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Searching for Petronius Totem
A quirky, comical and provocative novel? complete with robotic flying chickens. Following a dramatic break-up with his long-suffering wife, Jack Vesoovian retreats to a Hamilton rooming house, where he impulsively decides to take to the road to track down his life-long colleague, Petronius Totem. Petronius Totem has disappeared following the unlikely success of his memoir, Ten Thousand Busted Chunks , praised for its searing honesty. But when it is discovered to be a pack of lies, Petronius Totem becomes universally despised. Meanwhile, Jack faces another grim the world is being taken over by a sinister multi-national Fibre-Optic Catering business that has created a chicken-like food matter than can actually fly. Can he and Petronius Totem escape into a virtual future that is free of ChickLit and flying fibre-optic chickens? Or will Jack return home to his wife Elaine whom it seems, with good reason, will shoot him on sight? Searching for Petronius Totem is a love story for the a wild, imaginative, and utterly original novel.
- GenresEbooks
248 pages, Paperback
Published May 1, 2017
64 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
September 19, 2017
Well now. This was one of the more interesting books I have read in a while.
Peter Unwin has written a novel full of cyber chickens, deadbeat poets/writers, and a whole melange of interesting tidbits. While each new generation of fibre optic chicken gets closer and closer to hitting the mark of Jack Vesoovian (due to his dubious association with Petronius Totem) it also brings Jack closer to a new understanding of what is truly important in his life. The womanizing and poetizing has been fun—and is ever tempting—but the more crazy life gets, the more Jack realizes that all he really needs in life is his beloved (and slightly psychotic) Elaine and the kids.
The world is racing and changing around him—Pete Tidecaster to Petronius, reality to cyber reality—but does any of that really matter when love is on the line? In the end, I'm not really sure, but I suspect so. It would seem that beat poets aside, love really does leave its mark, even if it is from a bullet hole.
Thank you to Kelsey at Freehand Books, care of a giveaway at 49th Shelf for sending me a copy of this book. It certainly was a "wild ride of a novel". I'll probably ponder some of the inner meanings for a while to come—Is Facebook killing our relationships? Does art belong to the creator or those who perceive it? What else did I miss in this book?
Peter Unwin has written a novel full of cyber chickens, deadbeat poets/writers, and a whole melange of interesting tidbits. While each new generation of fibre optic chicken gets closer and closer to hitting the mark of Jack Vesoovian (due to his dubious association with Petronius Totem) it also brings Jack closer to a new understanding of what is truly important in his life. The womanizing and poetizing has been fun—and is ever tempting—but the more crazy life gets, the more Jack realizes that all he really needs in life is his beloved (and slightly psychotic) Elaine and the kids.
The world is racing and changing around him—Pete Tidecaster to Petronius, reality to cyber reality—but does any of that really matter when love is on the line? In the end, I'm not really sure, but I suspect so. It would seem that beat poets aside, love really does leave its mark, even if it is from a bullet hole.
Thank you to Kelsey at Freehand Books, care of a giveaway at 49th Shelf for sending me a copy of this book. It certainly was a "wild ride of a novel". I'll probably ponder some of the inner meanings for a while to come—Is Facebook killing our relationships? Does art belong to the creator or those who perceive it? What else did I miss in this book?
June 5, 2017
Take the cheesiest bits of Margarey Atwood's speculative fiction, the bitterest of Douglas Copland's satire, and Dave McGimpsey's Twitter feed, and you might get this book.
July 1, 2017
It's well-written, quirky, and also pretty funny - and there's no denying that it's unique! That's for sure. I enjoyed it. It was a little too odd-ball and quirky for me at times, to be honest, but I still enjoyed it, and I still appreciate it. It was a good read, and the book had a nice pace. Thanks for the chance to read it!
December 5, 2017
It is rare that the very first sentence of the first chapter of a novel puts the reader right where one should be: in the middle of Everything Important. The first sentence of Peter Unwin's novel does just that:
"Two months after my marriage went into the crapper I took my wife's rotting Ford Sable and hit the road in search of Petronius Totem."
A sentence like that, however, is a written promise, and promises like that can either be kept, or they can be broken, but they can never be unwritten. Fortunately, Unwin mostly keeps his promise.
I say mostly because there are clauses in that promise that I never feel, as a reader, are fully delivered upon. We are told, straight up, that the protagonist’s marriage has failed recently, but we are never given a look at that marriage to see what went wrong. If we consider the meta-dedication at the front of the book, written in the voice of the protagonist, Jack, rather than the author, we have already been given a peek into Jack’s heart: he misses his wife and children and wants his wife to know he’s a changed man and that he truly loves her.
Meta-dedication. Much as the cover art blurs the distinction between author (Peter Unwin) and protagonist (Jack Vesoovian), the dedication also moves this way, as it is signed “Jack.” Wait a moment – what about the review blurb on the back – written by Petronius Totem himself: “Jack Vesoovian is the greatest Canadian author since Jane Austen….” Indeed: Searching for Petronius Totem is a work of metafiction. Peter Unwin, it seems, is a Deconstructionist. Suddenly I become aware as a reader that all the promises I have been expecting are either going to be broken, destroyed, or taken apart with literary tweezers. Only then do I fully understand that Unwin has, indeed, shown us why the protagonist’s marriage went into the crapper: Vesoovian is an (almost) thoroughly unlikable pretentious, self-conscious (and self-absorbed) rascal. If his life with Elaine were half as much as rocky as a typical day as portrayed throughout the narrative, any spouse would consider handing him his walking papers.
That a rocky day in the life of this slow burning disaster (the protagonist’s surname is “Vesoovian” – perhaps a play on the slow-burning match or the volcano that took out Pompeii – after all) includes flying mechanical chickens is only the half of it. The first sentence of the novel puts the reader where the reader should be, and then the rest of the novel knocks the reader about with wild abandon, at times leaving us smack in the middle of perhaps what can only be called Canada’s Naked Lunch. Whereas William S. Borroughs accidentally shot and killed his wife, Joan Vollmer, however, literary iconoclast Jack Vesoovian is (literally and literarily) taking bullets from his estranged wife as the chickens chase him about, all the while as he imagines himself a modern Jack Kerouac. (The name Kerouac is never thrown about amongst the literary allusions, but the parallels are sufficient to venture this interpretation. The first sentence of Kerouac's On the Road is: “I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.” Not to mention the boxes of first-edition Grove Press books graciously packed for him to take by his wife, Elaine.)
Once the reader is aware of the metafictional aspect of the work, it becomes easier to let contractual agreements and understandings slide. Instead of asking “Does the author (or narrator) really want me to suspend my disbelief and take these mechanical chickens and other conspiracies at face value?” I am led to ask “Does any author really want me to take any fictional (or otherwise) narrative at face value, and if so, why must I?”
This break from the contract then lets me ask other questions. Quite early into the novel, Jack is called “Joe” – and Ronald is called “Doug” – as if it does not matter. Jack, Joe, Doug, Ronald, what’s the difference? (Peter Unwin/Jack Vesoovian – what’s the difference?) Then, also early on, Jack is mistaken for Peter (Petronius Totem – not Unwin) by a rather unsavory antagonist. Suddenly, whether Jack is actually Jack matters as much as anything can matter in fiction. The slippery nature of identity becomes critical to Jack’s well-being. (Some of Peter’s first words to Jack are the telling: “Jack. The Jack? How the hell are you Jack? I thought you may have been someone else.”) That Jack is mistaken for Peter, and must insist that he is “Jack” (a name he calls the “shortest poem in the language”), is not an accident of the telling.
And because none of this play with names is an accident, and because Peter goes on to use the literary moniker “Petronius Totem” – I am almost allowed as the reader to ask: Does Petronius Totem exist? (Echoes of the absurd “existence exists” conversation between Jack and “Doug” from earlier on in the novel.) Was Jack mistaken for Peter because Jack is Peter? And now we have it: metafiction has played with me enough to ask an absurd question: “Does so-and-so really exist?” Of course not; this is a novel! None of these characters “exist” at all. “Existence exists” – nothing else. And still, here we are, reading along, asking questions like “does he really want me to believe these mechanical chickens are out to get him?” Does he (the author, Unwin, or the protagonist, Vesoovian) want me to believe that he’s not, in fact, Petronius Totem the whole time? That he’s actually engaged in an introspective (perhaps alcohol or drug assisted) search for self as he meanders along in an attempt to get his life enough in order that he can return to his wife and his children and his marriage….
That, in my view, is the apotheotic spark of this novel. Metafiction is an interesting exercise. Only very, very rarely, however, does it pull me into the narrative and have me questioning exactly these things. Searching for Petronius Totem has lived up to its literary purpose by forcing me to ask questions not only about life, but about the literary process itself, and this by being a whopper of a yarn and not merely an academic finger exercise.
As Jack travels on his road with Petronius Totem, and comes to his eventual realization of the importance of reality over all else, I am gently returned to my mundane quotidian existence, and can put down Unwin’s novel with a sense of deep satisfaction. Metafiction so rarely achieves this end. That Unwin is able to bring me into that world – flying mechanical chickens or no – is a gift, forged on the fire of the Human Condition, and handed to the reader, wrapped in print – and most certainly well worth the read.
A masterful novel that begins and ends by putting the reader in the middle of Everything Important.
"Two months after my marriage went into the crapper I took my wife's rotting Ford Sable and hit the road in search of Petronius Totem."
A sentence like that, however, is a written promise, and promises like that can either be kept, or they can be broken, but they can never be unwritten. Fortunately, Unwin mostly keeps his promise.
I say mostly because there are clauses in that promise that I never feel, as a reader, are fully delivered upon. We are told, straight up, that the protagonist’s marriage has failed recently, but we are never given a look at that marriage to see what went wrong. If we consider the meta-dedication at the front of the book, written in the voice of the protagonist, Jack, rather than the author, we have already been given a peek into Jack’s heart: he misses his wife and children and wants his wife to know he’s a changed man and that he truly loves her.
Meta-dedication. Much as the cover art blurs the distinction between author (Peter Unwin) and protagonist (Jack Vesoovian), the dedication also moves this way, as it is signed “Jack.” Wait a moment – what about the review blurb on the back – written by Petronius Totem himself: “Jack Vesoovian is the greatest Canadian author since Jane Austen….” Indeed: Searching for Petronius Totem is a work of metafiction. Peter Unwin, it seems, is a Deconstructionist. Suddenly I become aware as a reader that all the promises I have been expecting are either going to be broken, destroyed, or taken apart with literary tweezers. Only then do I fully understand that Unwin has, indeed, shown us why the protagonist’s marriage went into the crapper: Vesoovian is an (almost) thoroughly unlikable pretentious, self-conscious (and self-absorbed) rascal. If his life with Elaine were half as much as rocky as a typical day as portrayed throughout the narrative, any spouse would consider handing him his walking papers.
That a rocky day in the life of this slow burning disaster (the protagonist’s surname is “Vesoovian” – perhaps a play on the slow-burning match or the volcano that took out Pompeii – after all) includes flying mechanical chickens is only the half of it. The first sentence of the novel puts the reader where the reader should be, and then the rest of the novel knocks the reader about with wild abandon, at times leaving us smack in the middle of perhaps what can only be called Canada’s Naked Lunch. Whereas William S. Borroughs accidentally shot and killed his wife, Joan Vollmer, however, literary iconoclast Jack Vesoovian is (literally and literarily) taking bullets from his estranged wife as the chickens chase him about, all the while as he imagines himself a modern Jack Kerouac. (The name Kerouac is never thrown about amongst the literary allusions, but the parallels are sufficient to venture this interpretation. The first sentence of Kerouac's On the Road is: “I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.” Not to mention the boxes of first-edition Grove Press books graciously packed for him to take by his wife, Elaine.)
Once the reader is aware of the metafictional aspect of the work, it becomes easier to let contractual agreements and understandings slide. Instead of asking “Does the author (or narrator) really want me to suspend my disbelief and take these mechanical chickens and other conspiracies at face value?” I am led to ask “Does any author really want me to take any fictional (or otherwise) narrative at face value, and if so, why must I?”
This break from the contract then lets me ask other questions. Quite early into the novel, Jack is called “Joe” – and Ronald is called “Doug” – as if it does not matter. Jack, Joe, Doug, Ronald, what’s the difference? (Peter Unwin/Jack Vesoovian – what’s the difference?) Then, also early on, Jack is mistaken for Peter (Petronius Totem – not Unwin) by a rather unsavory antagonist. Suddenly, whether Jack is actually Jack matters as much as anything can matter in fiction. The slippery nature of identity becomes critical to Jack’s well-being. (Some of Peter’s first words to Jack are the telling: “Jack. The Jack? How the hell are you Jack? I thought you may have been someone else.”) That Jack is mistaken for Peter, and must insist that he is “Jack” (a name he calls the “shortest poem in the language”), is not an accident of the telling.
And because none of this play with names is an accident, and because Peter goes on to use the literary moniker “Petronius Totem” – I am almost allowed as the reader to ask: Does Petronius Totem exist? (Echoes of the absurd “existence exists” conversation between Jack and “Doug” from earlier on in the novel.) Was Jack mistaken for Peter because Jack is Peter? And now we have it: metafiction has played with me enough to ask an absurd question: “Does so-and-so really exist?” Of course not; this is a novel! None of these characters “exist” at all. “Existence exists” – nothing else. And still, here we are, reading along, asking questions like “does he really want me to believe these mechanical chickens are out to get him?” Does he (the author, Unwin, or the protagonist, Vesoovian) want me to believe that he’s not, in fact, Petronius Totem the whole time? That he’s actually engaged in an introspective (perhaps alcohol or drug assisted) search for self as he meanders along in an attempt to get his life enough in order that he can return to his wife and his children and his marriage….
That, in my view, is the apotheotic spark of this novel. Metafiction is an interesting exercise. Only very, very rarely, however, does it pull me into the narrative and have me questioning exactly these things. Searching for Petronius Totem has lived up to its literary purpose by forcing me to ask questions not only about life, but about the literary process itself, and this by being a whopper of a yarn and not merely an academic finger exercise.
As Jack travels on his road with Petronius Totem, and comes to his eventual realization of the importance of reality over all else, I am gently returned to my mundane quotidian existence, and can put down Unwin’s novel with a sense of deep satisfaction. Metafiction so rarely achieves this end. That Unwin is able to bring me into that world – flying mechanical chickens or no – is a gift, forged on the fire of the Human Condition, and handed to the reader, wrapped in print – and most certainly well worth the read.
A masterful novel that begins and ends by putting the reader in the middle of Everything Important.
June 18, 2017
I won this through Goodreads. It was mostly enjoyable, but in places it felt like I wasn't in on the joke.
August 2, 2017
I won this book as a give away on Goodreads. The book was not what I expected but that's not to say others may not enjoy. The book has parts where I laughed but others where I felt lost.
August 30, 2018
Stopped reading this. Life's too short.
June 9, 2018
A very quirky read. Enjoyed it immensely.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews