Romulus was the founder of Rome; and those tossed outside the city-gate are not Romulus’s children but the cast-offs living in hovels, the Rumphulus. However, this isn’t ancient Rome, but rather the nature preserve of a contemporary American suburb. The outcasts don’t understand why they’ve been relegated to the woods. Nor do they know if they will ever summon the courage to cross the roads that act as a physical and psychological barrier to their reentry into conventional society. Daily they negotiate the harsh conditions of the wild and the dangerous presence of one another while they contemplate their exiles. That is until society comes for one of them. The Rumphulus have grown their beards long, and when they can no longer stand life they howl like wolves; only they are not wolves but the stranded city outcasts who howl in pain.
Joseph G. Peterson is the author of several works of fiction and poetry. He grew up in Wheeling, Illinois, received his B.A. from the University of Chicago, and his MA. from Roosevelt University. The Des Plaines River and the forest preserves surrounding it winds through the town of Wheeling, and through the imaginary territory of many of his books. He currently lives with his family in the Chicago neighborhood, Hyde Park, on the southern shore of Lake Michigan.
What a weird and wonderful book about outsider-ness within ourselves, our community, and our own country. And about how the world will render us all useless, men first. Kafka meets ancient Rome meets Satre meets Chicago. Great stuff!
Reading The Rumphulus is like falling into a river, and on the way downstream you find yourself sometimes meandering along, and at other times pulled forward by a slipstream, and at still other times caught in a repeating whirlpool of language and scene. The prose is repetitive, almost incantatory. Reading The Rumphulus was a singular experience, but if I were to place it in literary context I'd say the novel has a stream-of-consciousness feeling the reminded me of Gertrude Stein, plus an intellectual and formal structure reminiscent of Steven Dixon, plus a bleak fatalism that reminds me of Kafka. Thematically the novel is about men who have completely lost their usefulness in society, and know that about themselves...and honestly I found this aspect of the novel extremely refreshing, as I can't recall reading another novel by a man where men were so completely put in their place. Thanks you Joseph G. Peterson and University of Iowa Press for the opportunity to read this unique novel.
I remember the first time I consumed more than a meal; it was an actual dining experience. I had ordered a sausage plate, and four different types of sausage came with various sides. Like a fine wine with various cheeses, each side changed the sausage ingesting experience. At that moment, I realized that eating could be more than a sustenance activity; it could be enlightening. That’s what this book is to literature. It is more than a story; it is an experience.
Curiosity propelled me through this short novel. As I read, questions kept popping into my head: Is this an allegory? Is it about art and the artist? Is it about mental illness? What does it all mean? Is it a commentary about cancel culture? Consumerism? Sexism? Is it a commentary about existentialism and purpose? What is at the core of this book?
I love books that provoke more questions than answers. There is beauty in the birth of these questions, and even more gorgeousness when the questions infiltrate your psyche and haunt you long after reading. That is what this book did to me.
I’m not a huge fan of repetition, but the repetition in this novel built momentum, and I found myself eagerly jumping from one instance to the next, propelled by curiosity, wanting to know what changes awaited me in the next swirl of recurrence. The repetition was like a roller coaster of swirls. It was hypnotic in a way. I also believe that the repetition served a purpose; it called attention to the reader’s own need to find meaning in both the repetition and the novel itself. There is a meta component here. I found myself searching for the meaning of the book, and that search for meaning replicated the characters’ searches for the meaning in their rebuked lives, and the unsettling idea that, perhaps … there is no meaning.
What happens when society determines that a person has no value, no worth?
The characters in this novel find themselves in just such a position. As a consequence, they have been pushed to a forest preserve on the outskirts of town to survive off the land. And here we watch them scrape by, as they ponder the meaningless of their lives and the unknown reasons they were shunned.
There is a poetic, lyrical sweep to the language in this book. The writing is what I would call elliptical, in that it moves in loops that alternately swing back and the propel the story forward. It's repetitious in a way that makes the reader attuned to the subtlest shifts in language that then ripple outwards. I think I can best compare it to a Philip Glass composition. Though I also see a great deal of Beckett's Waiting for Godot here too. If those sound like heady comparisons, then, well, good. Because this is a hell of a book that'll leave you wanting to read it a second time right after you finish.
It may be tempting to see this book as a fable or as allegory. But the fact is, you don't have to look very far to see people like this. They live under bridges in tent-cities, and shanty-towns under overpasses. If you stop for a moment, as you go about your way, and listen, you can hear their howls of anguish and despair.
If you want to read something that you don't quite understand, where you talk about the forest indefinitely, getting out of it, living there, getting into it, the people who live there, their "professions", their "laws" and so on and then again and again, not even from a new angle, but just over and over again - then this is a short booklet for you.
I'm sorry but I just don't get it. I tried to find some deep metaphorical message within the book but no matter how hard I tried, I could not fathom why I was reading this and what it was trying to say. Firstly the writing style is hard. It's repetitive to the extreme. I actually thought it might be more enjoyable to count how many times the author used the word rebuked. The language is over the top and in my opinion, unnecessary. As for the story, well again I just didn't get it. From the blurb you'd be forgiven for thinking it was a story about a colony of people sent away. Some dystopian element and look at class and society. Instead it seems to be a man telling another man how much he loves the woods. The whole thing where he "escapes" is pointless. This is possibly the worst book I've read this year. Worse than the Wall and that was bad. The author has a wonderful vocal and language but as a book, it's missing the main thing, the story. I will not be reading any more by this author.
The cover of this book immediately draws the eye, the story synopsis is intriguing, the actual execution of the story, bewildering. This was a tough read for me. The story is in there and it's a fairly unique premise of exiles trying to sell everyone on the benefits of being exiles, but the writing style was such that I had to reread many sections to figure out what I was reading. Like the old saying....it's not you, it's me....many readers love the stories that they crawl into and block out the world so to understand and keep up with the author's imagination...just not me.
Funny, absurd, unconventional, and a real delight. If you like Samuel Beckett or Gertrude Stein or just want something that challenges expectations while still being a page-turner, check out this book.
Erudite without being elusive. Humorous without being over-the-top. Always literary, always enjoyable. I greatly enjoyed this satiric and smart book. Highly recommended!
I wish I had more to say about this because the cover and description had me interested. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is I found the style the book is written in to be too heavy on the rambling side. I've read other books or stories with a similar writing style which were much more forgiving. I understand why this book is like that but for an average everyday reader I feel that it's uninviting. When I look at a book I question whether it's something that's going to sell and I honestly don't feel that here. I have nothing to comment on the story.