I seem to be one of the only reviewers who simply didn't feel the magic of this book. I wish I liked it better.
French author Raymond Roussel has been known for writing some wildly inventive imagery, so at first glance of this novel, you might think he was purely a surrealist on some serious drugs. But he actually was playing with homonyms.
You fantasy readers may be familiar with Piers Anthony, who was known for his punny titles like "Centaur Aisle" and "Heaven Cent". Well, if Roussel had been writing in English, he would have taken those puns and crafted an entire paragraph, or chapter, or even a whole story, based on those puns. So, in a Roussel book, pennies would literally rain from heaven, or the main character would encounter shelves in the middle of a store stocked with figurines of mythological creatures. That is how Roussel came up with his bizarre imagery.
Which means that if you don't read Roussel in French, you are almost completely missing the point. But if you do understand French, will it help to read it in the source language?
Well, I read the first half of the book twice, once in French and then in English. But my French is a weird amalgamation of the Cajun and New Orleans "Frenchlish" that got spoken in my neighborhood, the Haitian Creole I picked up as well, and my attempts to formalize my French through an Algerian tutor. Since many of the homonyms that Roussel uses are from archaic phrases or idioms I've never heard before, I didn't get much more out of it than from my rather clunky English translation.
So now that we've established that he uses puns as his creative launch pad, your next question may be, "Is that supposed to make this clever or interesting?" Here's where your mileage may vary.
For me, it certainly didn't make for a good story. In fact, there really is not much of a central plot. Some guests are invited to a rich guy's estate, called Locus Solus. We don't know who these folks are, or how many, or why they are even there in the first place. The reader is taken on a tour of Locus Solus with these unknown people, and encounter various artifacts, inventions, and knickknacks of escalating strangeness. As we examine the highlights of our tour, there are often stories associated with the object being described, and nestled within those stories are further stories, so that it can be easy to lose track of where you are.
There isn't really any deep meaning to any of it. The content is largely the result of the author exploiting the homonymic nature of the French language.
Here is an example from Chapter 2 of how it works. We get page after page of a description of a machine that floats from a balloon which paves a mosaic of a German soldier out of human teeth. Why? Because Roussel took the French phrase "demoiselle à prétandant" (a girl with suitors) and made it into "demoiselle à reître en dents". In French, "demoiselle" can mean a young lady, but it can also mean a tool that is used to force things like paving stones or tiles into place. The word "reître" can mean a thuggish soldier or cutthroat, but it's more archaic usage literally means a German cavalryman. "Dents" is teeth, placed to make a similar sound as at the end of "prétandant". Hence, you have a paving machine making a mosaic of a German soldier out of teeth. Roussel then goes on to tell the story behind the mosaic, which involves a German mercenary hired to kidnap a princess.
Are you starting to get the picture? Okay, I admit that I did not make a very good pun just now, but I don't think Roussel's overcomplicated one is any better.
But postmodernists like Michel Foucault sure thought that Roussel was a genius. In fact, several of my Goodreads friends, whose tastes I share, seem to find the whole experience delightfully hallucinogenic and fresh. And I guess you could say that, whether or not you know the "secret" of Roussel's wordsmith, the result sure seems like unfettered creativity. So hey, if this floats your boat, don't let me sink it.
And this book should have conceivably worked for me too! I love a good pun, and I embrace the avant-garde. My favorite music is experimental and abstract, creating extraterrestrial and supernatural moods through noisescapes. Some of my favorite films shun conventional narrative and aim to deliver emotional sensations and reactions purely through imagery, like "The Color of Pomegranates," "Begotten," "L'Eclisse," and "L'Age d'Or". And some of my favorite books are--let's face it--bizarre. Roussel's tendencies to layer stories within stories reminds me of "House of Leaves," which I enjoyed very much. Hell, I gave "A Voyage to Arcturus" a high rating, so c'mon!
But this? It feels too much like a gimmick, like the author thought he could razzle dazzle himself into the intellectual Hall of Fame with his own unique formula. He really did expect to be adored as a genius, which no doubt led to some of his artistic choices. And maybe he was. I just feel that great surreal art should have NO formula. I think it's impressive that he took so much time to come up with all these puns, but the end result felt dishonest and empty for me. When done well, the avant-garde will stimulate a visceral reaction--an unintentional laugh or a feeling of disgust or a sense of awe. I had none of those experiences with this book, just a feeling of confusion.
There is a subtle difference between a work that is "odd" because it comes from an artist's unique perspective and something that is weird for the sake of being weird. I have probably listened to almost every industrial and noise album from 1975 to 1990 that still has a surviving copy. My wife and friends have all asked me how I could possibly pick a favorite from all this "noise". So I would have them listen to an example of something that really seemed to be coming from the genuine soul of an outsider artist, a true example of captured genius and lighting in a bottle, something so beautiful in its otherworldliness because we could never imagine hearing anything like it. Then I would compare it to a similar album made by some poor kid who wanted to get in on the tape scene action, thinking that mumbling into a microphone, twiddling some knobs on an analog synth, and slapping a disturbing picture of a holocaust corpse on the cover would suddenly give them street cred and make them a rock star. Most agree that the difference is astounding. I just can't help but sense that Roussel falls more in the later camp. Whenever literary and artistic circles reach peak competitive levels of snobbery, you have a lot of hungry talent trying to outdo each other in eccentricity so they stand out. This inevitably leads to a lot of experimentation, some of which is innovative, and some of which does not work.
My overall attitude about such art is to be grateful that it exists. I encourage everyone to think outside of the box to find their own unique creative voice. And "Locus Solus" is surely innovative. It stands out. It leads to long reviews like this. But as a literary experience, I found I was reading word salad much of the time. I don't mind hard science fiction, but I also don't understand how reading twenty pages of what amounts to a nonsensical inventor's disclosure manual, which details the technological inner workings of a device that doesn't exist, and can never exist, can speak to anyone.
Here's another example. There's a large diamond-shaped tank of water that makes music, and it almost broke my brain trying to understand what the hell Roussel was talking about. A dancer is submerged in this "breathable" water, and her hair is actually making the musical notes as she floats around, and also in the tank with her is a... peeled-off human face from the remains of the orator Georges Danton (!) and a... bald cat (?!) and... several Cartesian diver figurines reenacting scenes from philosophical literature, the New Testament, and Greek mythology (?!!?) and... seven seahorses having a race around a floating ball of Sauternes wine!!?!?!!?!?!!
So you can see how this can either tickle some readers or drive them absolutely bat shit crazy, depending on taste. For me, there's just too many loose associations to tolerate for the entire length of the book.
A friend of mine recommended this book to me, and he said that he skimmed over a lot of the more technical jargon and descriptions. After I read it, I told him that he must've skimmed over half the book! Now, this is not the first time I've heard readers talk like this, even about books they supposedly love, so though I've said this before, I'll say it again: If you are doing that sort of thing just to make it through a novel, then what's the point?
Because there is no golden thread through all the surrealism in this book, I'll never be able to remember a thing about it unless I revisit the review threads on Goodreads, or (heaven forbid) give it another try. Maybe I will reread it in a different mood, or while delirious after a medical procedure, and if I like it any better, I'll update this review.
If you are a fan of this book, or of Roussel's style in general, let me know what works for you. I'm always open to new ways of looking at things.
SCORE: 2 demoiselles out of 5
WORD OF THE DAY: Ooo, one great thing about the Anglicized version of this book is that there are so many great English words to chose from. So in the spirit of Roussel, I'm going to randomly select three that begin with "p" (for "pun"): parallelepiped, peregrinations, and (my favorite) plangent.