Aseroë

by François Dominique, Richard Sieburth (Translator), Howard Limoli (Translator)

Aseroë, the mushroom, as object of fascination. First observed in Tasmania and South Africa, it appeared suddenly in France around 1920. It is characterized by its stench and, at maturity, its grotesque beauty.

Aseroë, the word, as incantation. Can a word create a world? It does, here. François Dominique is a conjurer, who through verbal sorcery unleashes the full force of language, while evoking the essential rupture between the word and the object. An impossible endeavor, perhaps, but one at the very heart of literature.

The narrator of Aseroë wanders medieval streets and dense forests, portrait galleries, and rare bookshops. As he explores the frontiers of language, the boundaries of science, art, and alchemy melt away, and the mundane is overtaken by the bizarre. Inhabited by creatures born in darkness, both terrible and alluring, Aseroë is ultimately a meditation on memory and forgetting, creation, and oblivion.

Genres: Fiction, French Literature, France

176 pages, Paperback

First published March 1, 1992

Reviews

[♑︎♑︎♑︎ ♑︎♑︎♑︎ · Rating 5 out of 5]

I adored the experience of reading this novel. It's such a deeply sensory experience to read, and such a deep dive into a first-person voice that is incantatory and surreal, and maybe insane. For the most part I had no idea what was going on, and I didn't care.

I want other people to read this novel so I can ask them what they experienced while reading it. The back-cover copy promises "a meditation on memory and forgetting, creation, and oblivion," which sounds about right, but I'd add to that description a delicate powdering of "ecstatic revelation." It's the kind of book that compelled me to read it through in a "wow"-like stupor, and then, when I was done, I opened the pages at random to read solo sentences in isolation, because they were each so evocative and strange. It's tangentially about a big old smelly mushroom, by the way. And, it's sort of a love story. The mushroom is referred to with she/her pronouns and I hope she's okay with that. She communicates in ways more olfactory than verbal. If this were longer it might have become too challenging because there is just so much of "what is going on" I can take in my fiction but at 176 pages this was just right. I will quote a blurb from the back now, because for once the blurb is right: "A singular novel."

This is my third work of fiction published by Bellevue Literary Press and they are a new favorite. In each case the novel I read was like nothing I'd read before, and I was left grateful that Bellevue Literary Press took the leap of faith to bring these books into the world.

[Nathanimal · Rating 4 out of 5]

A great book to lose oneself when oneself is in the mood for getting lost. Lost among the etherial little filaments that bind art to experience, instance to abstraction, that seem to flourish in the presence of old paintings and books and poems (and, in this case, fungi). Not for everybody, of course, but most definitely for Borgeses and Sebalds. And thank you, F. Dominique, for introducing me to the Rilke poem that was the exact Rilke poem I needed at this moment. Extra points are always awarded for synchronicity.

[Christine · Rating 4 out of 5]

Disclaimer: I received an ARC of the English translation via a Librarything giveaway.

The one thing that most people remember from the story Orpheus is his inability not to look back. His death tends to be if not glossed over, then not widely discussed. He was ripped about. Which, when you think about it, speaks entirely to the power of music – it can move us in a variety of ways.

Orpheus features in this short novella that at first blush seems to be a man’s interest in mushrooms, but is really about art, writing, food, dance, and life.

The narrator of the novella, who may or may not be Dominque himself, starts with a mediation on mushrooms that will, at the very least make the reader never look at a mushroom the same way again. And when you think about mushrooms are pretty interesting, and the shapes are so interventive. If Dominique or his narrator is correct, then maybe mushrooms decide for themselves what their shapes are going to be.

The book is split into 12 (a complete number) chapters or sections that are only somewhat interconnected. It is better, though, to think of the book as a mediation.

It is chocked with references’ to artists and artwork, and for the most part the book syncs. The only exception is a brief sexual encounter, (but a book about creation without sex would have been too weird).

Perhaps the book isn’t about creation, but about beauty and what makes life beautiful. Not only that, but how it makes the mind work. We follow the narrator though parts of France and Europe as he hikes and studies art. His study and his observations increase the reader’s understanding and observations of art.

There is such beauty in this work, and the amount of time that you spend unraveling it, thinking about it, wondering about it, is worth it.

[jeremy · Rating 3 out of 5]

written in the late 1980s and published in its original french in 1992, françois dominique's aseroë (aséroé) is a slim, enigmatic little tale of time, memory, and the ambitious obsession with transcending language. dominique's novel has a bemusing, metaphysical, borgesian allure, but is perhaps too nebulous to cohere entirely. aseroë plays thoughtfully with some interesting ideas (and history), though overall the novel leaves one craving something more substantial.

the author-reader-witness-hero of this book invests its words with the power to speak for all time, unwilling to shy away from what the future promises or from the eventual circumstances of their own death. this absolute knowledge lies beyond reach, for the presumptuous reader would have to agree to read the same blank pages over and over without exhausting their emptiness; the reader would have to submit to the risk of a reading that was different on each occasion, until the reader's existence become one with the vanity of the book, which, ceasing at that point to provide satisfaction, would precipitate the reader's fall.

*translated from the french by richard sieburth & howard limoli

[J · Rating 3 out of 5]

A short, dark, intensely french sort of book.

Francois Dominique takes us into the mind of a wounded intellectual who has, in essence, an erotic obsession with a type of mushroom, and who wants to use that fixation to create a new language which merges the sign with the thing being signified (dear reader, I rolled my eyes too).

There are some freaked out, clever scenes and ruminations here. But honestly, this sort of witches brew of scientism, art history, Jean Luc Godard-style naval gazing...etc, has been done much better by a whole spate of writers and artists. A single page of a W.G. Sebald book contains more poise and intelligence than nearly all of Aseroë does.

If you're into those sorts of aesthetics, go for it. But this feels like a very minor-key execution of those ideas.

[Ariyana H · Rating 2 out of 5]

DNF at like halfway


When they say don’t judge a book by its cover, they mean it, cuz I thought it looked so cool, then I read it and I was like “hmmmmm nah”

Ok, it was cool and all, until the authors writing style got on my nerves. Personally just not my thing. Sometimes it felt like the author was purposely edging me. Like he was trying to prove a point, almost there, almost there here’s the point!… then the sentence ends and it felt pointless.
I tried to understand what this book as a whole was trying to accomplish, but it just seemed like a bunch of short stories that had no connection to one another, and I didn’t like any of them (except for the chapter about the guy in the coffee shop watching the little girl at her table).
Every now and then there were cool, philosophical quotes that gave me motivation to go on. But honestly this book isn’t interesting enough to get me to finish it.


Maybe I should’ve read the back of the book before I picked it up at the library… I JUST LIKED THE COVER OK

[Lindsey King · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very, very French.

[Jill · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a very pretty, intentionally language-drenched book, but the most interesting thing about it was when I googled what aseroes are. omg. Fungi are incredible, go do it, you might catch nightmares but you won't be sorry. And read this book too, I guess, idk. I may reread this in a few years; I don't think it was quite time for it.

[sophia · Rating 5 out of 5]

a meditation on art, living, and mushrooms.

ostensibly predicated on a quest to find a new mushroom species (i think), its really a semi autobiographical(i think) meandering around european woods, museums, and streets. maybe a collection of 12 short stories?

the translation is lush, delightfully french, peeking out through the english, and melodic. very sensorial descriptions, like a true dreamland.

aha! ive been searching for a good descriptor and i feel i have found one. ive never done mushrooms but i feel certain that this novella encapsulates the feeling of doing mushrooms. delightful! 🍄💭🌌

[Cindy · Rating 4 out of 5]

A mad and nameless mycologist narrates Aseroe, a strange and glorious story. His obsession with the mushroom aseroe leads him to forests, museums, cities and bookshops. Along the way he meditates on the relationship between language and reality and on the futility of a life spent living in one's mind rather than working for the benefit of society. Heartbreaking visions and illuminating dreams contribute to his madness-- or do they create supernatural epiphanies? This slim novel is a challenging, thought-provoking adventure, perfect for fans of Haruki Murakami and Franz Kafka.

[Abdii · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book feels like a Pink Floyd album smoking a Mastadon Album. It’s a weird and dissociative book that somehow manages to drive a plot that never ends.

[Theo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rating: 4 out of 5.
“Why hurl yourself into the abyss? There will be ample occasion for that when it comes to be your turn.”-Aseroë, François Dominique

Aseroë is a meandering story about binaries, or rather, about false and/or disintegrating binaries:

plant/animal
life/afterlife
remembering/forgetting
me/you

This theme is one that’s deeply resonant with me, as a nonbinary reader. I rarely see this concept explored so directly in literature, let alone in such a wholehearted, joyful way. I’m hesitant to call this a queer novel — this theme is never explicitly tied to gender or sexuality in the novel, and indeed the only sex described is presumably hetero — but I find nature and evolution meaningful lenses for understanding my own identity, and I enjoyed experiencing this vaguely trippy book from my queer perspective.

Aseroë took me slightly longer to read than expected because I kept finding myself compelled to pause and google images of various mushrooms. Indeed, the entire novel is full of references — to science and the natural world, to art, to literature, and more; many I knew, and many more I did not. This was not a problem; on the contrary, I felt like I was holding a treasure map, being invited to follow along. And following one step behind, always discovering, was a pleasure.

[Daze Woolley · Rating 2 out of 5]

this is probably more like a 2.5/3 star but I deeply resent the way I was hooked in with the promises of mushrooms/mycology and then after two chapters anything fungal disappears. Rude.

[Ruby Barrell · Rating 4 out of 5]

François a freak, I like that.

[Joanna · Rating 4 out of 5]

So it's about mushroom classification, and Rimabaud, and a book with no words, and...
It's quite a journey. It helps that François Dominique is an effortless polymath. The book is well written and nicely translated, if a little old fashioned in its use of idiom. It's also a little male gaze-y. All in all, though, it's an intriguing and unpredictable read.

[Marie-Josephe GROS · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am a dancer, but I like the fictions which open up my space. This one, strange and disturbing, makes me high....

[Farida · Rating 5 out of 5]

A true one-of-a-kind experience, reading this book.

[Caterina Pierre · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked up Aseroë by François Dominique in an independent bookstore in New York that carries very good French books in translation. I had no knowledge of the book or its author before the purchase. At a short 160-ish pages, I figured it would be an easy weekend read. It is entitled Aseroë: A Novel, but frankly a novel it is not. The narrator himself calls it a "series of ineffectual little tales," (p. 158), and while "ineffectual" isn't quite right, it is a book of 12 short chapters, all entitled "Aseroë," that are somewhat interesting as short little think-pieces on various subjects such as artworks or books.

The only time the actual Aseroë mushroom or fungus comes into play is in the first chapter, where the narrator (guess who: he's named François), starts off by discussing the discovery and attributes of this stinkhorn variant, a fungus that is repellent in odor but lovely to look at, and generally inedible because of its smell but not poisonous. "Aseroë" in Greek means "disgusting juice," and this fungus secretes some horrible liquid to attract flies and other insects.

The word "Aseroë" appears frequently in the other 11 stories, but without much explanation. In other words, if there was a connection between the stinky beauty and the story being told, I missed it. There are some really good chapters though, filled with poetic writing about individual people and objects, including number 2, which tries to tackle the last words of Rimbaud, which may have led his final confessor to go mad; number 3, where he meets a young girl who might be a clairvoyant; number 4 about the mad woman who can only bite her hand methodically after watching the SS kill her husband; number 5 about Giorgione's The Tempest; number 6 about Bellini's portrait of Caterina Cornaro (whom you would imagine was depicted as a stunning beauty after reading Dominque's ekphrasis of the portrait, but please, Google the painting and try to figure out what he's talking about); and number 9 about La Cena de le Ceneri (Ash Wednesday Supper) by Giordano Bruno.

I did not actually realize that the book was written in the 1980s until a scene where a small cafe or tabac is mentioned selling TV Guides. But in fact the collection of stories was first published in France in 1992, and was translated and published for the first time in English in 2020. What a job of translating this must have been, because even in English it is not easy to grasp what Dominique's point is throughout the whole of the collection. The original translator, Howard Limoli, died before he could finish translating it, and Richard Sieburth took over. Both translators are credited in the book. It's a good translation, but I still found it impossible to see its point. The characters are never developed (almost none of them are followed further past their original chapter in which they appear) and even François the narrator is difficult to imagine. The best I can figure is that here he is a slightly unstable mycologist, someone driven into bouts of writer's block, fear of death, and a desire to invent a language without words.

Having said this, though, the writing is very poetic, and it would be a good read if you're looking for something like short poetic stories with no real connecting narrative.

[Tram · Rating 3 out of 5]

What a weird and obsessive little book.

In Aseroë, François Dominique explores a mycologist’s obsession with aseroë (ancient Greek for “disgusting juice” and aptly so as the fungus secretes smell liquid to attract flies and other insects) mushrooms. These mushrooms are known for being slimy and stinky and for their otherworldly tentacle-like beauty. The book is divided into 12 short chapters, each titled "Aseroë," which function as little explorative vignettes on the mushroom at hand. We read as the narrator visits cafes, museums, and forests as he observes language, attraction, and life.

Look, this book has no plot, narrative cohesion, epiphanies, or real organization. The male narrator uses a lot of feminine personification in describing his obsession with the mushrooms. The narrator is also decidedly unstable and mediates on philosophy, death, writer’s block, and both the power and ineffectiveness of language. It’s all confusing and incoherent. Yet. I enjoyed this book.
Dominique spends the novel exploring the chasm between language and how effectively words can describe an object or concept. This book was a deeply sensory-filled experience with surreal imagery and references to classical art, the fascination with Orpheus, a clairvoyant child he encounters at a café, choreographer Hideyuki Yano, and more.

I don’t know. I love mushrooms, experimental writing, and reflective and obsessive prose, so this book worked for me. I read it at a time when I’m trying to get back into writing, and its mindfulness and contagious enthusiasm for a subject are inspiring me this week.

[Blue · Rating 3 out of 5]

Aseroë by François Dominique follow the narrator as he attempts to reach a plane of existence (or simply a plane of thought-existence) beyond language, through language and things that yield, or perhaps don't yield, easily to language. From the beguilingly strange fungus that gives the novella its title to a portrait that is embodied to an "idiot" girl who can read his mind, the narrator recounts twelve digressions/attempts that are loosely connected. Sometimes his observations are precise and rendered in beautiful language (the irony!) and sometimes the prose is overburdened by references to other works that may serve a purpose, but fail to create something entirely novel. As the narrator makes heady, philosophical forays into the depths of what language enables or takes away from being, the stories convulse between clarity and a sort of fugue. Overall, the effect is mesmerizing, yet, at times, confusing. Recommended for those who like paintings, Orpheus, wine, bistros, and, of course, mycology.

Thanks to the publisher and LibraryThing for a copy of the book in exchange for my honest opinion.

[Becky Robison · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked this novel up years ago at an independent bookstore in Punta Gorda, Florida, of all places. When I finally got around to reading it, I initially felt it was pretentious—but then it started growing on me, much like its namesake fungus. It’s something of an experimental text; I would say even its structure was evocative of fungi, and the fact that Sieburth finished Limoli’s translation after his death adds another spore-like layer. It is definitely a Book Written in the Twentieth Century by a Critically Lauded White Man, if you know what I mean. But I still enjoyed it.

This review was originally published on my blog.

[aries · Rating 3 out of 5]

to me, aseroe holds a classical feel despite being released in 2022 because it was a whole lot of ... nothing but also everything. françois reflections on language and memory feels profound but unreachable, at least to me in this read. I definitely believe this will be a book I reread in a few years in order to develop my interpretations and understandings.

[Teya Z · Rating 2 out of 5]

What an odd little book. The parts I understood I enjoyed. I felt like it was too “avant-Garde” to keep my attention. Maybe I’m too dumb...

Worth a read though. Would like to discuss this with a fellow reader:

[Lee Johns · Rating 2 out of 5]

I made it to page 50, realized i had no idea what it was about, and started over... i still have no idea what it's about. I like weird and impenetrable books, but this one was just a little too elusive for me.

[Isaac Lambert · Rating 4 out of 5]

weirdly beautiful. was awestruck at the beginning. then didn't know what was going on-- until some closure (???) at the end again. guess not smart enough (or French enough) to fully get, but gave me feels

[Cherie Tittel · Rating 1 out of 5]

Plodding, seemed to have promise but was too weird and full of biology jargon

[Sam · Rating 4 out of 5]

weirdchamp. pog, but weirdchamp

[Arden Hubbard · Rating 4 out of 5]

this is 1000% a book i could reread and have an entirely different experience each time, truly a work of art

[ken · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was a slim volume but boy was the content dense. Packed with allusions to art (The Ash Wednesday Supper, Giorgone's The Tempest among others) and most prominently, Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus, it seems inevitable, seeing as Aseroë is an inspection of the rupture between word and meaning.

In one section, in Antonio Brocardo's final letter to Giorgione, he says,

We are attached to signs that create a chain, binding man to man. And yet, it is only from the depths of our silence that we speak; it is only as solitaries that we come together as men. But are we yet sufficiently alone to be free? Life is such a small thing that one could easily withdraw into one's room in order to reinvent the world. Again and again we repeat the same signs with new images. Come on, my special friend, we so enjoy living that we shall find pleasure in it in the end: let's rediscover the delights of writing and of painting in quiet rooms. Our ultimate vanity. As if the only legitimate love were the love of absence.

Beautiful. In some ways, writing is just living twice.

And - okay. This also reminds me of that one part in Eurydice where Orpheus decries the idea of practice and, to summarize he says, "A bird sings because it's happy or sad, not because it wants to perfect its craft. If emotions are not spilling out of me, I don't want to sing."

Is anyone else sensing a pattern here? Why are all these Orphic myths suddenly everywhere in my reading life? I'm not mad at it, and it could also be possible that I haven't been paying that much attention.

A section of linkage: a scene in Aseroë discusses how Orpheus had a dog for a companion (and proceeded to wonder whether the dog could follow Orpheus into the underworld), and also narrating a story of when the narrator had a dog for a companion as well; this brought to mind Johnny Appleseed, and how there was a myth floating around that said he had a wolf companion at some point in his journey. It's not a big deal but my mind might be a little blown, that's all. I'm telling you - everything is connected; nothing is purely accidental. These books fell to my lap, one after the other, for some mythic reason.