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A History of the Imagination
A History of the Imagination is a postmodern tale of adventure that reshapes the parameters of time and space, thought and action. In a metaphorical Africa, replete with nostalgia (but no dimensions), anything can happen and usually does. The narrator defends his magical departures, saying his is a history of possibilities, where fiction is "no less real for [it's] being so." But when Darwin's corpse begins to lust after Colette and the African porters go on strike because the author hasn't acknowledged the important role they play, we are left to wonder: just how far is reality from dreams?
Norman Lock juxtaposes remote times and places, historical facts and literary fictions, to create an absurdist collage reminiscent of Guy Davenport and Donald Barthelme. In this world it is not impossible to sail from Mombasa to Cinncinati, or to set out from the City of Radiant Objects, where "things are free of the obligation to signify," or to go hunting icebergs in a quest to avenge the Titanic at last. Borne aloft by Wilbur Wright, Jules Verne, Ziegfield, and Houdini, we find ourselves lost again in a "seam in the world...between History and Imagination."
Norman Lock juxtaposes remote times and places, historical facts and literary fictions, to create an absurdist collage reminiscent of Guy Davenport and Donald Barthelme. In this world it is not impossible to sail from Mombasa to Cinncinati, or to set out from the City of Radiant Objects, where "things are free of the obligation to signify," or to go hunting icebergs in a quest to avenge the Titanic at last. Borne aloft by Wilbur Wright, Jules Verne, Ziegfield, and Houdini, we find ourselves lost again in a "seam in the world...between History and Imagination."
- GenresLiterature
256 pages, Paperback
First published August 28, 2004
44 people want to read
About the author
Norman Lock
45 books41 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name.
Norman Lock has written novels, short fiction, and poetry as well as stage plays, dramas for German radio, a film for The American Film Institute, and scenarios for video-art installations. His plays have been produced in the U.S., Germany, at the Edinburgh Theatre Festival, and in Turkey. His work has been translated into Dutch, German, Spanish, Turkish, and Japanese.
He received the Aga Kahn Prize, given by The Paris Review, the Literary Fiction Prize, given by The Dactyl Foundation of the Arts & Humanities, fellowships from the New Jersey Council on the Arts, the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts, and from the National Endowment for the Arts. (source: http://www.normanlock.com/)
Norman Lock has written novels, short fiction, and poetry as well as stage plays, dramas for German radio, a film for The American Film Institute, and scenarios for video-art installations. His plays have been produced in the U.S., Germany, at the Edinburgh Theatre Festival, and in Turkey. His work has been translated into Dutch, German, Spanish, Turkish, and Japanese.
He received the Aga Kahn Prize, given by The Paris Review, the Literary Fiction Prize, given by The Dactyl Foundation of the Arts & Humanities, fellowships from the New Jersey Council on the Arts, the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts, and from the National Endowment for the Arts. (source: http://www.normanlock.com/)
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
October 16, 2007
The opening chapter on the visitation by apes in dreams sets the stage for other surreal visitations by prominent historical characters of the 20th century. One by one, Lock reveals these histories—he pulls them from the recesses of our collective unconscious from a time when this world was malleable. The stars that Lock invites into his stories (or his histories) all share one thing in common: they have all changed our perception of accepted notions or norms. Einstein changed our perception of the universe, Edison shed light on our nocturnal world, Freud altered the understanding of our own unconscious minds and the Wright Brothers changed our perception of travel, time and our geographical place in the world.
If you are willing to come along for the ride, you will partake in journeys into space and time that are not even technically feasible but still take place if your mind is open to it. In “Longing for Africa” N travels with Wilbur Wright from Africa to Ohio. They flew “entirely by unscientific means, which cannot be duplicated"— just like conventional knowledge of physics and aerodynamics tells us that the bumblebee can’t fly, yet the fact is bumblebees fly. So there is no reason we can’t accept this flight as plausible, even though it was before its time. To Gustave Eiffel, “the aerodynamics of dreams is perfect. The dreamer ascends without wings, without any other means of propulsion other than his own wish to escape earth, which is a grave.” Locks’ Eiffel wants to express this principle of the aerodynamics of dream to the Wright brothers, “so that they can leave history and become myth." In “Hunting Icebergs” the mode of transportation is a submarine that submerges in a lake in the interior of Africa and emerges in the North Atlantic, which is as sublime of an image as the intentions of their journey: to hunt homicidal icebergs. In another story, travel takes place by steamship in the heart of Africa, into the heart of darkness. For N, “travel had become a thought". For the reader, the induced thoughts become travel.
The canvas of historical Africa is the underlying firmament that holds it all together. Africa, or Prince Kong, represents that which we came from. Kong is to night, what modern man is to day. Lock’s Africa is to dreams, what the here and now is to the waking hours. Kong is the potent history of possibilities of which the 20th century man is the realization. "Mine is a history of possibilities..." claims N, to which a fictional H.G. Wells rebuts, "They are fictions!" And N answers, "But no less real for being so." (At which point this distraction in their hunt for icebergs turns into a physical fight over the same Mrs. Willoughby from the first chapter, and N pushes Wells over the side of the ship—demonstrating the power of sheer will over history, or mind over the matter of the Dark Continent.
Where the book really works its magic, much like a fairy tale, is not in the density of rich metaphysical knowledge packed within the pages, but the witty and engaging manner in which it is spun. If you are in no mood to plunge the depths with a grappling hook, then you can skim what you want off the top. It is a perfectly choreographed symphony that even if you can’t comprehend everything it means metaphysically, you can still enjoy the language of the music for what it is.
If you are willing to come along for the ride, you will partake in journeys into space and time that are not even technically feasible but still take place if your mind is open to it. In “Longing for Africa” N travels with Wilbur Wright from Africa to Ohio. They flew “entirely by unscientific means, which cannot be duplicated"— just like conventional knowledge of physics and aerodynamics tells us that the bumblebee can’t fly, yet the fact is bumblebees fly. So there is no reason we can’t accept this flight as plausible, even though it was before its time. To Gustave Eiffel, “the aerodynamics of dreams is perfect. The dreamer ascends without wings, without any other means of propulsion other than his own wish to escape earth, which is a grave.” Locks’ Eiffel wants to express this principle of the aerodynamics of dream to the Wright brothers, “so that they can leave history and become myth." In “Hunting Icebergs” the mode of transportation is a submarine that submerges in a lake in the interior of Africa and emerges in the North Atlantic, which is as sublime of an image as the intentions of their journey: to hunt homicidal icebergs. In another story, travel takes place by steamship in the heart of Africa, into the heart of darkness. For N, “travel had become a thought". For the reader, the induced thoughts become travel.
The canvas of historical Africa is the underlying firmament that holds it all together. Africa, or Prince Kong, represents that which we came from. Kong is to night, what modern man is to day. Lock’s Africa is to dreams, what the here and now is to the waking hours. Kong is the potent history of possibilities of which the 20th century man is the realization. "Mine is a history of possibilities..." claims N, to which a fictional H.G. Wells rebuts, "They are fictions!" And N answers, "But no less real for being so." (At which point this distraction in their hunt for icebergs turns into a physical fight over the same Mrs. Willoughby from the first chapter, and N pushes Wells over the side of the ship—demonstrating the power of sheer will over history, or mind over the matter of the Dark Continent.
Where the book really works its magic, much like a fairy tale, is not in the density of rich metaphysical knowledge packed within the pages, but the witty and engaging manner in which it is spun. If you are in no mood to plunge the depths with a grappling hook, then you can skim what you want off the top. It is a perfectly choreographed symphony that even if you can’t comprehend everything it means metaphysically, you can still enjoy the language of the music for what it is.
June 5, 2009
This book was a gift from a friend who knows exactly what I like: characters from fin-de-siecle history, daydreams, Africa as an Idea, subjugation as a reality, a dedication to Gordon Lish... I could go on. This book has it all. In fact, when he first gave it to me, I was actually pretty pissed, because I'm trying to write a story that, on the surface, is extremely similar.
Fortunately, aside from the specifics, this book wasn't anything like what I'm writing. It was a little too wistful, a little too comedic, a little too light-weight... The characters were mostly two-dimensional pastiche, and while that's fine for some kinds of novels, the kind that this is should've (it seems to me) been populated with people a little more concrete. I realize that it's an exercise of whimsy, but...I don't know.
These are off-the-cuff impressions, and I'm probably judging this harsher than I normally would because it's so close to exactly what I want to read that when it misses, I feel far more disappointed than if it had just been full of random ideas I don't already have much invested in. So, on the one hand, I can't tell if it was written well or not; on the other hand, I didn't care.
Fortunately, aside from the specifics, this book wasn't anything like what I'm writing. It was a little too wistful, a little too comedic, a little too light-weight... The characters were mostly two-dimensional pastiche, and while that's fine for some kinds of novels, the kind that this is should've (it seems to me) been populated with people a little more concrete. I realize that it's an exercise of whimsy, but...I don't know.
These are off-the-cuff impressions, and I'm probably judging this harsher than I normally would because it's so close to exactly what I want to read that when it misses, I feel far more disappointed than if it had just been full of random ideas I don't already have much invested in. So, on the one hand, I can't tell if it was written well or not; on the other hand, I didn't care.
October 21, 2010
3/4 of the way through this book, I was thinking that the experience of reading it was wholly satisfying on the one hand, and mildly unsatisfying on the other. I was loving it, but also found that I wanted it to be *filled*--like I was reading a hollow story...a truly delightful and imaginative shell.... It reminded me of the works of Kenneth Koch, only missing that surprise of a soul within.
And then I got to the final chapters. And the soul peeked out, and I realized it was there all along, but was being actively pushed down, deeeeep under the words, allowed to pop its head up for brief phrases but that's all. And then I got to the final chapter. And that was ALL soul.
Maybe I just projected onto it what I wanted...I'm sure it helped that the finale involved an empty stage (my actor heart went pitty-pat:). But what had seemed like a delightfully absurd yet disconnected romp for many pages suddenly came together in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Which is o.k. by me.
I bought this book because it was $1.50 at McKay's and had an interesting title and cover. It is absolutely the best $1.50 I have ever spent:).
* * * * * * * *
"We live our lives by accident."
And then I got to the final chapters. And the soul peeked out, and I realized it was there all along, but was being actively pushed down, deeeeep under the words, allowed to pop its head up for brief phrases but that's all. And then I got to the final chapter. And that was ALL soul.
Maybe I just projected onto it what I wanted...I'm sure it helped that the finale involved an empty stage (my actor heart went pitty-pat:). But what had seemed like a delightfully absurd yet disconnected romp for many pages suddenly came together in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Which is o.k. by me.
I bought this book because it was $1.50 at McKay's and had an interesting title and cover. It is absolutely the best $1.50 I have ever spent:).
* * * * * * * *
"We live our lives by accident."
November 29, 2009
Absinthe and apemen. Need I say more?
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews