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Spanielit
Kaikki oli kylmää ja luontaantyötävää.
Matkalla grillille sana "kuolema" putkahti esiin, ilman erityistä syytä, kuin alkoholi olisi liuottanut sitä illan mittaan irti kiinnikkeistään.
Kaikesta serotiinista puhdistettu musta kiiltelevä kuolema.
Hän seisahtui grillijonon perälle miettien ketä mihinkin ampuisi.
Edessä seisoskeleva naispari kääntyi hänen puoleensa tulta kysyen.
Hän tarjosi sytyttimen.
He keskustelivat illan kulusta kylmästä täristen.
Mies ketoi asuvansa viereisessä korttelissa.
Hänellä oli juotavaa.
Naiset innostuivat.
Matkalla grillille sana "kuolema" putkahti esiin, ilman erityistä syytä, kuin alkoholi olisi liuottanut sitä illan mittaan irti kiinnikkeistään.
Kaikesta serotiinista puhdistettu musta kiiltelevä kuolema.
Hän seisahtui grillijonon perälle miettien ketä mihinkin ampuisi.
Edessä seisoskeleva naispari kääntyi hänen puoleensa tulta kysyen.
Hän tarjosi sytyttimen.
He keskustelivat illan kulusta kylmästä täristen.
Mies ketoi asuvansa viereisessä korttelissa.
Hänellä oli juotavaa.
Naiset innostuivat.
68 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2021
23 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
January 25, 2024
Jukka Siikala is primarily known as a visual artist. Throughout the years, he's done cover art mostly for black metal and power electronics artists. His work is wide-ranging, covering painting, collage, photography, music, and video. Spaniels, as far as I can tell, is his first work of fiction. The first few pages even includes some photographs by Siikala that capture the mood of the text.
This slim novella follows several days in the life of an unnamed man. He goes to the movies, hangs out with friends, goes on vacation, fails to get laid, fails to masturbate, and indulges in violent and perverted fantasies. He meets a woman at a flea market who he develops a fixation (it feels wrong to call it a "crush") on and fails to make a real connection with her.
The novella reminded me a lot of Michel Houellebecq. It's a bleak portrayal of masculinity in the modern world. The man, as the book calls him, is completely alienated from everyone around him. He believes himself to be unattractive and can't connect romantically or sexually with women, substituting with fantasy and pornography. His relationship with his friends is indifferent at best and antagonistic at worst. There are also moments of great dark humor, such as the man creating a rift with his aunt while fixing her computer because he accidently leaves behind a flash drive with porn videos on it
The deeper glimpses into the man's life reveal an even bleaker picture. At one point, he visits his father, only to find he's a drunk, non-verbal stupor and there's little he can do. One of the first things the man thinks about is how, years ago, a friend of his called his face "dog-like" and that he would never get a woman with it. This insult haunts him. The title comes from the man envisioning his superego as the face of a Spaniel dog; a whiney, submissive thing.
The man spends time with friends of dubious character, but seems to have no one else to go to. At one point he hangs out with another man who he describes as being so openly sexist, he's surprised women don't just immediately beat him with their purses. He insists on talking about immigration and how horrible Muslim men are to women.
The book switches from third to first person when the man indulges in his fantasies, usually of a violent nature. These often involve graphically murdering people in public for perceived slights and sometimes for no reason at all. At one point, he even replays a fantasy of beating two young men with how it would probably really go, ending with him bleeding on the floor.
At one point, the man sees a woman working in a flea market and is instantly attracted to her. His admiration of her is not at all subtle, and after to returning to see her again, it becomes obvious what he's doing. He does manage to strike a conversation with her when he offers to help with a printer the store is having trouble with. While the narrative doesn't state so, it's very likely this doesn't go anywhere.
The entire final chapter of the book is one of the man's fantasies. It's an almost pornographic description of an encounter with the woman at the flea market in the store's bathroom. However, the unrealistic fantasy is accompanied by the man nearly failing to have the encounter due to his own hesitation. It even ends on a sour note of the man's climax being ruined when her gaze reminds him of a Spaniel.
Spaniels is a dark, often funny, and often depressing look at modern life. It examines desire and how one is forced to navigate it with frustrating and unsatisfying results. Much like Siikala's other art, it's not for everyone, but it's a rewarding experience.
This slim novella follows several days in the life of an unnamed man. He goes to the movies, hangs out with friends, goes on vacation, fails to get laid, fails to masturbate, and indulges in violent and perverted fantasies. He meets a woman at a flea market who he develops a fixation (it feels wrong to call it a "crush") on and fails to make a real connection with her.
The novella reminded me a lot of Michel Houellebecq. It's a bleak portrayal of masculinity in the modern world. The man, as the book calls him, is completely alienated from everyone around him. He believes himself to be unattractive and can't connect romantically or sexually with women, substituting with fantasy and pornography. His relationship with his friends is indifferent at best and antagonistic at worst. There are also moments of great dark humor, such as the man creating a rift with his aunt while fixing her computer because he accidently leaves behind a flash drive with porn videos on it
The deeper glimpses into the man's life reveal an even bleaker picture. At one point, he visits his father, only to find he's a drunk, non-verbal stupor and there's little he can do. One of the first things the man thinks about is how, years ago, a friend of his called his face "dog-like" and that he would never get a woman with it. This insult haunts him. The title comes from the man envisioning his superego as the face of a Spaniel dog; a whiney, submissive thing.
The man spends time with friends of dubious character, but seems to have no one else to go to. At one point he hangs out with another man who he describes as being so openly sexist, he's surprised women don't just immediately beat him with their purses. He insists on talking about immigration and how horrible Muslim men are to women.
The book switches from third to first person when the man indulges in his fantasies, usually of a violent nature. These often involve graphically murdering people in public for perceived slights and sometimes for no reason at all. At one point, he even replays a fantasy of beating two young men with how it would probably really go, ending with him bleeding on the floor.
At one point, the man sees a woman working in a flea market and is instantly attracted to her. His admiration of her is not at all subtle, and after to returning to see her again, it becomes obvious what he's doing. He does manage to strike a conversation with her when he offers to help with a printer the store is having trouble with. While the narrative doesn't state so, it's very likely this doesn't go anywhere.
The entire final chapter of the book is one of the man's fantasies. It's an almost pornographic description of an encounter with the woman at the flea market in the store's bathroom. However, the unrealistic fantasy is accompanied by the man nearly failing to have the encounter due to his own hesitation. It even ends on a sour note of the man's climax being ruined when her gaze reminds him of a Spaniel.
Spaniels is a dark, often funny, and often depressing look at modern life. It examines desire and how one is forced to navigate it with frustrating and unsatisfying results. Much like Siikala's other art, it's not for everyone, but it's a rewarding experience.
May 16, 2022
Ah, the dissolute life—income and food insecurity, self-destructive turns at overindulgence in drugs and/or alcohol, and bouts of debased sex with anonymous persons of uncertain hygiene. One difference between Orwell’s down-and-out and Bukowski’s boarding house blues is the availability of internet porn, which seemingly overlays every sighting of and encounter with the opposite sex. And given the directionless lives of the characters—who are old enough to know better—a patina of unprovoked violence, of potential energy let’s say, covers every thought and encounter with its sour crust. Here’s the last paragraph of the first chapter as an example:
On his way to the fast-food stand, for no particular reason, the world “death” appeared in his mind, as if alcohol and loosened it from its tethers. He waited at the end of the queue, looking at people standing in front of him, thinking about where on their body he would like to shoot them. Two women turned towards him and one asked for a light. He offered his lighter. Trembling with cold, they discussed their evening. He mentioned living in the next city block. He had booze. The women said they were interested.
Orwell had goals and places to go; Bukowski had no interest in going places but at least had the goal of writing every day. The 21st-century down-and-outer has writing skills but seems unconvinced that the skill means anything, any more than a spaniel’s loyalty means anything in a time of empty, libertarian self-satisfaction.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
On his way to the fast-food stand, for no particular reason, the world “death” appeared in his mind, as if alcohol and loosened it from its tethers. He waited at the end of the queue, looking at people standing in front of him, thinking about where on their body he would like to shoot them. Two women turned towards him and one asked for a light. He offered his lighter. Trembling with cold, they discussed their evening. He mentioned living in the next city block. He had booze. The women said they were interested.
Orwell had goals and places to go; Bukowski had no interest in going places but at least had the goal of writing every day. The 21st-century down-and-outer has writing skills but seems unconvinced that the skill means anything, any more than a spaniel’s loyalty means anything in a time of empty, libertarian self-satisfaction.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
January 23, 2023
Nopealukuinen (noin 70 sivua) tarina nimettömäksi jäävän miehen aivoituksista ja arkisista seikkailuista. Spanielit on kirjoitettu faktuaalisen "töksähtelevään" tyyliin (kuka teki ja mitä) joka luo jokseenkin kaurismäkeläisen tunnelman.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews