our lives and the more we add to the death inside us, until at last we embody nothing else. And when we in turn die, those who survive embody us, the whole of us, our individual selves and the crowd of dead men and women we have carried within us.
January 16, 2020
Hot damn this was good. In its own way it’s a bit of a mystery – there are gaps and holes in the narrative that kind of jump out at the reader (and some that are easily missable that had me flipping back and forth as I go to later chapter); and those holes are filled as the book progresses. But, while a mystery typically excels in introducing a bunch of different strands, and slowly tightening the strands as the narrative progresses, this book is composed quite differently. Each chapter focuses on a single relationship (and each is named after the two characters it focuses on) – the relationship might touch on other people, but each chapter is only concerned with this one specific set of people – and as the book progresses the skein of the various relationships begins to emerge. So Mathews never “tightens the strands” of the narrative; the weave is already taut to breaking, it is up to the reader to piece together the overall picture from the various perspectives presented. So there is an overall ur-narrative, but Mathews is more interested in examining the various relationships within the narrative, and allowing the story to emerge on its own. Oh, and while it is a “bit of a mystery” in its presentation, the mystery is all meta-textual (the mystery only belongs to the reader): there isn’t really a narrative mystery.
This book excels primarily because of the strength of the relationships that Mathews has crafted – the interactions of the participants (it always feels like the book is more crowded than it is – but the crowding comes from the interactive points between the characters, and not from an abundance of characters – though you’d be forgiven for estimating the cast as being much larger than it is) all feel real and precisely realized.
The book tells a somewhat simple story with dizzying complexity, examining the exponential growth of interactions and relationships within a small group of people – almost all experiences have a variety of perspectives that influence events – all but our own are typically lost to us – and Mathews takes it upon himself to show the varied motivations and misconceptions that shape simple events, in complex ways.
This book excels primarily because of the strength of the relationships that Mathews has crafted – the interactions of the participants (it always feels like the book is more crowded than it is – but the crowding comes from the interactive points between the characters, and not from an abundance of characters – though you’d be forgiven for estimating the cast as being much larger than it is) all feel real and precisely realized.
The book tells a somewhat simple story with dizzying complexity, examining the exponential growth of interactions and relationships within a small group of people – almost all experiences have a variety of perspectives that influence events – all but our own are typically lost to us – and Mathews takes it upon himself to show the varied motivations and misconceptions that shape simple events, in complex ways.
February 10, 2017
A superlative novel.
Cigarettes is a wonderfully intricate tale of human relationships, how we constantly mistake each others' intentions, mess each other up, make up, love, live with each other, and ultimately die in each other's hearts and minds. --As if that's not much to say. Cigarettes has a kind of War and Peace scope in a mere 300 pages because it's literally 90% exposition--exactly what your creative writing teacher will tell you not to do. In this particular novel the technique works fabulously, however, and this is a huge credit to Mathews narrative skills, to his nuanced telling that's as good as, or much better than, most authors' showing, even better as the narrative voice is very, very wise in terms of understanding its characters and their sense of self, even as they fail to get each other--see above themes. Being a God-like, omniscient voice helps to get at the complexities of how interconnected humans (siblings, parents and their children, and couples) constantly mistake each others' intentions, desires, and the significance of their actions. However, at the very beginning and the very end of the novel we get the slightest glimpse of this narrator who, as the first page says, "I planned someday to write a book about these people."
Don't make my mistake: seeing the chapter titles, which are each two names, and reading the opening chapter (which rounds itself off very completely like a perfect little short story), I somehow expected the rest of the novel to follow this pattern. Well, while it does divide itself up into episodes, and while each episode/chapter does primarily focus on the relationship between two of the novel's large cast of characters, everyone here is inter-connected in complex and interesting ways which will only be revealed piecemeal, as you go along, and the arc of the narrative is very much that of a novel in the end and you will want to have as many of its threads cat-cradle-like between your fingers when you get to the end so make yourself a little dramatis personae list in your head to keep everybody (and their relationship with everyone else) straight--as it pays off so well.
Another interesting aspect of the novel is its feminine tone. It's female characters seemed so real and individual, and the generally domestic concerns of the narrative/narrator and the closely drawn interior emotional lives of the characters were drawn in such a way that I, a male, felt as if I were reading a female author--particularly the work Jane Bowles kept coming to mind. Then, around pg. 60, Bowles' novel Two Serious Ladies is actually mentioned. Bingo! I thought--some type of homage. Much later, towards the novel's end in fact, Two Serious Ladies is quoted from--as well as a Ford Maddox Ford novel with which I am not familiar, and Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep. The quotation that stands out the most, because of the hard-boiled style's sharp contrast to Mathew's narrative exposition, with its terse, singular little details, is The Big Sleep. Still, thematically, The Big Sleep is quite close to Cigarettes in its dysfunctional family drama, its narrative complexities based on incremental revelations of the past, and its cast of characters' intricate relationships, as well as its centering on the theme of how we live with and through and by other people--even after they go on to the big sleep itself.
My only questions is: why the title Cigarettes? I don't remember there being a single cigarette mentioned anywhere in the text, although it is set mainly in early Mad Men territory, during the first two years of my life, and ends with a showing of Dr. No from the very year of my birth. It's a perfect read to celebrate 50 years of Bond films. No, not really--it's just a happy coincidence.
Cigarettes is a wonderfully intricate tale of human relationships, how we constantly mistake each others' intentions, mess each other up, make up, love, live with each other, and ultimately die in each other's hearts and minds. --As if that's not much to say. Cigarettes has a kind of War and Peace scope in a mere 300 pages because it's literally 90% exposition--exactly what your creative writing teacher will tell you not to do. In this particular novel the technique works fabulously, however, and this is a huge credit to Mathews narrative skills, to his nuanced telling that's as good as, or much better than, most authors' showing, even better as the narrative voice is very, very wise in terms of understanding its characters and their sense of self, even as they fail to get each other--see above themes. Being a God-like, omniscient voice helps to get at the complexities of how interconnected humans (siblings, parents and their children, and couples) constantly mistake each others' intentions, desires, and the significance of their actions. However, at the very beginning and the very end of the novel we get the slightest glimpse of this narrator who, as the first page says, "I planned someday to write a book about these people."
Don't make my mistake: seeing the chapter titles, which are each two names, and reading the opening chapter (which rounds itself off very completely like a perfect little short story), I somehow expected the rest of the novel to follow this pattern. Well, while it does divide itself up into episodes, and while each episode/chapter does primarily focus on the relationship between two of the novel's large cast of characters, everyone here is inter-connected in complex and interesting ways which will only be revealed piecemeal, as you go along, and the arc of the narrative is very much that of a novel in the end and you will want to have as many of its threads cat-cradle-like between your fingers when you get to the end so make yourself a little dramatis personae list in your head to keep everybody (and their relationship with everyone else) straight--as it pays off so well.
Another interesting aspect of the novel is its feminine tone. It's female characters seemed so real and individual, and the generally domestic concerns of the narrative/narrator and the closely drawn interior emotional lives of the characters were drawn in such a way that I, a male, felt as if I were reading a female author--particularly the work Jane Bowles kept coming to mind. Then, around pg. 60, Bowles' novel Two Serious Ladies is actually mentioned. Bingo! I thought--some type of homage. Much later, towards the novel's end in fact, Two Serious Ladies is quoted from--as well as a Ford Maddox Ford novel with which I am not familiar, and Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep. The quotation that stands out the most, because of the hard-boiled style's sharp contrast to Mathew's narrative exposition, with its terse, singular little details, is The Big Sleep. Still, thematically, The Big Sleep is quite close to Cigarettes in its dysfunctional family drama, its narrative complexities based on incremental revelations of the past, and its cast of characters' intricate relationships, as well as its centering on the theme of how we live with and through and by other people--even after they go on to the big sleep itself.
My only questions is: why the title Cigarettes? I don't remember there being a single cigarette mentioned anywhere in the text, although it is set mainly in early Mad Men territory, during the first two years of my life, and ends with a showing of Dr. No from the very year of my birth. It's a perfect read to celebrate 50 years of Bond films. No, not really--it's just a happy coincidence.
September 15, 2021
Восхитительная постмодернистская комедия модернистских нравов ХХ века, роман о молекулярных брауновских отношениях призраков преимущественно в начале 60х в одном ряду с "Распознаваниями" Гэддиса и... ряд можно продолжать довольно долго, но растет он из джазового века - к эпохе хиппи, от одного потерянного поколения как бы к другому.
Слои иронии, мета-иронии и пост-иронии тут мастерски собраны в такую изящную китайскую шкатулку-головоломку, что разбираться с "Сигаретами" - сплошное читательское наслаждение; еще и потому, что при всей виртуозности и изобретательности своих автор остается очень человечным. Не обязательно при этом традиционным, хотя соблазна счесть роман "традиционным" и возвести его к Джейн Остен, вслед за Эдмундом Уайтом, или же к Вирджинии Вулф избегнет далеко не всякий.
Еще одна вполне очевидная позднейшая параллель - "4 3 2 1" Остера, но у того иероглиф в силу решения иных художественных задач получился монотоннее, мономаниакальнее и громоздче. А "псевдоанглийский" стиль Мэтьюза легок, сладостен и разнообразен настолько, что автор мог пи��ать им не о жизнях прожигателей жизни из американской глубинки середины прошлого века, а легко пересказывать телефонную книгу или каталог бытовой техники. Я не припомню, чтобы чьи-то в общем обычные жизни излагались где-либо так интересно, а это не обо всяких сплетнях скажешь. (А еще прекрасного здесь много, в том числе, конечно, - джазовые сцены в Гренич-виллидже в самом начале 60х, еще до приезда туда Дилана.)
Кроме того, первая строка этого романа должна войти в мировую сокровищницу гениальных первых строк романов. А конец - голос самого писателя (не скажу кого), видящего внезапно призрак... другого писателя (тоже не скажу кого) на перроне под-нью-йоркской станции, - заставляет тут же, немедленно броситься в начало и начать всё перечитывать.
...перечитал. Вскрылось какое-то количество удивительных координатных точек, которых при первом проходе видно не было. Но об этом как-нибудь в следующий раз (или вообще никогда, потому что тогда ничего не останется на долю пытливого читателя).
Слои иронии, мета-иронии и пост-иронии тут мастерски собраны в такую изящную китайскую шкатулку-головоломку, что разбираться с "Сигаретами" - сплошное читательское наслаждение; еще и потому, что при всей виртуозности и изобретательности своих автор остается очень человечным. Не обязательно при этом традиционным, хотя соблазна счесть роман "традиционным" и возвести его к Джейн Остен, вслед за Эдмундом Уайтом, или же к Вирджинии Вулф избегнет далеко не всякий.
Еще одна вполне очевидная позднейшая параллель - "4 3 2 1" Остера, но у того иероглиф в силу решения иных художественных задач получился монотоннее, мономаниакальнее и громоздче. А "псевдоанглийский" стиль Мэтьюза легок, сладостен и разнообразен настолько, что автор мог пи��ать им не о жизнях прожигателей жизни из американской глубинки середины прошлого века, а легко пересказывать телефонную книгу или каталог бытовой техники. Я не припомню, чтобы чьи-то в общем обычные жизни излагались где-либо так интересно, а это не обо всяких сплетнях скажешь. (А еще прекрасного здесь много, в том числе, конечно, - джазовые сцены в Гренич-виллидже в самом начале 60х, еще до приезда туда Дилана.)
Кроме того, первая строка этого романа должна войти в мировую сокровищницу гениальных первых строк романов. А конец - голос самого писателя (не скажу кого), видящего внезапно призрак... другого писателя (тоже не скажу кого) на перроне под-нью-йоркской станции, - заставляет тут же, немедленно броситься в начало и начать всё перечитывать.
...перечитал. Вскрылось какое-то количество удивительных координатных точек, которых при первом проходе видно не было. Но об этом как-нибудь в следующий раз (или вообще никогда, потому что тогда ничего не останется на долю пытливого читателя).
September 20, 2025
This book has a fairly large cast of characters spread over 2 generations. I really liked the structure of it, with each chapter being focused on a rotating pair of these people. Sometimes we return to a situation that may already have been told from a different person's perspective, so we get an alternative view.
There are various scams (involving insurance, race horses and art - not necessarily all at the same time) and schemes.
Really really good, I must hunt down some more Mathews.
There are various scams (involving insurance, race horses and art - not necessarily all at the same time) and schemes.
Really really good, I must hunt down some more Mathews.
October 27, 2021
Ослепительной силы роман-головоломка, идеально разыгранная шахматная партия на 300 страниц, математическая сюита для двух десятков персонажей, длящаяся 25 лет. Принцип устройства -- примеееерно как в Love Actually, но совсем не комедия и с, кхм, секретиком, какой от нас, читателей, сперва прячут на самом видном месте, а для тех, кто его таки находит, предстоит вертеть его в руках вплоть до последних страниц. И да: я слегка выписывала себе на бумажку и лазила по книге взад-вперед, чтобы собирать в голове, что, кто, с кем и когда сделал. Роман глобально о том, до чего мы ослеплены друг другом и сколь глубока пропасть человеческого взаимного недомыслия, превратно понятых взаимных долгов, неверно трактованного покровительства, ошибочно примененной власти и пр., и т.п.
И все там правильно с финалом. И много-много всяких любезных читательскому сердцу отзвучиваний и перекрестий.
И да: think Edward Hopper в смысле настроения. Искусства в романе, впрочем, навалом в любом случае.
Восхитительный читательский опыт, короче.
И все там правильно с финалом. И много-много всяких любезных читательскому сердцу отзвучиваний и перекрестий.
И да: think Edward Hopper в смысле настроения. Искусства в романе, впрочем, навалом в любом случае.
Восхитительный читательский опыт, короче.
April 20, 2024
This was the best book I read last year, 2023, and also the only one w a truly beautiful name. Oulipian idea: largish cast of characters cast together in unique, titular pairings every (of many a’) chapter. It is impossibly fluid despite, or because, this Human Bingo/episodic shuffling. It’s a bit like early 20th century European modern classical serial music, but, ehh, fucking great and not academized to death (pretty sure that isn’t a word). Or like a St. Bernard wearing a cute little sweater vest. Maybe a St. Bernard that has turned his back on the Academy; taken to sweater vests; and now skillfully composes chance music. Yeah. Probably that one.
OR:
God so loved the world He gave us Harry Mathews and cigarettes—what else could you possibly want?
The human brain has nicotinic receptors for a reason, you know. Smoke up, my fellow evolutionary overachievers.
OR:
God so loved the world He gave us Harry Mathews and cigarettes—what else could you possibly want?
The human brain has nicotinic receptors for a reason, you know. Smoke up, my fellow evolutionary overachievers.
Read
April 21, 2024Not sure how the title fits in but this book was as smooth and refreshing as a packet of Laramies. Weirdly pitched between realist melodrama, postmodern sexuality deconstruction and (subtle) Oulipo construct, Matthews ingeniously ties these ideas together such that they're less independent strands than a well-stirred stew, a multi-voiced multi-layered narrative of love, loss, art and aging in America. Dedicated to Matthews' mate Georges Perec, Cigarettes contains something of Perec's desire for structural logic, not that I'm sure how it works. I never grasped what Perec was doing with Life: A User's Manual though, but enjoyed the knowledge that something overarching was at work. That same sense is present here. Here, each chapter explores a different pair of individuals, the narrative developing as these characters interact, with one another, in the art - and horse - world, and across time. The cast is incestuous, and piecing together the historical web of relationships, and following their implications, is where much of the pleasure lies.
This structure allows for a complete flattening of hierarchy, with no character or narrative element allowed to dominate. Rather, the drama is less concerned with individual character development (although this does occur within individual chapters) than with overall relationships, the picture rather than the puzzle pieces. This isn't entirely true, as those chapters involving the extreme sexual antics of Lewis and Morris naturally stand out, yet by the final pages they too have been subsumed within the larger whole. I read an old Collier edition with the eighties graphics which seeped into my reception of the book, not the less leading current Dalkey Archive version. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Mathews was once assumed to be a CIA agent in Paris, due to his 'man-of-leisure' lifestyle. This swanning about Parisian high society itself attracted the attention of the CIA and was documented in Mathews' pseudo memoir My Life As CIA. He studied music at Harvard but no idea what, or whether, he composed. (Review from June 2011)
This structure allows for a complete flattening of hierarchy, with no character or narrative element allowed to dominate. Rather, the drama is less concerned with individual character development (although this does occur within individual chapters) than with overall relationships, the picture rather than the puzzle pieces. This isn't entirely true, as those chapters involving the extreme sexual antics of Lewis and Morris naturally stand out, yet by the final pages they too have been subsumed within the larger whole. I read an old Collier edition with the eighties graphics which seeped into my reception of the book, not the less leading current Dalkey Archive version. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Mathews was once assumed to be a CIA agent in Paris, due to his 'man-of-leisure' lifestyle. This swanning about Parisian high society itself attracted the attention of the CIA and was documented in Mathews' pseudo memoir My Life As CIA. He studied music at Harvard but no idea what, or whether, he composed. (Review from June 2011)
May 12, 2011
Great quote on bars: She dreaded meeting people she knew, and not meeting people she know, and meeting people she didn't know.
I loved the sex scenes with Elizabeth (Mud!) and was appalled at the kinky scenes with Lewis, before it was all Safe, Sane, and Consensual. I didn't think "That's terrible, perverts tying each other up." I thought "with wire!?! That can cut off the circulation so quickly!" And I was horrified worse than the worst puritans at the group sex scenes... a crucifixion, fine... but the needles could hardly have been sterile!! The reason this is relevant is that Wythe pointed out that the unspoken undercurrent of this book is basically about how everything was changing for the generations from the 30s through the 60s, and people didn't really have language and a structure for what was happening, because they were making it up as they went along.
E.g. Owen=father Phoebe=daughter "Something was wrong. Owen had become confused and didn't like it. Away from Phoebe, he thought wistfully of the night and day she'd given him. Why hadn't there been more? ... The answer came to Owen ... She was teaching him a lesson: these new people had nothing to do with him. Phoebe had lured him into enjoying activities and attitudes that belonged to her, not to him."
It is especially disquieting to really look at what happens in a revolution, before all the loose ends have been tied up. Or at least tied up with a safeword and pair of rope shears handy.
I loved the sex scenes with Elizabeth (Mud!) and was appalled at the kinky scenes with Lewis, before it was all Safe, Sane, and Consensual. I didn't think "That's terrible, perverts tying each other up." I thought "with wire!?! That can cut off the circulation so quickly!" And I was horrified worse than the worst puritans at the group sex scenes... a crucifixion, fine... but the needles could hardly have been sterile!! The reason this is relevant is that Wythe pointed out that the unspoken undercurrent of this book is basically about how everything was changing for the generations from the 30s through the 60s, and people didn't really have language and a structure for what was happening, because they were making it up as they went along.
E.g. Owen=father Phoebe=daughter "Something was wrong. Owen had become confused and didn't like it. Away from Phoebe, he thought wistfully of the night and day she'd given him. Why hadn't there been more? ... The answer came to Owen ... She was teaching him a lesson: these new people had nothing to do with him. Phoebe had lured him into enjoying activities and attitudes that belonged to her, not to him."
It is especially disquieting to really look at what happens in a revolution, before all the loose ends have been tied up. Or at least tied up with a safeword and pair of rope shears handy.
March 15, 2020
This was probably a 3.5 for me. It's not my favourite Mathews by a long way, lacking the capricious spring of The Sinking of the Odradek Stadium, say, and being much more in the nature of a Work of Literary Fiction (which is one of the most damning insults I can level against any book). Mathews's approach to construction, however (as with all of the Oulipians) means that even such an end result is driven in a way it's generally not by the Creative Writing Studies crowds. This reads like a geometrically organised take on the 19th century triple-decker or mid-20th century modernist novels of social intrigue, and the resultant collapsing in on themselves of the Chinese boxes of plots is hugely satisfying. In a way that's my biggest gripe against the Oulipians: when they work at their best (Perec's big novels), or even somewhere slightly below that (here) they often produce novels that are way better than they have any right to be.
March 28, 2013
This is written in such an interesting format. The description is deceiving, and the story nowhere near as confusing as is made out. It is, however, a story of relationships - many more than those of Allan, Maud, and Elizabeth. Each chapter is the relationship of two of the characters. It has great characterization in the context of those relationships. I hesitate to say there is a good plot. Perhaps it is better to say there is a good vehicle for tying these relationships one to the other.
Though the coupling itself is not graphic (with one 3-line exception), these are a rather lusty bunch. We are informed of the sometimes unusual situations in which the sex occurs - in one chapter, disturbingly so.
Not all of the relationships are sexual. There are both sibling and parent/child relationships. Another disturbing chapter includes a young woman's psycosis as the result of Grave's disease. It was difficult reading.
This book happened in my life at just the right moment. Early on I identified it as 5 stars, as it is powerfully written. The epilogue connected me to the ending in a very personal way.
Though the coupling itself is not graphic (with one 3-line exception), these are a rather lusty bunch. We are informed of the sometimes unusual situations in which the sex occurs - in one chapter, disturbingly so.
Not all of the relationships are sexual. There are both sibling and parent/child relationships. Another disturbing chapter includes a young woman's psycosis as the result of Grave's disease. It was difficult reading.
This book happened in my life at just the right moment. Early on I identified it as 5 stars, as it is powerfully written. The epilogue connected me to the ending in a very personal way.
September 23, 2023
An original novel about interrelationships, business insurance and art world fraud, horse racing and sexual intrigues. Allen Ludlum is married to Maud and they have adult children. Maud lives with Elizabeth for a short time. Walter, an artist painter, paints a portrait of Elizabeth that causes ownership issues. Owen Lewiston is loosely married to Louisa. They have two adult children, Lewis and Phoebe. Lewis is an unusual young man who allows himself to be sexually manipulated.
Interesting characters and lots of plots twists make for a generally entertaining and sometimes disturbing reading experience.
There are a number of characters and it is worthwhile writing the names down and their relationships to the other characters, otherwise it can be a little difficult remembering how one character is related to others.
This book was first published in 1987.
Interesting characters and lots of plots twists make for a generally entertaining and sometimes disturbing reading experience.
There are a number of characters and it is worthwhile writing the names down and their relationships to the other characters, otherwise it can be a little difficult remembering how one character is related to others.
This book was first published in 1987.
December 25, 2016
What the hell have I gotten myself into? I thought CIGARETTES was an experimental novel, written by Harry Mathews, the first American chosen for membership in that freaky French literary clique, Oulipian. But what I get instead is a generational tale of New York blue bloods. What’s even stranger is I like it, and I can’t exactly say why. The writing isn’t showy, the plot is dense with detail. Things happen like in an old-fashioned novel, but those things are cut up and linked in a weirdly experimental way that I couldn’t explain. I mean, all writing is experimental, but not all experiments are writing. Sometimes they’re clinical and other times they’re crazy, but Mathews is deep into humanity and finds the relations that hold people together while at the same time exposing the bars to the prison we’re all trapped in. Midway through I was getting a bit lost in the whirlwind of events and could have used a family tree to follow the love lines, but by the end, the very last chapter, as happens in so many books that I only crack a sliver of their meaning on the first run-though, and need to return to again and again, I was floored. Hit. Moved. And while at first I couldn’t understand the significance of the title, I now think I do. The story is like chain-smoking, one narrative after another, and the moment you butt one out it’s time to light another.
Read
January 11, 2009As America's sole representative in the Oulipo group, Mathews shocked me by not being terribly Oulipian in this novel. The primary Oulipo element is Mathews' writing each chapter as an encounter between two people, and he recombines these encounters. But the chapters are really only ostensibly about the encounters, and each one contains quite a bit of other stuff going on. What you get in the end is a very fun novel about entangled interpersonal relationships yo-yoing across multiple decades and states, including the most hilarious story about sadomasochism I've ever heard.
September 13, 2016
A streak of bad luck lately in my picking books which bore me. I read about halfway until deciding I had better things to do with my time. None of the characters meant anything to me, and the lives they were leading as well as the stories they told were better left to those who might care. Not the "masterpiece" purported to be. Disappointed again in a publisher's blurbs.
November 17, 2025
I've never read a novel quite like this. Love Mathews.
December 20, 2012
Drop whatever you're reading and pick up Harry Matthews' "Cigarettes."
For a long time I was frustrated with reading fiction. No matter what I read, even obscure foreign novels in translation, I kept feeling as if I've already read it. There were no surprises to be found. I began to worry that maybe I'd lost my love for reading. Maybe I had read too much too soon? Was I just another one of those cynics who can't find pleasure in anything?
I longed for the feeling of discovery I used to experience when I first read Borges or Beckett. I had lost the sense of wonder I first got halfway through "The Red and the Black," when I thought, "So that's why this is such a classic." I missed the experience of thinking, "I didn't know you could do that!" That need to tell everyone I met about this amazing book.
"Cigarettes" has delivered me from my cynicism and restored my faith in the novel.
In this intricate story about wealthy people in upstate New York, Matthews disproves the theory that privileges dialogue over exposition. With the exception of a few brief, deft conversations, his episodes are almost all exposition. But what details they expose! Somehow, the lengthy descriptions almost never drag. Unlike many of today's younger writers who depend on alliteration and other devices to dress up an otherwise dull plot, Matthews never shows off -- his prose is surprisingly restrained and formal.
Instead, he keeps our interest in two other ways that turn out much richer. The first is an overwhelming amount of dramatic irony. With each new episode, we see characters acting on ignorance, which we know about only because Matthews tipped us off two or three episodes earlier. By the end of the book, such a mass of inside jokes have accumulated, I'm rather proud of myself for not loosing track of the plot. You're made to feel like a co-conspirator, as if you've been admitted to an exclusive club of very rich people who do nothing but steal each other's paintings and bet on horses all day.
Second, the plot aims for the sublime, taking a premise and extending its logic so far as to become absurd. The characters of Phoebe and Lewis embody this technique perfectly. Some readers might find certain pages too gross or disturbing. At first, I worried that Matthews was only trying to shock. But by the end of the Lewis-Morris chapter, it became obvious that Matthews was only trying to top himself, to go beyond what he'd already written. Like most things that involve cement, the result was hilariously entertaining.
Finally, the last pages conclude in a first-person vision so perfectly written, I had to re-read them three times to ensure I hadn't hallucinated the whole experience. Out of thin air, Matthews finds a way to wrap up everything that came before, without condescending to explain what came before. I'm tempted to go back and read that last page a few more times before I pick up any other book.
For a long time I was frustrated with reading fiction. No matter what I read, even obscure foreign novels in translation, I kept feeling as if I've already read it. There were no surprises to be found. I began to worry that maybe I'd lost my love for reading. Maybe I had read too much too soon? Was I just another one of those cynics who can't find pleasure in anything?
I longed for the feeling of discovery I used to experience when I first read Borges or Beckett. I had lost the sense of wonder I first got halfway through "The Red and the Black," when I thought, "So that's why this is such a classic." I missed the experience of thinking, "I didn't know you could do that!" That need to tell everyone I met about this amazing book.
"Cigarettes" has delivered me from my cynicism and restored my faith in the novel.
In this intricate story about wealthy people in upstate New York, Matthews disproves the theory that privileges dialogue over exposition. With the exception of a few brief, deft conversations, his episodes are almost all exposition. But what details they expose! Somehow, the lengthy descriptions almost never drag. Unlike many of today's younger writers who depend on alliteration and other devices to dress up an otherwise dull plot, Matthews never shows off -- his prose is surprisingly restrained and formal.
Instead, he keeps our interest in two other ways that turn out much richer. The first is an overwhelming amount of dramatic irony. With each new episode, we see characters acting on ignorance, which we know about only because Matthews tipped us off two or three episodes earlier. By the end of the book, such a mass of inside jokes have accumulated, I'm rather proud of myself for not loosing track of the plot. You're made to feel like a co-conspirator, as if you've been admitted to an exclusive club of very rich people who do nothing but steal each other's paintings and bet on horses all day.
Second, the plot aims for the sublime, taking a premise and extending its logic so far as to become absurd. The characters of Phoebe and Lewis embody this technique perfectly. Some readers might find certain pages too gross or disturbing. At first, I worried that Matthews was only trying to shock. But by the end of the Lewis-Morris chapter, it became obvious that Matthews was only trying to top himself, to go beyond what he'd already written. Like most things that involve cement, the result was hilariously entertaining.
Finally, the last pages conclude in a first-person vision so perfectly written, I had to re-read them three times to ensure I hadn't hallucinated the whole experience. Out of thin air, Matthews finds a way to wrap up everything that came before, without condescending to explain what came before. I'm tempted to go back and read that last page a few more times before I pick up any other book.
August 13, 2020
Written with force, speed and breakneck dynamism, this express train requires the unremitting committment of a psychoanalytic session, and all the juicy fruits of such, in quick response.
Harry Mathews is, was, a phemonenal writer, elevating a New Yorker style of storytelling that penetrated and gripped me by the throat. He reminded me of Bruno schulz “street if crocodiles”, especially the center chapters on Phoebe. He also reminded me of the breakneck pace (and yes, bad ass cold heartedness) of Ayn Rand and Philip Roth, but a far far superior writer, imho.
At times, i needed to step away for gulps of air and perspective; it was that intense. Why the fuck did he have to die before i could hunt him down and share my joys over having found a, dare i say, genius? A truly gifted writer and a book that i will absolutely re-read in the future, as there were layers written in that were over my head on this first read.
Harry Mathews is, was, a phemonenal writer, elevating a New Yorker style of storytelling that penetrated and gripped me by the throat. He reminded me of Bruno schulz “street if crocodiles”, especially the center chapters on Phoebe. He also reminded me of the breakneck pace (and yes, bad ass cold heartedness) of Ayn Rand and Philip Roth, but a far far superior writer, imho.
At times, i needed to step away for gulps of air and perspective; it was that intense. Why the fuck did he have to die before i could hunt him down and share my joys over having found a, dare i say, genius? A truly gifted writer and a book that i will absolutely re-read in the future, as there were layers written in that were over my head on this first read.
December 25, 2024
I would say, the official review to this book does not resonate at all to my impression. Some characters are rich, yes, but this is not a major point of the book. Powerful? Well, only in the meaning of psychological power of one person over another: of a father over a daughter, of a smart and creative person over a person striving to achieve something in life, of a loved one over a loving. And it's definitely not a book about 'fraud, horse racing, and sexual intrigues'. These are only secondary elements, tools, paints.
Every chapter in this book is devoted to relationships of two characters. Sometimes it can be told from certain character's point of view, sometimes from another one's, sometimes from a third person. Each chapter can be looked at as a standalone short story. Yes, they are all about the same dozen of people who jump from chapter to chapter, either as main or as 2nd plan characters. And yes, there is certain connection between all of them, and there is even some kind of plot or rather an object - a woman's portrait - which binds all the stories together. But actually it's not that important. Or it's important but it's instrumental: for injection of an additional dimension or two to relationship of two characters.
It can be a story of love, or of friendship, of parents and children, of art, of ill feeling hiding behind professional passion, of a blurred edge between authentic behavior and artistic playing in order to make your loved one happy, of nightmare of hormonal disease taking control over mental health, etc. Blurred edges would perhaps be a main metaphor for my impression of this book: love mixes up with violently imposed power, sincere admiration of one’s talent with calculated parasitism on that talent, care of one’s loved with mercantilism and with misuse of money's power.
As it was mentioned in one of the comments here on Goodreads, a sudden tenderness, with which the author handles the characters' illnesses or death, is striking and feels deep. Sudden - because of a contrast to the author's way to describe all the rest: basically, the background plot, the characters' businesses, some decisions they need to take in their lives. Here Mathews uses quite ironic, even sometimes scoffing tone.
Sometimes the characters dive into discussions about art. And here I found quite a few interesting thoughts and ideas.
What I found questionable, well, is quite a common thing among male authors: when they write about a woman easily jumping into short-lasting affairs, talking about freedom in sexual relationships with men, enjoying life without thinking much about future, etc. I've not seen much of similar thoughts among female authors (although I've read way too fewer female authors than male ones). Quite often this sounds more like a certain man's ideal of a woman.
Also not all the chapters-stories are same deep and profound. Well, it may be explained with a need to add more context to the whole picture or to sketch certain characters prior to touching the main themes.
Every chapter in this book is devoted to relationships of two characters. Sometimes it can be told from certain character's point of view, sometimes from another one's, sometimes from a third person. Each chapter can be looked at as a standalone short story. Yes, they are all about the same dozen of people who jump from chapter to chapter, either as main or as 2nd plan characters. And yes, there is certain connection between all of them, and there is even some kind of plot or rather an object - a woman's portrait - which binds all the stories together. But actually it's not that important. Or it's important but it's instrumental: for injection of an additional dimension or two to relationship of two characters.
It can be a story of love, or of friendship, of parents and children, of art, of ill feeling hiding behind professional passion, of a blurred edge between authentic behavior and artistic playing in order to make your loved one happy, of nightmare of hormonal disease taking control over mental health, etc. Blurred edges would perhaps be a main metaphor for my impression of this book: love mixes up with violently imposed power, sincere admiration of one’s talent with calculated parasitism on that talent, care of one’s loved with mercantilism and with misuse of money's power.
As it was mentioned in one of the comments here on Goodreads, a sudden tenderness, with which the author handles the characters' illnesses or death, is striking and feels deep. Sudden - because of a contrast to the author's way to describe all the rest: basically, the background plot, the characters' businesses, some decisions they need to take in their lives. Here Mathews uses quite ironic, even sometimes scoffing tone.
Sometimes the characters dive into discussions about art. And here I found quite a few interesting thoughts and ideas.
What I found questionable, well, is quite a common thing among male authors: when they write about a woman easily jumping into short-lasting affairs, talking about freedom in sexual relationships with men, enjoying life without thinking much about future, etc. I've not seen much of similar thoughts among female authors (although I've read way too fewer female authors than male ones). Quite often this sounds more like a certain man's ideal of a woman.
Also not all the chapters-stories are same deep and profound. Well, it may be explained with a need to add more context to the whole picture or to sketch certain characters prior to touching the main themes.
December 21, 2024
I requested this from the library because Amor Towles mentioned it in an interview. Immediately easy to tell why Towles referenced it; Matthews is a gorgeously talented "literary stylist," having clearly had a modicum of influence on Towles's work.
Cigarettes is a joy to read, specifically in that the sentences truly are wickedly enjoyable. The prose is lyrical and stirring, and takes delicious care to exact the most delightful version of a sentence or a description throughout. The plot I found stodgy at times, evidenced by how long it took me to finish. There's a lot to keep track of and keep straight, which makes this a book best suited for a long train/plane ride.
The characters, though, are worth sticking around for. Matthews deceived me with the first vignette, thinking this would be a flighty, humorous read about the foibles and dalliances of the moneyed midcentury New York class. Very soon thereafter, he exposes the depth of his craft in examining and narrating the crannies of the human condition.
I'd say a high 3.5 but leaning towards 4 because of truly how spectacularly and winkingly luscious a treat the writing is.
Cigarettes is a joy to read, specifically in that the sentences truly are wickedly enjoyable. The prose is lyrical and stirring, and takes delicious care to exact the most delightful version of a sentence or a description throughout. The plot I found stodgy at times, evidenced by how long it took me to finish. There's a lot to keep track of and keep straight, which makes this a book best suited for a long train/plane ride.
The characters, though, are worth sticking around for. Matthews deceived me with the first vignette, thinking this would be a flighty, humorous read about the foibles and dalliances of the moneyed midcentury New York class. Very soon thereafter, he exposes the depth of his craft in examining and narrating the crannies of the human condition.
I'd say a high 3.5 but leaning towards 4 because of truly how spectacularly and winkingly luscious a treat the writing is.
October 5, 2025
This was one book I found hard to finish. At first,during the first 'chapters' of the book I had a hard time getting used to the style of writing. Or to put it in better terms: it took me quite some time to figure out that the same persons kept reappearing, only in different times and in different pairs.
After I got the hang of that, I came to realize, that I really didn't like the book very much.
It was confusing and every time a new chapter started, I needed to start my puzzle all over again, figuring out the constellation of the characters. What had already happened, what time we were in, who is in which way related to whom and who did what. It was difficult to match things I read now to the characters they belonged to,even if I encountered them in an earlier chapter.
It's a clever way of writing, it may be interesting to many, but I'm not one of them. .
After I got the hang of that, I came to realize, that I really didn't like the book very much.
It was confusing and every time a new chapter started, I needed to start my puzzle all over again, figuring out the constellation of the characters. What had already happened, what time we were in, who is in which way related to whom and who did what. It was difficult to match things I read now to the characters they belonged to,even if I encountered them in an earlier chapter.
It's a clever way of writing, it may be interesting to many, but I'm not one of them. .
Read
August 26, 2025Phoebe now realizes what she has been warned to accept: creatures are disintegrating. They are vanishing definitively, without cause, without justification. Phoebe feels a fresh confidence. Although she knows that sadness awaits her, she no longer worries about what will happen.
Or:
The living dead do not belong to a race of fantasy, they constitute the inhabitants of our earth. The longer we live, the more numerous the inviting holes death opens in our lives and the more we add to the death inside us, until at last we embody nothing else.
Unsentimental, caressingly observant, profoundly moving. A new favorite
Or:
The living dead do not belong to a race of fantasy, they constitute the inhabitants of our earth. The longer we live, the more numerous the inviting holes death opens in our lives and the more we add to the death inside us, until at last we embody nothing else.
Unsentimental, caressingly observant, profoundly moving. A new favorite
August 16, 2025
I enjoyed the writing style and how the characters relationships weave into each other. I just found this a bit boring. It felt flat when it should’ve felt exciting in some areas for me. Not a bad book but not as good as I was expecting.
December 9, 2023
never read something like this before, the Huxley comparison seems closest though more tender and less philosophical (ie more American...)
March 19, 2025
Any writer would be blessed to understand prose - and life - as thoroughly as Harry Mathews. It’s an elegant book. Stylistically it’s a masterpiece. Substantially it’s a masterpiece.
I have trouble comprehending how it isn’t widely celebrated as a timeless classic.
Another oulipo banger🐐
I have trouble comprehending how it isn’t widely celebrated as a timeless classic.
Another oulipo banger🐐
December 1, 2024
this book is very beautifully written all around, but what profoundly struck me is the way disability, sickness and death are dealt with a tenderness thats almost unbearable. havent read anything this great by a new to me author in a min
August 21, 2025
As she passed from one streaming avenue to the next, each dark block between became a bridge that lifted her into another half-abandoned hive where beings from uncreated dreams slept and drifted, giddy from the shock of their birth. They did not sadden her, she felt no sorrow for them, and a glance from any one of them could only mean that someone wished her well; she went on. A half hour later she crossed under an elevated highway and found herself at the "river." She wiped her eyes stung wet by cold and airy dirt. Above the city glow, scattered stars glistened in a moonless sky, drooping close, teetering not unkindly over the convulsions of her thought.
Truly sublime. Meticulously crafted yet full of emotion. You have to give into the narrative, let it unwind around you, deal with the unknowns, trust that you will learn all that you need to by the end. And what an ending! It has stayed with me since I first read this book in my early 20s, and it has affected me even more upon re-reading it as I approach middle age. Now it will stay with me for the rest of my life.
And when we in turn die, those who survive embody us, the whole of us, our individual selves and the crowd of dead men and women we have carried within us.
Truly sublime. Meticulously crafted yet full of emotion. You have to give into the narrative, let it unwind around you, deal with the unknowns, trust that you will learn all that you need to by the end. And what an ending! It has stayed with me since I first read this book in my early 20s, and it has affected me even more upon re-reading it as I approach middle age. Now it will stay with me for the rest of my life.
And when we in turn die, those who survive embody us, the whole of us, our individual selves and the crowd of dead men and women we have carried within us.
April 9, 2014
Aware that Harry Mathews and Joseph McElroy are long-time friends and consider themselves aesthetic co-conspirators, it is tempting to discuss them in the same breath. McElroy's books are longer and denser, while Mathews' prose is appealing lean. Both share a specificity in describing New York places and geography that I enjoy.
Cigarettes follows the intertwined lives of several families from the well-to-do equestrian precincts of upstate New York, from the late 1930s to early 60s and takes the art world of New York as its secondary milieu.
There is a succession of chapters named for and describing the relations of the characters in pairs. The almost exclusive use of first names has at times a distancing rather than intimate effect, reminding me of John Hawkes (though its been so long since I read him, I could be way off).
Some sub-plots loom large for a couple of chapters (a sadomasochist gay relationship that ends badly, a young woman either succumbing to schizophrenia or a thyroid disorder, no one seems sure which) and then almost vanish, as if to illustrate that time heals all wounds.
A particularly interesting move is the introduction of a first-person narrator solely in the last five pages or so, leaving one guessing if it is one of the characters or someone previously unintroduced.
Cigarettes follows the intertwined lives of several families from the well-to-do equestrian precincts of upstate New York, from the late 1930s to early 60s and takes the art world of New York as its secondary milieu.
There is a succession of chapters named for and describing the relations of the characters in pairs. The almost exclusive use of first names has at times a distancing rather than intimate effect, reminding me of John Hawkes (though its been so long since I read him, I could be way off).
Some sub-plots loom large for a couple of chapters (a sadomasochist gay relationship that ends badly, a young woman either succumbing to schizophrenia or a thyroid disorder, no one seems sure which) and then almost vanish, as if to illustrate that time heals all wounds.
A particularly interesting move is the introduction of a first-person narrator solely in the last five pages or so, leaving one guessing if it is one of the characters or someone previously unintroduced.
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