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Shrike
Brett Stokes is already middle-aged and yet feels that his life has not begun. In an attempt to make sense of his existence he travels to the provincial town of Ôtani in Japan, hoping that, through his writing, he will obtain the insight that he lacks. But in Japan it is late autumn and, closeted within the garden of the lately widowed Mrs Kunisada, Stokes finds the motley
collection of arboreal reds and yellows working upon his imagination, until reality itself becomes spectral.
As the strange season unfolds, and Stokes meditates upon the meaning of life, death and literature, the
power of the Shrike gradually takes centre-stage.
In this startling novella Quentin S. Crisp fuses delicacy with darkness and pathos with terror, creating
a blend of Japanese and English literature that is as deeply moving as it is unique.
collection of arboreal reds and yellows working upon his imagination, until reality itself becomes spectral.
As the strange season unfolds, and Stokes meditates upon the meaning of life, death and literature, the
power of the Shrike gradually takes centre-stage.
In this startling novella Quentin S. Crisp fuses delicacy with darkness and pathos with terror, creating
a blend of Japanese and English literature that is as deeply moving as it is unique.
- GenresFiction
112 pages, Hardcover
First published February 1, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
February 1, 2009
The shrike is a bird that impales its prey upon thorns. This book concerns Brett, a would-be writer in his mid-thirties who travels to Japan after a relationship fails and becomes obsessed with the idea that there's a shrike in the garden.
I'm a bit torn with this book. It's very well-written, there is some fascinating discussion of Japanese literature, there are lots of lovely details, and the central relationship, between Brett and an elderly widow, is fascinating, touching and unusual. It's a fine piece of writing. However, Brett himself is spectacularly annoying and self-obsessed, the type of man you wouldn't want to sit near in a coffee shop, let alone read about for a couple of hours, the type who talks endlessly about what he's going to do and all the trials he must go through to do them, but who never actually does anything at all. He's a huge drama queen, basically.
That's not necessarily a flaw: great books are written all the time about people much worse than Brett, but it does feel at times as if the book is on his side. A long time ago I read a bit of Barthes, and I did understand the point that the author's intentions shouldn't make a difference to our interpretation of the text of the book. Nevertheless, knowing the author's intentions would have made a big difference to my feelings about Shrike.
If it was meant as a satire (or even just an unsympathetic portrait) of a particular type of self-obsessed and obsessive man, then I loved it; it was absolutely spot on. The astonishing 5,000-word dream sequence (in a book of just 37,000 words) supports the idea that you shouldn't take this entirely seriously, for one thing. (It arrived at just the right time, too, just as the book was becoming almost unbearably maudlin.) And I found the book laugh-out-loud funny in other places, though I don't know if it was supposed to be. For example, in one crucial passage we read:
"Brett eyed the thicket curiously, as if for the hidden shrike. 'Shrike,' he said quietly, now looking about himself. 'Shrike? Where are you, Shrike? Shrike . . . I think you’re a god.'"
On the other hand, if this book's meant as a serious portrayal of a tortured artist, I'd say it was all rather silly and overwrought - but then I felt the same way about Notes from the Underground and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. There are some comments about praying, at least, that seem to be meant seriously:
"And those who did not pray? It was none of his business, of course, but it seemed to him that they must be like people who imagine they are watched every moment of their lives, and so cannot relax their guard at any point and do anything so embarrassing as ... praying. They lived in fear of defeat by a non-existent observer - a strange attitude for those who protested more than most that there was no ultimate observer ..."
The narrator takes atheism to be a pose, rather than an honestly held belief (or an honestly held lack of belief, I should say). But then Brett is a terrible poseur, and poseurs do tend to assume that everyone else is playing the same game. It would be a naive mistake to assume that every author shares the opinions of his or her narrator, but in passages like this (and I’m aware of not being able to articulate this very well) I didn’t feel any tension between the narrator and the author. It felt that the book was with Brett on that point, that this was a chunk of wisdom dropped into the text like the educational bits on Japanese literature.
So, for the time being, my opinion of the book is in the box with Schrodinger’s Cat: I both liked and disliked it. Whatever happens when that box is opened, Shrike is undeniably a stimulating and provoking piece of writing. The critical consensus will almost certainly be that this is a very good book indeed; it just didn’t quite do it for me.
I'm a bit torn with this book. It's very well-written, there is some fascinating discussion of Japanese literature, there are lots of lovely details, and the central relationship, between Brett and an elderly widow, is fascinating, touching and unusual. It's a fine piece of writing. However, Brett himself is spectacularly annoying and self-obsessed, the type of man you wouldn't want to sit near in a coffee shop, let alone read about for a couple of hours, the type who talks endlessly about what he's going to do and all the trials he must go through to do them, but who never actually does anything at all. He's a huge drama queen, basically.
That's not necessarily a flaw: great books are written all the time about people much worse than Brett, but it does feel at times as if the book is on his side. A long time ago I read a bit of Barthes, and I did understand the point that the author's intentions shouldn't make a difference to our interpretation of the text of the book. Nevertheless, knowing the author's intentions would have made a big difference to my feelings about Shrike.
If it was meant as a satire (or even just an unsympathetic portrait) of a particular type of self-obsessed and obsessive man, then I loved it; it was absolutely spot on. The astonishing 5,000-word dream sequence (in a book of just 37,000 words) supports the idea that you shouldn't take this entirely seriously, for one thing. (It arrived at just the right time, too, just as the book was becoming almost unbearably maudlin.) And I found the book laugh-out-loud funny in other places, though I don't know if it was supposed to be. For example, in one crucial passage we read:
"Brett eyed the thicket curiously, as if for the hidden shrike. 'Shrike,' he said quietly, now looking about himself. 'Shrike? Where are you, Shrike? Shrike . . . I think you’re a god.'"
On the other hand, if this book's meant as a serious portrayal of a tortured artist, I'd say it was all rather silly and overwrought - but then I felt the same way about Notes from the Underground and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. There are some comments about praying, at least, that seem to be meant seriously:
"And those who did not pray? It was none of his business, of course, but it seemed to him that they must be like people who imagine they are watched every moment of their lives, and so cannot relax their guard at any point and do anything so embarrassing as ... praying. They lived in fear of defeat by a non-existent observer - a strange attitude for those who protested more than most that there was no ultimate observer ..."
The narrator takes atheism to be a pose, rather than an honestly held belief (or an honestly held lack of belief, I should say). But then Brett is a terrible poseur, and poseurs do tend to assume that everyone else is playing the same game. It would be a naive mistake to assume that every author shares the opinions of his or her narrator, but in passages like this (and I’m aware of not being able to articulate this very well) I didn’t feel any tension between the narrator and the author. It felt that the book was with Brett on that point, that this was a chunk of wisdom dropped into the text like the educational bits on Japanese literature.
So, for the time being, my opinion of the book is in the box with Schrodinger’s Cat: I both liked and disliked it. Whatever happens when that box is opened, Shrike is undeniably a stimulating and provoking piece of writing. The critical consensus will almost certainly be that this is a very good book indeed; it just didn’t quite do it for me.
December 20, 2023
Like Dante lost in the dark wood, the straight way lost, Brett Stokes has reached a kind of existential impasse in his life and takes a month-long break in Japan. The book follows his leisurely month spent with the recently widowed Mrs Kunisada.
To outward appearances, all is as tranquil as Mrs Kunisada’s well-kept garden. But psychologically Brett is in turmoil, struggling with a deep melancholy generated by a disappointment with his safe, uneventful life. He contemplates his existence, questioning his motives and the reality of his life. This inner turmoil manifests itself as a shrike, an elusive bird that leaves its prey grotesquely impaled on thorn bushes in the garden, like little sacrifices, and the narrative is pushed into mythic and metaphysical realms.
“It was an invisible presence that manifested itself as a skewered lizard or a skewered toad, in the same way a god might manifest itself as a burning bush, a swan, or a human child.”
An exquisitely crafted novella - beautifully written with a poetic naturalism coupled with an intense psychological interiority.
More Quentin S. Crisp reviews at kulchurkat.uk
To outward appearances, all is as tranquil as Mrs Kunisada’s well-kept garden. But psychologically Brett is in turmoil, struggling with a deep melancholy generated by a disappointment with his safe, uneventful life. He contemplates his existence, questioning his motives and the reality of his life. This inner turmoil manifests itself as a shrike, an elusive bird that leaves its prey grotesquely impaled on thorn bushes in the garden, like little sacrifices, and the narrative is pushed into mythic and metaphysical realms.
“It was an invisible presence that manifested itself as a skewered lizard or a skewered toad, in the same way a god might manifest itself as a burning bush, a swan, or a human child.”
An exquisitely crafted novella - beautifully written with a poetic naturalism coupled with an intense psychological interiority.
More Quentin S. Crisp reviews at kulchurkat.uk
August 8, 2011
An excellent novella though, as with much of Quentin S. Crisp's work, probably not for everybody. A very arresting take on the Japanese tradition of the I-Novel, which is referenced in the narrative. The I-Novel being a work in which nothing happens in the sense we usually understand in Western literature; an I-Novel being a mode in which a period of life is realsitically recorded by the writer.
In Shrike, we simply observe a would-be writer in his mid-thirties as he spends a month's holiday with Japanese widower, Mrs Kunisada. Under the surface though is where the 'action' takes place. We follow Brett's meanderings as he seeks some kind of spiritual reconciliation with the world. The counterpoint of his internal struggling is found in the shrike, a bird that impales its prey on thorns and out-cropping branches. The appearance of this creature is taken as an omen by Brett that triggers a superb dream sequence in an underworld that fuses differing aspects of world mythology with bathetic humour to stunning effect.
Tayama Katai's Futon is referenced by Brett in the narrative and I feel sure that Brett's actions at the climax of Shrike take some inspiration from there as they leave us with a distinctly different understanding of the protagonist than we might have cultivated up until that point.
This is the I-Novel re-interpreted through a disturbing and fascinating filter as we experience life according to the standards of Brett. Recommended for those who like their literature flavoured with the oddball and the strange.
In Shrike, we simply observe a would-be writer in his mid-thirties as he spends a month's holiday with Japanese widower, Mrs Kunisada. Under the surface though is where the 'action' takes place. We follow Brett's meanderings as he seeks some kind of spiritual reconciliation with the world. The counterpoint of his internal struggling is found in the shrike, a bird that impales its prey on thorns and out-cropping branches. The appearance of this creature is taken as an omen by Brett that triggers a superb dream sequence in an underworld that fuses differing aspects of world mythology with bathetic humour to stunning effect.
Tayama Katai's Futon is referenced by Brett in the narrative and I feel sure that Brett's actions at the climax of Shrike take some inspiration from there as they leave us with a distinctly different understanding of the protagonist than we might have cultivated up until that point.
This is the I-Novel re-interpreted through a disturbing and fascinating filter as we experience life according to the standards of Brett. Recommended for those who like their literature flavoured with the oddball and the strange.
September 22, 2014
What can I say about Crisp? The man has a real way with words. This novella had been sitting on my shelf for such a long time, now I'm kicking myself for not having devoured it sooner. Especially as I had enjoyed Morbid Tales so very much.
Existentialism and self-loathing, and birds.
Crisps descriptions of Japan are amongst the most exciting, yet relaxing and poetic, I have ever read.
Read everything that this man has put to paper. I'm serious.
Existentialism and self-loathing, and birds.
Crisps descriptions of Japan are amongst the most exciting, yet relaxing and poetic, I have ever read.
Read everything that this man has put to paper. I'm serious.
January 17, 2021
And this finishes TS Eliot’s still moment of time (as well as Larkin’s moment with toads) perfectly: the discovery that the narrator of HP Lovecraft’s ‘The Outsider’ (the first story I read of his and that started me on the long literary audit-trail till now) found at the end of that story. All works of good literature can make each reader take it personally at depth, often allowing millions of readers to have their own personal and quite different takes, and ‘Shrike’ is one of those works.
The detailed review of this book posted elsewhere under my name is too long or impractical to post here.
Above is one of its observations at the time of the review.
The detailed review of this book posted elsewhere under my name is too long or impractical to post here.
Above is one of its observations at the time of the review.
June 22, 2024
An exceptionally well-written novella in which nothing happens, but everything happens.
Brett Stokes is having a midlife crisis and returns to Otani, Japan--to the family that sponsored him as a foreign exchange student during his college years. In the tranquility of the Kunisada garden, he examines his passionless existence: from his failure to write anything worthwhile to his inability to love or not love Heather (his latest ex). But it is the presence of a shrike in the garden that takes center stage in Brett's mind as he tries to come to terms with who he is and can become.
I first read this novella in 2009, but I wasn't really receptive to its intimations at the time; however, I did keep it when the time came to downsize my library. And it did get me to read Tayama Katai's Futon (The Quilt)--the scandalous naturalistic I-novel (of which Shrike is a brilliant modern take on). I thought it didn't stand on its own and was too dependent on Katai's work to give meaning to itself.
But on a second reading, the references to Katai became exemplary of the "sterile intellectualism" Stokes decries and took backstage to the relationship between Stokes and Mrs. Kunisada and the image of the shrike, first in its victims and finally in its actual form.
And I honestly did not remember the dream sequence that is the centerpiece of this work, which made this go-around a brand new experience for me.
Leisurely-paced, yet horifyingly intense, Shrike will not be to everyone's taste, but it is one of a kind read and has me looking forward to my next Crisp excursion.
Now...to try to find that Crisp story about the magic prawn.
Brett Stokes is having a midlife crisis and returns to Otani, Japan--to the family that sponsored him as a foreign exchange student during his college years. In the tranquility of the Kunisada garden, he examines his passionless existence: from his failure to write anything worthwhile to his inability to love or not love Heather (his latest ex). But it is the presence of a shrike in the garden that takes center stage in Brett's mind as he tries to come to terms with who he is and can become.
I first read this novella in 2009, but I wasn't really receptive to its intimations at the time; however, I did keep it when the time came to downsize my library. And it did get me to read Tayama Katai's Futon (The Quilt)--the scandalous naturalistic I-novel (of which Shrike is a brilliant modern take on). I thought it didn't stand on its own and was too dependent on Katai's work to give meaning to itself.
But on a second reading, the references to Katai became exemplary of the "sterile intellectualism" Stokes decries and took backstage to the relationship between Stokes and Mrs. Kunisada and the image of the shrike, first in its victims and finally in its actual form.
And I honestly did not remember the dream sequence that is the centerpiece of this work, which made this go-around a brand new experience for me.
Leisurely-paced, yet horifyingly intense, Shrike will not be to everyone's taste, but it is one of a kind read and has me looking forward to my next Crisp excursion.
Now...to try to find that Crisp story about the magic prawn.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews