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The Mandarin
THE MANDARIN pretends to be an ordinary novel. But it is set in places that no longer exist. The plot develops recursively rather than progressively. It is written almost entirely in dialogue: consciousness tends to be communal rather than personal. At any moment, the characters might stop talking and start doing something. They won't, but the option is always available.
209 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
October 12, 2023
A dream whose lucidity waxes and wanes with the reader’s attention in an artful dance. In beginning my read of this book, I was almost offended by what I perceived as a pseudo-academic arrogance in its presentation; it seemed that the book wouldn’t be satisfied unless its reader pored over every word, scraping out meaning. Once I found the flow of the novel, however, and allowed myself to slip into and out of focus - in the way that a relaxed reader might - I was struck by its intelligibility. I ended up feeling that I had experienced one of the most unique (if not the most unique) works of art I’ve ever encountered in the medium of literature. This is a truly wonderful book.
June 13, 2008
There will be no literature in Minneapolis!
January 20, 2019
This book was recommended to me by a writer I trust as a good example of using nearly all dialogue but I couldn’t get into it.
November 18, 2011
Why wouldn't you want to read a book with writing like this:
The din is undeniable – people wearing pots as necklaces so they can bang when anything sensible threatens to be heard
He’s eating the bread from the wrong end.
“A novel is just wolves on a page,” I said, “and blanks b/t one wolf and another.”
“You'll only get more centipedes on it,” said Hallamore. “Transparent centipeds. Linked together. In a stream. Glistening as they emerge from the faucet. With a faint blue tint (they put something in the heater to keep it form smelling like centipedes and that colors it blue).”
I have written a novel in the water that beads on my fingertips.
“Your novels put girls to sleep, but my art puts them to work.”
“Lack of interest becomes interest in the same way that money combines with money,” said Hallamore. “The novel creates interest by pretending not to care."
I was waiving to him and the wave encountered a strawberry
How can you tell that it’s intelligent? Becuase it’s sour?
If virtue could be rewarded said Hallamore, wouldn’t that make it a commodity?
Even the telephone has a hook, said Mercy. Why not you?
I rest on my own hook I said. I hang myself up.
The tines of a fork break off against the white of an egg
I don’t like to think that anyone thinks well of me said Hallamore or better than I think of myself. I must dissuade them from their good opinions. I have somehow inadvertently put on a good front when I abhor putting on a good front.
What good was walking on two legs if it was going to come to this?
Even the kitchen sink wants video-colored food.
The kitchen sink is a thing said Mercy that shows what we mean by ‘paternalistic.’
He thinks it’s an outrage that he has to suffer so that you could have a modern sex education class. (Jesus was sent to earth so kids in Minneapolis would have sex ed classes (translation)
Someone who carries a grand piano might be a concert pianist, or a truck, or a tornado.
Feelings of guilt said the red carpet that allows the pleasure to continue
Guilt allows us to continue doing the thing that makes us guilty said the toenail clippings.
It has become a hideous bloodbath: objects have replced people. Everyone in this room.
Centipede on the wall stops where the shine on its back reflects my worried image
Fear of white brick
Her surgeon’s hands that could enter your body at any point
How safe you feel when a man you don’t like is sleeping in your house, or a house you may be borrowing from a friend. He makes everything nauseatingly safe, patrolling the halls while you sleep, closing all the cabinets one by one (a door won’t close: He presses on it until he is satisfied that something on the other side is sticking out, pressing back; he leaves it open), and he fixes things, untangles the phone cord, and washes everything in the sink. Then he leaves while you’re still sleeping, and manages to lock the door behind him without using a key, and the only evidence that he was there is the cheery note magnetized to the side of the refridgerator: Leslie! Thanks so much/ Sculpture of cat four stars/ **** (highest rating)
Failure of sympathy
If a modernist is someone who makes art out of renunciation
The din is undeniable – people wearing pots as necklaces so they can bang when anything sensible threatens to be heard
He’s eating the bread from the wrong end.
“A novel is just wolves on a page,” I said, “and blanks b/t one wolf and another.”
“You'll only get more centipedes on it,” said Hallamore. “Transparent centipeds. Linked together. In a stream. Glistening as they emerge from the faucet. With a faint blue tint (they put something in the heater to keep it form smelling like centipedes and that colors it blue).”
I have written a novel in the water that beads on my fingertips.
“Your novels put girls to sleep, but my art puts them to work.”
“Lack of interest becomes interest in the same way that money combines with money,” said Hallamore. “The novel creates interest by pretending not to care."
I was waiving to him and the wave encountered a strawberry
How can you tell that it’s intelligent? Becuase it’s sour?
If virtue could be rewarded said Hallamore, wouldn’t that make it a commodity?
Even the telephone has a hook, said Mercy. Why not you?
I rest on my own hook I said. I hang myself up.
The tines of a fork break off against the white of an egg
I don’t like to think that anyone thinks well of me said Hallamore or better than I think of myself. I must dissuade them from their good opinions. I have somehow inadvertently put on a good front when I abhor putting on a good front.
What good was walking on two legs if it was going to come to this?
Even the kitchen sink wants video-colored food.
The kitchen sink is a thing said Mercy that shows what we mean by ‘paternalistic.’
He thinks it’s an outrage that he has to suffer so that you could have a modern sex education class. (Jesus was sent to earth so kids in Minneapolis would have sex ed classes (translation)
Someone who carries a grand piano might be a concert pianist, or a truck, or a tornado.
Feelings of guilt said the red carpet that allows the pleasure to continue
Guilt allows us to continue doing the thing that makes us guilty said the toenail clippings.
It has become a hideous bloodbath: objects have replced people. Everyone in this room.
Centipede on the wall stops where the shine on its back reflects my worried image
Fear of white brick
Her surgeon’s hands that could enter your body at any point
How safe you feel when a man you don’t like is sleeping in your house, or a house you may be borrowing from a friend. He makes everything nauseatingly safe, patrolling the halls while you sleep, closing all the cabinets one by one (a door won’t close: He presses on it until he is satisfied that something on the other side is sticking out, pressing back; he leaves it open), and he fixes things, untangles the phone cord, and washes everything in the sink. Then he leaves while you’re still sleeping, and manages to lock the door behind him without using a key, and the only evidence that he was there is the cheery note magnetized to the side of the refridgerator: Leslie! Thanks so much/ Sculpture of cat four stars/ **** (highest rating)
Failure of sympathy
If a modernist is someone who makes art out of renunciation
August 4, 2015
From the INDEX:
novel, the, 5, 6, 7, 20, 22, 23, 34, 40-41, 56-65, 105, 114, 116, 126, 129, 139-40, 150, 157, 162, 169; and suicide, 20, 139; destruction of n. by water, fire, etc., 138-40; entitled, 64-65; impossible to define, 58-60; object of pleasure, 61, 64-65; soporific, 5, 10, 20, 58; unable to give pleasure, 65; written in blood, 162; written in ice, 64; written in urine, 10; written in water, 91; written on bread, 104, 169; written on cake, 23; written on glass, 22; written on menu, 61-62; written on paper, 5-6, 7, 10, 139-40; written on placemat, 7; written on sidewalk, 10, 64; written on wall, 6
novel, the, 5, 6, 7, 20, 22, 23, 34, 40-41, 56-65, 105, 114, 116, 126, 129, 139-40, 150, 157, 162, 169; and suicide, 20, 139; destruction of n. by water, fire, etc., 138-40; entitled, 64-65; impossible to define, 58-60; object of pleasure, 61, 64-65; soporific, 5, 10, 20, 58; unable to give pleasure, 65; written in blood, 162; written in ice, 64; written in urine, 10; written in water, 91; written on bread, 104, 169; written on cake, 23; written on glass, 22; written on menu, 61-62; written on paper, 5-6, 7, 10, 139-40; written on placemat, 7; written on sidewalk, 10, 64; written on wall, 6
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December 7, 2010One word: weird. I didn't like the events of the novel constantly contradicting each other. None of the characters were likable. I enjoyed the concept--nothing is quite real--but found it an overall unsettling reading experience.
March 21, 2009
THIS BOOK IS FANTASTIC
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews