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Eunoia
Christian Bök embarks on an ambitious exercise in Eunoia, an avant-garde work in which each chapter uses only one vowel, creating a text that fluctuates between poetry and prose. To make things more difficult, Bök constrained himself further: all chapters must allude to the art of writing, and they must describe a culinary banquet, a bawdy episode, a pastoral tableau, and a nautical voyage. This aesthetic style pays tribute to French writer Georges Perec, whose novel A Void was written (and then translated) without the letter "e."
Ultimately, Eunoia--the shortest word in the English language to contain all five vowels, it literally means "beautiful thinking"--is a taxing reading experience rife with repetition, although the author's vocabulary is nothing short of extraordinary. Chapter "E" comes across the smoothest: "Whenever Helen enters Hell's deepest recesses, she sees Hell's meekest dwellers. She meets the repenters, never redeemed." "U" is entertaining: "Ubu fluffs Lulu's tutu. Ubu cups Lulu's dugs; Ubu rubs Lulu's buns; thus Lulu must pull Ubu's pud." Despite the feeling of constraint that permeates the work, there are episodes of perfectly manicured and musical prose sprinkled with endearing onomatopoeia. At the end, the author explains that the text makes a "Sisyphean spectacle of its labour, wilfully crippling its language in order to show that, even under such improbable conditions of duress, language can still express an uncanny, if not sublime, thought." His assertion is true: Bök's technique draws the reader's attention away from the narrative to the form and then back again, conveying real ideas with a mathematical beauty of language. --Leah Eichler
115 pages, Paperback
First published January 19, 1999
69 people are currently reading
2659 people want to read
About the author
Christian Bök
12 books85 followersChristian Bök (born Christian Book) is a Canadian experimental poet. He began writing seriously in his early twenties, while earning his B.A. and M.A. degrees at Carleton University in Ottawa. He returned to Toronto in the early 1990s to study for a Ph.D. in English literature at York University, where he encountered a burgeoning literary community that included Steve McCaffery, Christopher Dewdney, and Darren Wershler-Henry.
In addtion to his poetry, Bök has created conceptual art, making artist's books from Rubik's cubes and Lego bricks. He has also worked in science-fiction television by designing artificial languages for Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict and Peter Benchley's Amazon.
As of 2005, he teaches at the University of Calgary.
In addtion to his poetry, Bök has created conceptual art, making artist's books from Rubik's cubes and Lego bricks. He has also worked in science-fiction television by designing artificial languages for Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict and Peter Benchley's Amazon.
As of 2005, he teaches at the University of Calgary.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 216 reviews
September 25, 2014
A mad, bad, glad Dada blast. Expect sex, sex, sex:
The rest of this review is available elsewhere (the location cannot be given for Goodreads policy reasons)
The rest of this review is available elsewhere (the location cannot be given for Goodreads policy reasons)
June 4, 2020
A man, always a fan
Deeply excellent
Still, this I did find liking its print writing
Most good book for Norfolk
Ummm
Deeply excellent
Still, this I did find liking its print writing
Most good book for Norfolk
Ummm
Read
July 28, 2024A Limit on the Self-Reflexivity of Constrained Writing
This book still reads very well, and is full interesting inventions. I won't be commenting on them here. I'm interested instead in the moment, common in constrained writing, in which the author names the self-imposed rules under which they wrote.
Bök gives these at the end of his book: "All chapters," he writes, "must allude to the art of writing. All chapters must describe a culinary banquet, a prurient debauch, a pastoral tableau and a nautical voyage." (From the Afterword, called "The New Ennui.")
The language in "Eunoia" can be mesmerizing. Oulipo-style restrictions can produce unpredictable and fascinating distortions of conventional narrative lines and ordinary usages. Constrained texts owe their hypnotic quality to the fact that a reader may not be able to decipher the tone, the narrative arc, or even the style of the text, because the writing is repeatedly deviated by rules that may have nothing to do with conventional narrative (and are often devised to guard against it). Or to put it another way (this is thanks to John Luna, who read a draft of this essay on Facebook): a new kind of writing emerges despite the constraints. Whether or not the author makes the constraints known, readers will usually know they're reading the result of constrained writing, so an awareness of constraints will temper the reading, accompanying it like a second narrative. The way the actual narrative and that "second narrative" of constraints work together depends on whether or not the auhor chooses to make the rules known. Within that second possibility, as in Eunoia, there's a difference between texts whose rules are thematically justified (as in Perec's La Disparition, where the missing "e's" are emblems of what Warren Motte calls "catastrophe, loss, and mourning") and those where the rules are simply stated (as in Eunoia).
When rules are announced, but not justified, reading becomes especially complex. As I read, I follow the narrative, which is distorted, truncated, or otherwise modified in many ways by the presence of the rules; at the same time, I am aware of culinary banquets, prurient debauches, pastoral tableaux, and nautical voyages. I understand that those rules are a strategy to avoid convention and force invention. But I am also aware that the author has decided not to tell me how he chose those rules, possibly because they have no aesthetic, expressive, or biographical relevance. But how is it possible to read a text that is all about expression, a text that is intensely bent on creating aesthetic values, when a part of it (the rules) is expressly excluded from expression and aesthetics?
Saying that the exact constraints are immaterial, or that their content is not relevant, is disingenuous to the project of producing an expressive literature, even if it is only "potential" (as in Oulipo's definition) or otherwise experimental. The lack of justification goes to a blindness or evasion in certain Oulipean practices. It is as if the author or narator is claiming to be able to exclude certain acts of writing from the domain of expression just by nominating them as rules rather than text. If there's theoretical or critical writing that addresses or justifies this, I'm not aware of it.
Consider for example a reader interested in the passages that "allude to the art of writing." Such a reader may feel a momentary annoyance when the narrative swerves to accommodate the "culinary banquet." Annoyance and "chafing" (one of Robbe-Grillet's words) is integral to the project of Oulipo, but not that particular annoyance. The problem is not that unexpected swerves in the narrative tone or content are faults, it's that the choices of moments when the text swerves to accommodate some rule, and the choice of rules themelves, are not explained, and there is no reason to suppose those choices aren't both expressive and conventional. Why shouldn't a reader assume that the content of the particular rules ("a culinary banquet, a prurient debauch, a pastoral tableau and a nautical voyage") is entirely conventional?
Eunoia, in my reading, would have been even stronger if the choice of mandatory subjects, and the transitions between them, were either motivated as expressive choices (for example, as tokens of autobiography, or as thematic supports), or else defended as anti-aesthetic (for example, as combinatorics, as in Perec's bi-squares for Life a User's Manual, rather than presented as inscrutable instances of the "potential" critique of literary forms. As a reader, I often don't mind annoyance. Often I actually look for it. But I want to know that it resonates with the act of reading, and not just with a loose, unjustified, arbitrary accumulation of generative rules.
This is an excellent book, and so are Bök's others. (More on several of them here.) But I find myself unconvinced by the custom, in some constrained writing, of presenting constraints as faits accomplis instead of either aesthetic choices or formal inventions. I don't understand why texts like this wouldn't be even more interesting if the authors spoke about their self-imposed constraints as aesthetic or combinatoric decisions.
2012, revised 2024
This book still reads very well, and is full interesting inventions. I won't be commenting on them here. I'm interested instead in the moment, common in constrained writing, in which the author names the self-imposed rules under which they wrote.
Bök gives these at the end of his book: "All chapters," he writes, "must allude to the art of writing. All chapters must describe a culinary banquet, a prurient debauch, a pastoral tableau and a nautical voyage." (From the Afterword, called "The New Ennui.")
The language in "Eunoia" can be mesmerizing. Oulipo-style restrictions can produce unpredictable and fascinating distortions of conventional narrative lines and ordinary usages. Constrained texts owe their hypnotic quality to the fact that a reader may not be able to decipher the tone, the narrative arc, or even the style of the text, because the writing is repeatedly deviated by rules that may have nothing to do with conventional narrative (and are often devised to guard against it). Or to put it another way (this is thanks to John Luna, who read a draft of this essay on Facebook): a new kind of writing emerges despite the constraints. Whether or not the author makes the constraints known, readers will usually know they're reading the result of constrained writing, so an awareness of constraints will temper the reading, accompanying it like a second narrative. The way the actual narrative and that "second narrative" of constraints work together depends on whether or not the auhor chooses to make the rules known. Within that second possibility, as in Eunoia, there's a difference between texts whose rules are thematically justified (as in Perec's La Disparition, where the missing "e's" are emblems of what Warren Motte calls "catastrophe, loss, and mourning") and those where the rules are simply stated (as in Eunoia).
When rules are announced, but not justified, reading becomes especially complex. As I read, I follow the narrative, which is distorted, truncated, or otherwise modified in many ways by the presence of the rules; at the same time, I am aware of culinary banquets, prurient debauches, pastoral tableaux, and nautical voyages. I understand that those rules are a strategy to avoid convention and force invention. But I am also aware that the author has decided not to tell me how he chose those rules, possibly because they have no aesthetic, expressive, or biographical relevance. But how is it possible to read a text that is all about expression, a text that is intensely bent on creating aesthetic values, when a part of it (the rules) is expressly excluded from expression and aesthetics?
Saying that the exact constraints are immaterial, or that their content is not relevant, is disingenuous to the project of producing an expressive literature, even if it is only "potential" (as in Oulipo's definition) or otherwise experimental. The lack of justification goes to a blindness or evasion in certain Oulipean practices. It is as if the author or narator is claiming to be able to exclude certain acts of writing from the domain of expression just by nominating them as rules rather than text. If there's theoretical or critical writing that addresses or justifies this, I'm not aware of it.
Consider for example a reader interested in the passages that "allude to the art of writing." Such a reader may feel a momentary annoyance when the narrative swerves to accommodate the "culinary banquet." Annoyance and "chafing" (one of Robbe-Grillet's words) is integral to the project of Oulipo, but not that particular annoyance. The problem is not that unexpected swerves in the narrative tone or content are faults, it's that the choices of moments when the text swerves to accommodate some rule, and the choice of rules themelves, are not explained, and there is no reason to suppose those choices aren't both expressive and conventional. Why shouldn't a reader assume that the content of the particular rules ("a culinary banquet, a prurient debauch, a pastoral tableau and a nautical voyage") is entirely conventional?
Eunoia, in my reading, would have been even stronger if the choice of mandatory subjects, and the transitions between them, were either motivated as expressive choices (for example, as tokens of autobiography, or as thematic supports), or else defended as anti-aesthetic (for example, as combinatorics, as in Perec's bi-squares for Life a User's Manual, rather than presented as inscrutable instances of the "potential" critique of literary forms. As a reader, I often don't mind annoyance. Often I actually look for it. But I want to know that it resonates with the act of reading, and not just with a loose, unjustified, arbitrary accumulation of generative rules.
This is an excellent book, and so are Bök's others. (More on several of them here.) But I find myself unconvinced by the custom, in some constrained writing, of presenting constraints as faits accomplis instead of either aesthetic choices or formal inventions. I don't understand why texts like this wouldn't be even more interesting if the authors spoke about their self-imposed constraints as aesthetic or combinatoric decisions.
2012, revised 2024
May 7, 2023
Eunoia is the shortest word in English to contain all five vowels, and the word quite literally means 'beautiful thinking'. p111
Enfettered, these sentences repress free speech
the text deletes select letters....
He rebels. He eschews the esteemed genres, the expected themes. He sets new precedents. He lets cleverness exceed decent levels. p31
Exceedingly uncomfortable nonsense or intelligent anarchy?
Either unwittingly noticed or in an
effort undertaken nobly of interest actually
exciting until not overwhelmed in awe
even understanding nothing of intricate affect
eventually unhooked notions intersect addictively
Writing is inhibiting. Sighing, I sit, scribbling in ink this pidgin script. I sing with nihilistic witticism, discipling signs with trifling gimmicks. Isn't it glib? p51
Such a limiting and preposterous idea should not work. The amazing thing is, it does. Even uncomfortably nagging or intrinsicly annoying, try reading aloud in a forceful voice. What splendid fun, especially with the E and the I. It certainly sharpened my appreciation of nuance and pronounciation.
Minds grim with nihilism still find first light inspiring. p56
Enfettered, these sentences repress free speech
the text deletes select letters....
He rebels. He eschews the esteemed genres, the expected themes. He sets new precedents. He lets cleverness exceed decent levels. p31
Exceedingly uncomfortable nonsense or intelligent anarchy?
Either unwittingly noticed or in an
effort undertaken nobly of interest actually
exciting until not overwhelmed in awe
even understanding nothing of intricate affect
eventually unhooked notions intersect addictively
Writing is inhibiting. Sighing, I sit, scribbling in ink this pidgin script. I sing with nihilistic witticism, discipling signs with trifling gimmicks. Isn't it glib? p51
Such a limiting and preposterous idea should not work. The amazing thing is, it does. Even uncomfortably nagging or intrinsicly annoying, try reading aloud in a forceful voice. What splendid fun, especially with the E and the I. It certainly sharpened my appreciation of nuance and pronounciation.
Minds grim with nihilism still find first light inspiring. p56
September 15, 2013
(See our full review over at Bookkaholic.) To have written even one single-vowel poem (called a univocalic, or a univocal lipogram) would have been a noteworthy accomplishment for Bök; to have written an entire book full of strange, lyrical poetry cycles that only employ one vowel at a time is stunning. Random conglomerations of cherry-picked words should not be expected to produce sense, let alone poetry. Stand in awe of his linguistic genius.
December 28, 2022
Two reasons to read Eunoia:
1) The self-imposed limitation of writing univocalic chapters is impressive beyond words. I can't imagine the effort that must have gone into writing this book.
2) Many pages have the odd rhythm and senseless sensefulness of poetry.
Four drawbacks to Eunoia:
1) Asking for a cohesive narrative may be too much given the single-vowel constraint, but this book lacks purpose beyond showing off its chosen technique. The process is what matters, not the end result, so there's no substance to the stories, nothing to think about other than the headache caused by the repeated vowels (the A and U chapters are particularly painful).
2) Certain chapters are more pleasant than others (the E chapter), but even it becomes repetitive after a few pages and the lack of meaningful content invites diagonal reading.
3) The I chapter – although it happens elsewhere also – is full of the author tooting his own horn, congratulating his cleverness, and insulting critics. Modesty may not be required if you've spent seven years of your life working on something this demanding and complex, but it wouldn't hurt.
4) The author returns to sex a lot, in a way that is gratuitous, self-indulgent, and often gross.
1) The self-imposed limitation of writing univocalic chapters is impressive beyond words. I can't imagine the effort that must have gone into writing this book.
2) Many pages have the odd rhythm and senseless sensefulness of poetry.
Four drawbacks to Eunoia:
1) Asking for a cohesive narrative may be too much given the single-vowel constraint, but this book lacks purpose beyond showing off its chosen technique. The process is what matters, not the end result, so there's no substance to the stories, nothing to think about other than the headache caused by the repeated vowels (the A and U chapters are particularly painful).
2) Certain chapters are more pleasant than others (the E chapter), but even it becomes repetitive after a few pages and the lack of meaningful content invites diagonal reading.
3) The I chapter – although it happens elsewhere also – is full of the author tooting his own horn, congratulating his cleverness, and insulting critics. Modesty may not be required if you've spent seven years of your life working on something this demanding and complex, but it wouldn't hurt.
4) The author returns to sex a lot, in a way that is gratuitous, self-indulgent, and often gross.
June 11, 2017
I'm not sure if "Eunoia" is a lipogram or an anti-lipogram. It is the smallest word in the English language to contain all 5 vowels. Bok devotes a chapter to each vowel, where every single word contains at least one of the vowel -so that in the chapter on 'A', every word contains at least one A. A lipogram usually is about the omission of a formal element, so the constant use of a vowel probably leans this towards an anti-lipo. Yet there are no letter Y's so that makes it a lipo...
The discipline makes for some wonderful assonant poetry rather than a cohesive narrative. "Slick pimps, bribing civic kingpins, distill gin in stills (can you guess which vowel that's from?) I think the chapters for A and U are the best, in very different ways. A offers a feast for the senses - each chapter has a section on writing, on food and drink, on a journey by sea, so maybe the initial encounter with these themes in the A chapter is when they still come over as fresh. But A contains a section on gambling, on taxation, on war and on medical pathologies. U however is all about dirt and grime and coitus. The delicious lyricism of "grugru grubs plus fungus slugs mulch up humus pulp."
However, the author I think falls foul. The letter 'a' allows him to refer to a thing did this, a thing did that. The letter 'e' allows him to talk about we did this and we did that, as well as a Helen of Troy figure. The Letter 'i' allows use of the first person singular, I did this and that. 'U' her skirts around by resorting to Alfred Jarry's Dadaist/Absurdist Ubu character, ushering in all sorts of puns, onomatopoeia and the like. But the letter 'o' offers none of these options. So of all the 5 vowel sections, the o reads like a word list rather than a narrative drive for each section within it. And once that notion takes root, you realise that sometimes Bok relies on lists of animals and city names to get him out of the hole his own strictures impose on him. So in a few places the book loses its exciting internal energy, because in those places after all, it is just a list of words.
There's a few unrelated pieces in the back of the book, including "Emended Excess" dedicated to George Perec, the man whose novel "A Void" omitted the letter 'e' in its entirety, for here Bok's piece playfully puts lots of words with 'e's' back in for Perec, itself an echo of Bok's own 'e' section from earlier.
Playful and in places lyrical stuff. You can read it all in about half-an hour.
My Book Tube video review of this and 2 other lipogram novels can be viewed here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psEt4...
The discipline makes for some wonderful assonant poetry rather than a cohesive narrative. "Slick pimps, bribing civic kingpins, distill gin in stills (can you guess which vowel that's from?) I think the chapters for A and U are the best, in very different ways. A offers a feast for the senses - each chapter has a section on writing, on food and drink, on a journey by sea, so maybe the initial encounter with these themes in the A chapter is when they still come over as fresh. But A contains a section on gambling, on taxation, on war and on medical pathologies. U however is all about dirt and grime and coitus. The delicious lyricism of "grugru grubs plus fungus slugs mulch up humus pulp."
However, the author I think falls foul. The letter 'a' allows him to refer to a thing did this, a thing did that. The letter 'e' allows him to talk about we did this and we did that, as well as a Helen of Troy figure. The Letter 'i' allows use of the first person singular, I did this and that. 'U' her skirts around by resorting to Alfred Jarry's Dadaist/Absurdist Ubu character, ushering in all sorts of puns, onomatopoeia and the like. But the letter 'o' offers none of these options. So of all the 5 vowel sections, the o reads like a word list rather than a narrative drive for each section within it. And once that notion takes root, you realise that sometimes Bok relies on lists of animals and city names to get him out of the hole his own strictures impose on him. So in a few places the book loses its exciting internal energy, because in those places after all, it is just a list of words.
There's a few unrelated pieces in the back of the book, including "Emended Excess" dedicated to George Perec, the man whose novel "A Void" omitted the letter 'e' in its entirety, for here Bok's piece playfully puts lots of words with 'e's' back in for Perec, itself an echo of Bok's own 'e' section from earlier.
Playful and in places lyrical stuff. You can read it all in about half-an hour.
My Book Tube video review of this and 2 other lipogram novels can be viewed here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psEt4...
November 2, 2013
Christian Bok is amazing. I've never seen a lucid narrative so densely packed with sound and rhythm.
As an example, from "Chapter E": "When Helen feels these stresses, she trembles. She frets. Her helplessness vexes her. She feels depressed (even when her cleverest beekeepers fetch her the freshest sweets)." etc... this goes on for a long, long time. NOTE: each word in "Chapter E" is restricted to only using the vowel E. The same is true for all the vowels. E, A, I and O are interesting narratives. Not much is said, but each tells a story. However, U is just weird, and much more difficult.
I see this book as an amazing, nearly genius level display of skill and talent, a true monument of intellect.
While I expected each vowel (from listening to Christian Bok on youtube), I didn't know there were extra pieces, including some translation of Arthur Rimbaud from the French, some poems FOR Rimbaud, and other tidbits.. none of which is as interesting as the vowel chapters.
While, there is lots to say about this amazing, titanic work, another thing has to be said - I don't like it that much. I can appreciate the work. I can marvel at the effort involved and what it is doing. At the same time, listening to it and reading it just isn't that fun or enjoyable. I can still recommend it - it is something that people who read and enjoy poetry should experience.
As an example, from "Chapter E": "When Helen feels these stresses, she trembles. She frets. Her helplessness vexes her. She feels depressed (even when her cleverest beekeepers fetch her the freshest sweets)." etc... this goes on for a long, long time. NOTE: each word in "Chapter E" is restricted to only using the vowel E. The same is true for all the vowels. E, A, I and O are interesting narratives. Not much is said, but each tells a story. However, U is just weird, and much more difficult.
I see this book as an amazing, nearly genius level display of skill and talent, a true monument of intellect.
While I expected each vowel (from listening to Christian Bok on youtube), I didn't know there were extra pieces, including some translation of Arthur Rimbaud from the French, some poems FOR Rimbaud, and other tidbits.. none of which is as interesting as the vowel chapters.
While, there is lots to say about this amazing, titanic work, another thing has to be said - I don't like it that much. I can appreciate the work. I can marvel at the effort involved and what it is doing. At the same time, listening to it and reading it just isn't that fun or enjoyable. I can still recommend it - it is something that people who read and enjoy poetry should experience.
June 24, 2019
One of the most remarkable experimental novels (although it's not actually a novel but a set of prose poems) I have ever read, and one of the most fiendishly difficult OuLiPo pieces I have ever seen. It takes some dedication to attempt to out-Perec Perec, but this is precisely what Bök has tried to do; and he has even succeeded. It's astounding. The formal constraint that he has chosen for the main work here ('Eunoia') concerns the creation of linked chapters of univocal lipograms. There are five chapters standing for the five vowels. The first chapter only permits the use of words that contain the letter A, the second chapter does the same for E, the third for I, the fourth for O, and the fifth for U.
There are many additional rules, explained by Bök in his afterword. There are also supplementary works that include a 'beau present' (an anagrammatic poem in which all the words must be made from the letters in the word 'Vowels'), a homophonic translation of a Rimbaud sonnet, and a work that is a tribute to Perec himself. This book is extremely difficult to read but it is also stupendous. A magnificent labour of excellence, ingenuity and love!
There are many additional rules, explained by Bök in his afterword. There are also supplementary works that include a 'beau present' (an anagrammatic poem in which all the words must be made from the letters in the word 'Vowels'), a homophonic translation of a Rimbaud sonnet, and a work that is a tribute to Perec himself. This book is extremely difficult to read but it is also stupendous. A magnificent labour of excellence, ingenuity and love!
August 8, 2024
Interesting concept, not a fan of its execution though
April 2, 2008
A strange experiment in fiction where Bok only uses words with one particular vowel in a chapter. So the first chapter only features the vowel ‘a,’ the second only features ‘e,’ and so on. You've got to give Christian Bok credit for the effort, and for pulling it off at all. Sometimes it’s interesting to see how much a writer can do with an arbitrary limitation. Sometimes it’s interesting to skim it and put it back on the shelf in the bookstore. Back in college my entire class groaned when a kid finally voiced a pun to describe this book, but we’d all been thinking it: “This gets really eunoiying.”
The first time I read it I found it dreadful and far too self-congratulatory. Since I found this book while I was packing for a move, I decided to give it another shot, and found it still seriously lacking. It supposedly retells The Iliad (five times across the five vowel-chapters), even though there is an insipid emphasis on lasciviousness (not a part of The Iliad at all) and feasting (more of a plot prop for Homer than anything else), and next to no character development or reflections of the great conflicts (the feuding gods and Achilles and Hektor’s stories are not in here at all - that babble about Mormons doesn't count). The biggest real relation to Homer’s stories is the references to a great nautical voyage – but even that actually happens before The Iliad begins.
That might not have been as bad if Bok hadn’t claimed he was aping one of human history’s greatest poems, or if he didn’t congratulate himself in the text for his many “constraints,” some of which include, “All chapters must allude to the art of writing,” and “All chapters must describe a culinary banquet.” Bok pats himself on the back for conceding to the literary constraint of having a subject. He has a prose explanation praising his own work, and he praises himself in each of the five vowel-chapters (which I guess was his allusion to the art of writing). That the “stories” of the five chapters are barely intelligible only makes it smart the worse. You have to admire Bok’s love for and knowledge of the English language, and you can respect the undertaking (it took seven years for him to compile this 100-page poem), but I can’t comprehend enjoying it. The chapters are made up of one-page stories, which usually have a really simple premise (somebody’s eating, somebody’s rutting), and then recapitulate the sentence or describe the act for the rest of the page. They aren’t good stories, and they aren’t entertaining on any merit other than that Bok's trying to do it with such an odd limitation. I'm not saying I could do it, let alone do it better, but that doesn't preclude me from sighing or rolling my eyes every three pages. The only real source of entertainment (and the source of critical praise you can read in almost every other review on here) is that he manages to write some beautiful-sounding and beautiful-looking passages, like, “the rebel perseveres, never deterred, never dejected.” Some of it achieves strong rhythm on the page, rivaling that of rap music that uses all five vowels and is actually spoken out loud. But this doesn’t redeem the overwhelming stock of ugly, goofy and eye-roll-worthy poetry like, “Porno shows folks lots of sordor – zoom-shots of Bjorn Borg’s bottom or Snoop Dogg’s crotch.” Sometimes this book feels like a perverted Dr. Suess, without the depth of characterization of the Cat in the Hat. And God save us all when he gets to the chapter that lets him use the letter (and word) ‘I.’
The first time I read it I found it dreadful and far too self-congratulatory. Since I found this book while I was packing for a move, I decided to give it another shot, and found it still seriously lacking. It supposedly retells The Iliad (five times across the five vowel-chapters), even though there is an insipid emphasis on lasciviousness (not a part of The Iliad at all) and feasting (more of a plot prop for Homer than anything else), and next to no character development or reflections of the great conflicts (the feuding gods and Achilles and Hektor’s stories are not in here at all - that babble about Mormons doesn't count). The biggest real relation to Homer’s stories is the references to a great nautical voyage – but even that actually happens before The Iliad begins.
That might not have been as bad if Bok hadn’t claimed he was aping one of human history’s greatest poems, or if he didn’t congratulate himself in the text for his many “constraints,” some of which include, “All chapters must allude to the art of writing,” and “All chapters must describe a culinary banquet.” Bok pats himself on the back for conceding to the literary constraint of having a subject. He has a prose explanation praising his own work, and he praises himself in each of the five vowel-chapters (which I guess was his allusion to the art of writing). That the “stories” of the five chapters are barely intelligible only makes it smart the worse. You have to admire Bok’s love for and knowledge of the English language, and you can respect the undertaking (it took seven years for him to compile this 100-page poem), but I can’t comprehend enjoying it. The chapters are made up of one-page stories, which usually have a really simple premise (somebody’s eating, somebody’s rutting), and then recapitulate the sentence or describe the act for the rest of the page. They aren’t good stories, and they aren’t entertaining on any merit other than that Bok's trying to do it with such an odd limitation. I'm not saying I could do it, let alone do it better, but that doesn't preclude me from sighing or rolling my eyes every three pages. The only real source of entertainment (and the source of critical praise you can read in almost every other review on here) is that he manages to write some beautiful-sounding and beautiful-looking passages, like, “the rebel perseveres, never deterred, never dejected.” Some of it achieves strong rhythm on the page, rivaling that of rap music that uses all five vowels and is actually spoken out loud. But this doesn’t redeem the overwhelming stock of ugly, goofy and eye-roll-worthy poetry like, “Porno shows folks lots of sordor – zoom-shots of Bjorn Borg’s bottom or Snoop Dogg’s crotch.” Sometimes this book feels like a perverted Dr. Suess, without the depth of characterization of the Cat in the Hat. And God save us all when he gets to the chapter that lets him use the letter (and word) ‘I.’
March 17, 2023
I have long had a soft spot for Dada, that late 1910s cluster of cultural workers who inspired the surrealists and more, and especially their ‘sound poems’. Although Eunoia is not a collection of that often nonsensical form, it alludes to many of the limitations and absurdities of Dada, most especially the constraint of each ‘chapter’ using only one vowel, and story-telling including elements such as sea journeys and feasting (I can see why many see it as alluding to The Iliad). It’s fun, silly, a little awe inspiring in terms of the work, effort and discipline it must have taken and best read out loud to get the full effect. Watch out also for the piece that uses only words with no vowels.
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July 17, 2021Not sure how to rate this. Did I enjoy reading it? Not really. Was it interesting? Definitely. It's experimental literature. It's weird. It's difficult to read. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But it's definitely interesting.
December 11, 2022
Leest zo speels voor iets dat jaren zwoegwerk heeft gekost. Voor mij is het niet aan een stuk te lezen. Het is beter om het te doseren. Zeker iets waar ik naar terug zal grijpen. Wat een vormexperiment.
June 27, 2018
I should have brought this book with me when I moved, but now it sits lonely in storage. I think about Bok all the time. Reading this aloud is essential.
December 8, 2020
Copies of this book should cost a thousand dollars
November 30, 2025
fire. rec from michael vsauce
July 10, 2024
A feat, certainly. I’m still easing into my poetry phase, so enjoyment for me was not as high as when I was reading Flowers of Evil, but I’d be a maniac to not admit this was quite an impressive, complex book. Really made sure to take my time with this one.
April 2, 2019
020419: extensive vocabulary. strict restrictions using only one vowel/poem, inspired partly by oulipo...
April 11, 2010
I couldn't believe how experimental and time-consuming this book is. When I first picked it up, I was hesitant to bend the pages and mark it up--the quality of the paper and text both seemed too precious to touch. I can totally see how it took Bok so long to work on this project. I was impressed by all of the techniques he used and how he put together all the words under strict rules to create something that had meaning. I had difficulty reading it, dizzied by only seeing one vowel at a time, confused by how I should pronounce certain words, and getting lost in the long blocks of text. I enjoyed his reading of the book, and found it much nicer to listen to than to butcher it in my own way. My favorite was Vowels, in that it was simpler than the individual vowel chapters and was much easier to read. I also found the concept interesting. I think overall, this is a great book to read if you're into experimentation and pushing limits within restrictions.
December 24, 2007
It's stunning what Bok can do with only one vowel for such an extended time. The first five chapters of this book are each restricted to the use of only one vowel: A, E, I, O, or U, respectively. The last quarter of the collection includes poems that acknowledge other constraints. There is a brief explanation at the end as well, in case you don't "catch" something. Even the cover art was selected for its unique employment of vowels. Two poems are dedicated to George Perec and there is no mistaking that Perec and the Oulipo in general have had a tremendous impact on the inception of this work of art!
July 19, 2010
An enjoyable read, although I was disappointed places couldn't be found for parallax, belvedere, gingivitis, monochord, and tumulus. Astonishingly, the book claims to "exhaust the lexicon for each vowel, citing at least 98% of the available repertoire." One thing I did find distracting and unnecessary was the resorting to italicized sounds: "clunk, clunk - thud"; "chuff, chuff"; "scuff, scuff"; "munch, munch"; "glug, glug"; "rush, rush"; "gush, gush"; "tweet, tweet"; "cheep, cheep."
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July 16, 2018I like Oulipo, in fact at times, love it. And I know it took Christian Bok years to write this thing, which one would expect, given the insane constraints. But at the end of the day, all I can say is "neat trick, Chris." And the fact that each chapter seems to have been written in this shitty Allen Ginsberg/shitty late-period Method Man style doesn't help. Sure, the Oulipian constraints are impressive, but then when you actually read it, it sounds like it was composed by a white guy with a ponytail for a campus poetry slam.
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February 7, 2013Until now, not that I'd thought of it much, it had never been clear to me why anyone would want to write a novel without any e vowels in it (or was it only with words containing the vowel e) apart from it being a sort of clever thing to do, but this book has let me see just how interesting writing with such constraints can be.
January 9, 2019
I will recommend this to the poetry lovers in my life, but it still won't be the best book I finished in 2019. It's clever and enjoyable, but not for a general audience. If you're an adult admirer of Oulipo, Eunoia is audacious and clever and I recommend you read this. If you enjoy anagrams, concrete poems and Arthur Rimbaud, Eunoia will bliss you out.
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March 21, 2021A wild ride from start to finish.
May 20, 2024
I feel like I have to explain my rating because I didn’t hate this book. I think this book is a huge literary achievement, and, as someone who has written and studied the lipogram, I understand how difficult this must have been to write. The formal constraints on this novel explained at the end are absolutely fascinating and, in theory, this book is very intriguing. So why the low rating? Really the reason was because I found it terribly difficult to read. Each section felt as though it was missing something and at times, I found the syntax a little confusing, but perhaps I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I still highly recommend this book to anyone who is fascinated by language.
February 1, 2022
*Rounded up to 2 1/2 stars*
This book isn’t for everyone, I barely got through it. But there is something to be appreciated about it — Bök’s genius idea, skill, and technique is something to be not just appreciated, but cherished, studied and praised. What a cool idea he had for this book, I wish I came up with it first (I also wish more writers had his same level of creativity.)
This book isn’t for everyone, I barely got through it. But there is something to be appreciated about it — Bök’s genius idea, skill, and technique is something to be not just appreciated, but cherished, studied and praised. What a cool idea he had for this book, I wish I came up with it first (I also wish more writers had his same level of creativity.)
August 1, 2024
The poems are very technically impressive but … that’s kind of it. It’s constraint and technique for constraint and technique’s sake. Soul is what makes good poetry, and the soul of this collection has been sucked dry by the self imposed limitations.
October 5, 2024
Stunning!! A beautifully executed feat.
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