What do you think?
Rate this book
Goldberg: Variations
Taking his cue from an anecdote connected with Bach's late masterpiece, the Goldberg Variations, this indefinable book is a collection of 30 individual stories which, when read together, turns into an intriguing and mysterious novel.
190 pages, Paperback
First published November 28, 2002
2 people are currently reading
272 people want to read
About the author
Gabriel Josipovici
55 books71 followersGabriel Josipovici was born in Nice in 1940 of Russo-Italian, Romano-Levantine parents. He lived in Egypt from 1945 to 1956, when he came to Britain. He read English at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, graduating with a First in 1961. From 1963 to 1998 he taught at the University of Sussex. He is the author of seventeen novels, three volumes of short stories, eight critical works, and numerous stage and radio plays, and is a regular contributor to the Times Literary Supplement. His plays have been performed throughout Britain and on radio in Britain, France and Germany, and his work has been translated into the major European languages and Arabic. In 2001 he published A Life, a biographical memoir of his mother, the translator and poet Sacha Rabinovitch (London Magazine editions). His most recent works are Two Novels: 'After' and 'Making Mistakes' (Carcanet), What Ever Happened to Modernism? (Yale University Press), Heart's Wings (Carcanet, 2010) and Infinity (Carcanet, 2012).
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
Read
April 6, 2023For a book that refers to Johann Sebastian Bach's thirty 'Goldberg Variations' in its title, it is curious that what emerged most strongly for me was not a musical theme but one of silence, the silence after a piece of music has stopped, the silence when conversation is finished, the silence of a writer alone with a blank page and their own thoughts.
That kind of silence is beautifully conveyed by this anonymous 15th century painting entitled 'Still Life with Bottles and Books'.
The painting features in two of the 30 chapters in Josipovici's book—because yes, the book mirrors Bach's 'Goldberg Variations' in its 30 part structure, and the main character is also called Goldberg.
At the beginning of the book, Goldberg is employed to read at night to a wealthy 19th century English gentleman who suffers from insomnia just as Bach's Goldberg is said to have been employed to play music to an 18th century insomniac at his palace in Leipzig.
So there are clear initial parallels between the two works although the mirroring becomes harder to trace as we read on. In that way the two works echo the painting above. While the still life presents two similar cupboard doors, the differences in how they are presented catch our attention. The door of the cupboard on the right is closed and so is the book beneath it while the very similar door on the left is ajar and the book beneath it has one of its clasps undone.
The open door and the book beneath are like an invitation to discover what they contain and that's how Josipovici's book appeared to me once I'd read the premise of the opening chapter which involves Goldberg improvising each day the book he will read to the insomniac each night. But at the same time, because Goldberg seems paralysed in the face of the enormity of his task, the cupboard on the right of the painting also mirrors his situation. What if the door can't be opened, what if Goldberg can't write anything in his book. And what if I can't find any further resemblances between Bach's and Josipovici's variations!
But all is not lost because the book somehow gets written. And just as Bach's variations sometimes take the form of 'canons' where a musical theme overlaps and repeats itself, it turns out that in Josipovici's variations, the third person omniscient narrator of the Goldberg story enters the book as a character and reveals that he himself is experiencing a failure of inspiration in turn. Certain other aspects of his life overlap with Goldberg's as well, and when he starts obsessing about the Paul Klee painting known as 'Wander-Artist', the reader begins to see Goldberg as a version of the Wander-Artist, a Jewish writer who makes his living going from place to place to entertain people with his improvisation talents—and who may have as precarious a destiny as Klee's 1940 stick-like figure.
The narrator himself becomes a kind of Wander-Artist too, adrift in his own life yet tormented by the need to create. Furthermore, just as a third repetition can be included in a canon, there's a glimpse of a third Wander-Artist as well, possibly Josipovici himself, the puppeteer behind both the narrator and Goldberg, and one who admits to having his own inspiration issues.
The reader worries about what will become of all these Wander-Artists, especially Goldberg, the most charismatic of the three. Will he, like Homer's Ulysses, whom he thinks about a lot, ever return home to his patient wife—who is shown alone in a silent house writing down her thoughts because, she says, it's better to write than to cry. The variation that features her is as melancholic and silent as the still life at the beginning of the review. That painting, by the way, is in a little museum in Colmar in the Alsace region of France. The museum is housed in a building that used to be a convent and goes by the beautiful name 'Unterlinden' which means 'under the linden tree'. It's a museum I used to wander around myself in the past and when I did, I was struck by the quietness of the place as if the walls were imbued with silence. When I came across the reference to the museum and the painting in Josipovici's book, my heart did a silent somersault, a little variation of its very own.
…………………………………
My heart did a little leap near the end of the book too. It happened in a dinner party scene, where Goldberg suddenly says, apropos of nothing in particular, Of cabbages and kings. I was catapulted straight into Lewis Carroll's poem, 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' from which that phrase comes. But the poem wasn't mentioned in the book and the subject was dropped at the dinner party. However, soon afterwards, the guests all get drawn into a crazy dance that resembles Carroll's 'Lobster Quadrille' before sitting down again as if none of it had happened. It was clear that Josipovici's mind was running very much on Lewis Carroll. What made my heart leap was not the amusing dance but the fact that one of the main characters is called Dr Carpenter and his patient, the large and imposing insomniac, had reminded me of a sleepy walrus from the very beginning of the book! I hadn't thought of associating the words walrus and carpenter until the line from the poem was mentioned. Weird and wonderful—like the book itself.
That kind of silence is beautifully conveyed by this anonymous 15th century painting entitled 'Still Life with Bottles and Books'.
The painting features in two of the 30 chapters in Josipovici's book—because yes, the book mirrors Bach's 'Goldberg Variations' in its 30 part structure, and the main character is also called Goldberg.
At the beginning of the book, Goldberg is employed to read at night to a wealthy 19th century English gentleman who suffers from insomnia just as Bach's Goldberg is said to have been employed to play music to an 18th century insomniac at his palace in Leipzig.
So there are clear initial parallels between the two works although the mirroring becomes harder to trace as we read on. In that way the two works echo the painting above. While the still life presents two similar cupboard doors, the differences in how they are presented catch our attention. The door of the cupboard on the right is closed and so is the book beneath it while the very similar door on the left is ajar and the book beneath it has one of its clasps undone.
The open door and the book beneath are like an invitation to discover what they contain and that's how Josipovici's book appeared to me once I'd read the premise of the opening chapter which involves Goldberg improvising each day the book he will read to the insomniac each night. But at the same time, because Goldberg seems paralysed in the face of the enormity of his task, the cupboard on the right of the painting also mirrors his situation. What if the door can't be opened, what if Goldberg can't write anything in his book. And what if I can't find any further resemblances between Bach's and Josipovici's variations!
But all is not lost because the book somehow gets written. And just as Bach's variations sometimes take the form of 'canons' where a musical theme overlaps and repeats itself, it turns out that in Josipovici's variations, the third person omniscient narrator of the Goldberg story enters the book as a character and reveals that he himself is experiencing a failure of inspiration in turn. Certain other aspects of his life overlap with Goldberg's as well, and when he starts obsessing about the Paul Klee painting known as 'Wander-Artist', the reader begins to see Goldberg as a version of the Wander-Artist, a Jewish writer who makes his living going from place to place to entertain people with his improvisation talents—and who may have as precarious a destiny as Klee's 1940 stick-like figure.
The narrator himself becomes a kind of Wander-Artist too, adrift in his own life yet tormented by the need to create. Furthermore, just as a third repetition can be included in a canon, there's a glimpse of a third Wander-Artist as well, possibly Josipovici himself, the puppeteer behind both the narrator and Goldberg, and one who admits to having his own inspiration issues.
The reader worries about what will become of all these Wander-Artists, especially Goldberg, the most charismatic of the three. Will he, like Homer's Ulysses, whom he thinks about a lot, ever return home to his patient wife—who is shown alone in a silent house writing down her thoughts because, she says, it's better to write than to cry. The variation that features her is as melancholic and silent as the still life at the beginning of the review. That painting, by the way, is in a little museum in Colmar in the Alsace region of France. The museum is housed in a building that used to be a convent and goes by the beautiful name 'Unterlinden' which means 'under the linden tree'. It's a museum I used to wander around myself in the past and when I did, I was struck by the quietness of the place as if the walls were imbued with silence. When I came across the reference to the museum and the painting in Josipovici's book, my heart did a silent somersault, a little variation of its very own.
…………………………………
My heart did a little leap near the end of the book too. It happened in a dinner party scene, where Goldberg suddenly says, apropos of nothing in particular, Of cabbages and kings. I was catapulted straight into Lewis Carroll's poem, 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' from which that phrase comes. But the poem wasn't mentioned in the book and the subject was dropped at the dinner party. However, soon afterwards, the guests all get drawn into a crazy dance that resembles Carroll's 'Lobster Quadrille' before sitting down again as if none of it had happened. It was clear that Josipovici's mind was running very much on Lewis Carroll. What made my heart leap was not the amusing dance but the fact that one of the main characters is called Dr Carpenter and his patient, the large and imposing insomniac, had reminded me of a sleepy walrus from the very beginning of the book! I hadn't thought of associating the words walrus and carpenter until the line from the poem was mentioned. Weird and wonderful—like the book itself.
August 2, 2021
A good book should be a dialogue between writer and reader, but it’s especially true with Josipovici, and even more so with this than the others I’ve read. It is an inescapably collaborative experience: a conversation between multiple writers, characters, and the reader, requiring patience, attention to detail, analytical thinking, and a bit of research. Eventually, most things fall into place, but there is a lot to piece together before the payoff.
I considered writing a review that was something of a pastiche, as I did for Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller (see my review HERE), which has some similarities with this. However, I think it’s more helpful to my future self, and anyone considering reading the book, to take a more conventional approach, even though the book itself is so unconventional.
Image: Book characters communicating, by Gary Hovland (Source)
Ingredients
The book comprises thirty episodes, essays, sections, chapters… I’m not sure of the best term. The time and place are vague and varied, the narrative styles and contexts also differ, and the connections, if any, are hard to spot for a long time. It’s frustrating, but in a way that made me want to solve it.
Variations
Many things “make up this peculiar book”. The title is a nod to Bach’s thirty Goldberg Variations and in the first episode of the book, Goldberg is paid to read to insomniac Westfield, echoing the actual Goldberg playing Bach to an insomniac Count.
But music plays little part in this book. Two paintings are far more significant, one of which is on the cover. Furthermore, variations are not especially obvious (except that Westfield believes there are only seven original ideas, and that the book ends up in a different version of the start). It’s more that there are layers of storytelling reality - like Calvino. In one episode, someone sends seven tales, “each a variant on the theme” that more quietly trickles in the background of the book:
“A man who had enough wanted everything… As a result he was left with nothing.”
Themes
Conversations touch on art, classical mythology (especially the Odyssey and the Iliad), anthropology, archaeology, disability, storytelling, literature, philosophy, theology, sleep, the compulsion to write, writer’s block, and families. Paul Klee’s The Wander-Artist (on the cover of my edition) becomes increasingly important as muse, metaphor, and impediment.
However, it’s a painting first mentioned in an episode titled “Containers” that symbolises the themes most succinctly:
Image: Still Life with Bottles and Books (Anon, 1525) (Source)
One door locked, another ajar, but you can’t see the contents of anything, nor read the titles of either of the books. But it includes a literal key.
Meta
“He has tried to enliven things by inventing a present day figure through which to filter the rest.”
Occasionally, layers of narrative are exposed. A character is writing about being asked to write something, but it turns out we're reading their letter to someone else about the request - which is what the writer will submit.
Someone else narrates their life in the third person:
“Everything had developed an echo… Nothing was simply itself any more.”
Characters who seem unrelated sometimes echo each other, most startlingly two who dream or believe a butterfly went in their ear and is stuck in their head. The significance is opaque.
Part way through, I spotted what seemed to be a couple of errors (one a name, and the other about time periods), but later, when a writer notices his timelines are wrong, he is consoled by the thought:
“Perhaps it is not the details that count… but something else… That which lies in between… In between the details and in between the different stories.”
Josipovici is a careful writer. Any inconsistencies are surely deliberate, even if I didn't fully appreciate the significance. Further confirmation comes in the penultimate chapter that initially seems to repeat the first. Initially.
The layers are never like the clearly defined nesting of a matryoshka doll; it’s more like the partially overlapping petals of a delicate rose.
Image: Overlapping petals of a rose. Photo by Thomas Curryer (Source)
See also
Other stories that explore layers of narrative:
• Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller (see my review HERE).
• Charlie Kaufman’s film Adaptation, about his attempt to film Susan Orelan’s The Orchid Thief (see my review HERE).
• Megan Dunn’s Tinderbox (see my review HERE) about her trying to rewrite Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (see my review HERE) from the perspective of the female characters.
Quotes
• “I have read all the books that have been written, Mr Goldberg, and it makes me melancholy.” [May I never reach that position.]
• “Writing brings release, because one is both vulnerable and, in a curious way, active and in control. That is why writing is so much better than crying.”
And from Calvino:
“At every rereading I seem to be reading a new book for the first time. Is it I who keep changing… Or is reading a construction?”
I considered writing a review that was something of a pastiche, as I did for Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller (see my review HERE), which has some similarities with this. However, I think it’s more helpful to my future self, and anyone considering reading the book, to take a more conventional approach, even though the book itself is so unconventional.
Image: Book characters communicating, by Gary Hovland (Source)
Ingredients
The book comprises thirty episodes, essays, sections, chapters… I’m not sure of the best term. The time and place are vague and varied, the narrative styles and contexts also differ, and the connections, if any, are hard to spot for a long time. It’s frustrating, but in a way that made me want to solve it.
Variations
Many things “make up this peculiar book”. The title is a nod to Bach’s thirty Goldberg Variations and in the first episode of the book, Goldberg is paid to read to insomniac Westfield, echoing the actual Goldberg playing Bach to an insomniac Count.
But music plays little part in this book. Two paintings are far more significant, one of which is on the cover. Furthermore, variations are not especially obvious (except that Westfield believes there are only seven original ideas, and that the book ends up in a different version of the start). It’s more that there are layers of storytelling reality - like Calvino. In one episode, someone sends seven tales, “each a variant on the theme” that more quietly trickles in the background of the book:
“A man who had enough wanted everything… As a result he was left with nothing.”
Themes
Conversations touch on art, classical mythology (especially the Odyssey and the Iliad), anthropology, archaeology, disability, storytelling, literature, philosophy, theology, sleep, the compulsion to write, writer’s block, and families. Paul Klee’s The Wander-Artist (on the cover of my edition) becomes increasingly important as muse, metaphor, and impediment.
However, it’s a painting first mentioned in an episode titled “Containers” that symbolises the themes most succinctly:
Image: Still Life with Bottles and Books (Anon, 1525) (Source)
One door locked, another ajar, but you can’t see the contents of anything, nor read the titles of either of the books. But it includes a literal key.
Meta
“He has tried to enliven things by inventing a present day figure through which to filter the rest.”
Occasionally, layers of narrative are exposed. A character is writing about being asked to write something, but it turns out we're reading their letter to someone else about the request - which is what the writer will submit.
Someone else narrates their life in the third person:
“Everything had developed an echo… Nothing was simply itself any more.”
Characters who seem unrelated sometimes echo each other, most startlingly two who dream or believe a butterfly went in their ear and is stuck in their head. The significance is opaque.
Part way through, I spotted what seemed to be a couple of errors (one a name, and the other about time periods), but later, when a writer notices his timelines are wrong, he is consoled by the thought:
“Perhaps it is not the details that count… but something else… That which lies in between… In between the details and in between the different stories.”
Josipovici is a careful writer. Any inconsistencies are surely deliberate, even if I didn't fully appreciate the significance. Further confirmation comes in the penultimate chapter that initially seems to repeat the first. Initially.
The layers are never like the clearly defined nesting of a matryoshka doll; it’s more like the partially overlapping petals of a delicate rose.
Image: Overlapping petals of a rose. Photo by Thomas Curryer (Source)
See also
Other stories that explore layers of narrative:
• Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller (see my review HERE).
• Charlie Kaufman’s film Adaptation, about his attempt to film Susan Orelan’s The Orchid Thief (see my review HERE).
• Megan Dunn’s Tinderbox (see my review HERE) about her trying to rewrite Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (see my review HERE) from the perspective of the female characters.
Quotes
• “I have read all the books that have been written, Mr Goldberg, and it makes me melancholy.” [May I never reach that position.]
• “Writing brings release, because one is both vulnerable and, in a curious way, active and in control. That is why writing is so much better than crying.”
And from Calvino:
“At every rereading I seem to be reading a new book for the first time. Is it I who keep changing… Or is reading a construction?”
January 17, 2021
HOMAGE (A ZENPH RE-PERFORMANCE) IN HALF THE NUMBER OF VARIATIONS:
Taxi
I kissed my wife, and said goodbye, darling, goodbye. The kiss was on the cheek and not on the lips as it once would have been. We had been estranged for sometime, while I was writing this piece.
I walked down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi. It was a silver limousine. I don't catch a lot of taxis, and don't know from one moment to another whether a limousine or an ordinary cab will be waiting for me. Perhaps it has something to do with being an account customer or a regular, or having a relationship with a particular owner/driver.
Train
We didn't have far to go, just to the railway station. I would have walked, except that it was cold and wet, and I had luggage to carry. Besides, I didn't want to miss my train. It was going to the country, and there wouldn't be another for at least an hour.
Carriage
The train trip was about two hours, though it was like going back in time. When I got to my destination, I left the station and went out into the High Street, where I quickly found my friend Richard Hammond waiting for me in his carriage.
I swung my overnight bag into the carriage and followed it onto the seat facing the horses at the front.
Welcome
The residence of Mr Tobias Westfield was no mere home. It was a mansion, well nigh a castle. It was complete with the servants you would expect of the landed aristocracy in that time and place. The butler took my bag off my hands and proceeded upstairs to my room. The maid, unnecessarily as it turned out, showed me the dining room on the ground floor, and then took me to my room. On the way, she showed me the bathroom that I would be expected to use. Fortunately, I didn't have to share it with anyone else.
Westfield
At dinner, Mr Westfield clarified my duties. He expected me to write by day, something that I would then read to him at night, so he could fall asleep in my presence. It was not adequate that I read something written by somebody else, or that I had previously written. Everything that I read had to be written to order.
I hadn't anticipated these conditions. In fact, it crossed my mind that they were a breach of the written contract we had both signed and exchanged. I was to be employed as a reader, not necessarily a writer, although that was my occupation. It was my occupation and my desire for income from it, that encouraged me to overlook the unilateral variation of the terms of our agreement. I needed the money for the renovations my wife and I had planned for our modest home, even if the two of us might never enjoy them.
Writing
I was spared the obligation to write anything on the day I had arrived. Mr Westfield was content that we treat dinner as an opportunity to meet and greet each other. I could write the following day.
Writer's Block
This was a wise decision, because I was quite weary after my journey. Even though it hadn't been excessive in length, it was tiring, and I hadn't slept on the train.
After breakfast the following morning, I sat down at my writer's desk, which was quite comfortable. Thirty minutes later, a blank page confronted me, and I had written nothing: no story, no plan, no notes. I had made no progress at all.
Confronted by an obstacle, I opted for a distraction. I decided to write a letter to my wife. If all else failed, I could read my letter to Westfield that night.
Epistle 1
My dear Sushi,
I'm sorry I didn't have more time to fare thee well yesterday. In truth, I was quite anxious about my journey and this assignment. But for the remuneration, I would have preferred to remain at home and work on a reconciliation of sorts. If that didn't work, we could either separate, or obtain some advice from a lawyer versed in these matters.
Of course, you might have some ideas of your own. Women are always more astute when it comes to the emotions. We men need to reserve our energies for productivity, whether it be in business or the arts. The emotions should neither be our concern nor our responsibility.
Your loving husband,
MG
It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be enough to satisfy Mr Westfield. At least, it wouldn't take me long to find out. If nothing else, I could use the letter in my novel.
First Reading
- This wife of yours. You have told me nothing about her. Am I to know nothing about her other than the fact that you once deemed her worthy of marriage? And now, presumably, you don't.
- I would have thought that the fact that I deemed her worthy would carry weight with another gentleman?
- That might well be the case, if we were both merely gentlemen. But I am one of that class that is styled the landed gentry. I have a country estate, the size of which must already be apparent to you, and can live entirely from rental income.
Epistle 2
My loving wife (at least I hope that is an apt description),
It is too soon for me to have received a response to my first letter, so I must write my second in ignorance of your state of mind.
My master had considerable reservations about my plan to read him my letters to you. Is he unaware of the English tradition of epistolary novels? I thought a philosopher of his stature would have been more worldly-wise.
Perhaps I shouldn't over-react, because he simply sought more detail about you. He was merely seeking to place himself as the reader in the place of the writer, so that he might know just as much about you as I do.
Both he and I are confident that this would reflect positively on you. So it is on this understanding that I humbly request your permission for me to indulge in this gentle undertaking.
Your loving husband,
MG
Writing (2)
In anticipation of my wife's response, I must set out to write what my master expects of me, at least in regard to my relationship with my wife.
To be honest, I am at sixes and sevens as to what to write. If I am too intimate in my description of my wife, it would border on the vulgar or the pornographic. If I omit too much detail, it would make my wife sound commonplace, which is certainly not the case nor would it be my aim to convey that impression in pursuit of any goal whatsoever.
Perhaps I should start writing and see what emerges spontaneously and truthfully from my pen.
My wife has a kind and tolerant disposition, a pretty face, long and useful legs, and an ample bosom.
Second Reading
I don't understand what about this description could have so angered my master. At first, he grinned mischievously, but then he grew angry, as if he were envious of my good luck to have such a wife, whereas he did not seem to share my good fortune, even if I could only describe your features by an act of the imagination.
Reply to Epistle 2
Dear husband (if that is what you still are),
On no basis do you have my permission to disclose details of me or our relationship to your current, temporary master.
You are an author of fiction, not a recorder of your own life and circumstances. Use your imagination, damn you, or you will have no relationship about which to write. You have precious little to write about as it is. To do otherwise would be to reveal the paucity of your mind and the cardboard nature of your fictional creatures.
I suppose this is another of your attempts to enliven things by inventing a bygone, present or future figure through which to filter the rest. Far from this giving authenticity to your work, it will inevitably seem contrived and false.
Why did you ever set out on this road? Something has driven you forward, until the weight of reality, the reality of the past, not to mention the reality of the present, have collectively brought you to a stop.
I can already recognise your weariness by the staleness of your language. Where is the old excitement that once accompanied your every venture into fiction? It has vanished as surely as the excitement of our wedded bliss.
Is it that you have simply run out of steam, chosen the wrong form, or is this sense of weariness, this sense of emptiness, itself something to be examined, to be explored, to be written about, to be communicated to your audience of one?
Is this the opinion you desire your critics to form? Is this how you want your work to be known? Well you can damn well do it alone, but please rest assured that this is no implicit consent to write about me.
Your wife (for the time being, and no longer)
Sushi
The Author's/Narrator's Wife
It the wife/spouse of the author thinks that a book is flawed, should this influence the opinion of a reader?
It the wife/spouse of the narrator thinks that a book is flawed, should this influence the opinion of a reader?
Vanishing Act
And with these thoughts, my story came to its end, and I disappeared.
SOUNDTRACK:
Taxi
I kissed my wife, and said goodbye, darling, goodbye. The kiss was on the cheek and not on the lips as it once would have been. We had been estranged for sometime, while I was writing this piece.
I walked down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi. It was a silver limousine. I don't catch a lot of taxis, and don't know from one moment to another whether a limousine or an ordinary cab will be waiting for me. Perhaps it has something to do with being an account customer or a regular, or having a relationship with a particular owner/driver.
Train
We didn't have far to go, just to the railway station. I would have walked, except that it was cold and wet, and I had luggage to carry. Besides, I didn't want to miss my train. It was going to the country, and there wouldn't be another for at least an hour.
Carriage
The train trip was about two hours, though it was like going back in time. When I got to my destination, I left the station and went out into the High Street, where I quickly found my friend Richard Hammond waiting for me in his carriage.
I swung my overnight bag into the carriage and followed it onto the seat facing the horses at the front.
Welcome
The residence of Mr Tobias Westfield was no mere home. It was a mansion, well nigh a castle. It was complete with the servants you would expect of the landed aristocracy in that time and place. The butler took my bag off my hands and proceeded upstairs to my room. The maid, unnecessarily as it turned out, showed me the dining room on the ground floor, and then took me to my room. On the way, she showed me the bathroom that I would be expected to use. Fortunately, I didn't have to share it with anyone else.
Westfield
At dinner, Mr Westfield clarified my duties. He expected me to write by day, something that I would then read to him at night, so he could fall asleep in my presence. It was not adequate that I read something written by somebody else, or that I had previously written. Everything that I read had to be written to order.
I hadn't anticipated these conditions. In fact, it crossed my mind that they were a breach of the written contract we had both signed and exchanged. I was to be employed as a reader, not necessarily a writer, although that was my occupation. It was my occupation and my desire for income from it, that encouraged me to overlook the unilateral variation of the terms of our agreement. I needed the money for the renovations my wife and I had planned for our modest home, even if the two of us might never enjoy them.
Writing
I was spared the obligation to write anything on the day I had arrived. Mr Westfield was content that we treat dinner as an opportunity to meet and greet each other. I could write the following day.
Writer's Block
This was a wise decision, because I was quite weary after my journey. Even though it hadn't been excessive in length, it was tiring, and I hadn't slept on the train.
After breakfast the following morning, I sat down at my writer's desk, which was quite comfortable. Thirty minutes later, a blank page confronted me, and I had written nothing: no story, no plan, no notes. I had made no progress at all.
Confronted by an obstacle, I opted for a distraction. I decided to write a letter to my wife. If all else failed, I could read my letter to Westfield that night.
Epistle 1
My dear Sushi,
I'm sorry I didn't have more time to fare thee well yesterday. In truth, I was quite anxious about my journey and this assignment. But for the remuneration, I would have preferred to remain at home and work on a reconciliation of sorts. If that didn't work, we could either separate, or obtain some advice from a lawyer versed in these matters.
Of course, you might have some ideas of your own. Women are always more astute when it comes to the emotions. We men need to reserve our energies for productivity, whether it be in business or the arts. The emotions should neither be our concern nor our responsibility.
Your loving husband,
MG
It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be enough to satisfy Mr Westfield. At least, it wouldn't take me long to find out. If nothing else, I could use the letter in my novel.
First Reading
- This wife of yours. You have told me nothing about her. Am I to know nothing about her other than the fact that you once deemed her worthy of marriage? And now, presumably, you don't.
- I would have thought that the fact that I deemed her worthy would carry weight with another gentleman?
- That might well be the case, if we were both merely gentlemen. But I am one of that class that is styled the landed gentry. I have a country estate, the size of which must already be apparent to you, and can live entirely from rental income.
Epistle 2
My loving wife (at least I hope that is an apt description),
It is too soon for me to have received a response to my first letter, so I must write my second in ignorance of your state of mind.
My master had considerable reservations about my plan to read him my letters to you. Is he unaware of the English tradition of epistolary novels? I thought a philosopher of his stature would have been more worldly-wise.
Perhaps I shouldn't over-react, because he simply sought more detail about you. He was merely seeking to place himself as the reader in the place of the writer, so that he might know just as much about you as I do.
Both he and I are confident that this would reflect positively on you. So it is on this understanding that I humbly request your permission for me to indulge in this gentle undertaking.
Your loving husband,
MG
Writing (2)
In anticipation of my wife's response, I must set out to write what my master expects of me, at least in regard to my relationship with my wife.
To be honest, I am at sixes and sevens as to what to write. If I am too intimate in my description of my wife, it would border on the vulgar or the pornographic. If I omit too much detail, it would make my wife sound commonplace, which is certainly not the case nor would it be my aim to convey that impression in pursuit of any goal whatsoever.
Perhaps I should start writing and see what emerges spontaneously and truthfully from my pen.
My wife has a kind and tolerant disposition, a pretty face, long and useful legs, and an ample bosom.
Second Reading
I don't understand what about this description could have so angered my master. At first, he grinned mischievously, but then he grew angry, as if he were envious of my good luck to have such a wife, whereas he did not seem to share my good fortune, even if I could only describe your features by an act of the imagination.
Reply to Epistle 2
Dear husband (if that is what you still are),
On no basis do you have my permission to disclose details of me or our relationship to your current, temporary master.
You are an author of fiction, not a recorder of your own life and circumstances. Use your imagination, damn you, or you will have no relationship about which to write. You have precious little to write about as it is. To do otherwise would be to reveal the paucity of your mind and the cardboard nature of your fictional creatures.
I suppose this is another of your attempts to enliven things by inventing a bygone, present or future figure through which to filter the rest. Far from this giving authenticity to your work, it will inevitably seem contrived and false.
Why did you ever set out on this road? Something has driven you forward, until the weight of reality, the reality of the past, not to mention the reality of the present, have collectively brought you to a stop.
I can already recognise your weariness by the staleness of your language. Where is the old excitement that once accompanied your every venture into fiction? It has vanished as surely as the excitement of our wedded bliss.
Is it that you have simply run out of steam, chosen the wrong form, or is this sense of weariness, this sense of emptiness, itself something to be examined, to be explored, to be written about, to be communicated to your audience of one?
Is this the opinion you desire your critics to form? Is this how you want your work to be known? Well you can damn well do it alone, but please rest assured that this is no implicit consent to write about me.
Your wife (for the time being, and no longer)
Sushi
The Author's/Narrator's Wife
It the wife/spouse of the author thinks that a book is flawed, should this influence the opinion of a reader?
It the wife/spouse of the narrator thinks that a book is flawed, should this influence the opinion of a reader?
Vanishing Act
And with these thoughts, my story came to its end, and I disappeared.
SOUNDTRACK:
December 23, 2020
I am unhappy giving this novel 2 stars, because I so much like this author’s oeuvre…what I have read of him to date. So, a couple of caveats:
• Caveat 1: I am not a musician and maybe if I understood Bach’s ‘Goldberg Variations’, I would have been enlightened as to what was going on in this novel.
• Caveat 2: I am writing this review before reading other people’s reviews including on Goodreads and elsewhere. It is possible that I will have an ‘a-ha!’ moment after reading other reviews and all of a sudden get a lot more from this novel that I have got after finishing it last night.
“The Goldberg Variations,” the musical piece, consists of an aria and a set of 30 variations. From Wikipedia: The story of how the variations came to be composed comes from an early biography of Bach by Johann Nikolaus Forkel:[For this work] we have to thank the instigation of the former Russian ambassador to the electoral court of Saxony, Count Kaiserling, who often stopped in Leipzig and brought there with him the aforementioned Goldberg, in order to have him given musical instruction by Bach. The Count was often ill and had sleepless nights. At such times, Goldberg, who lived in his house, had to spend the night in an antechamber, so as to play for him during his insomnia. ..
“Goldberg: Variations” the novel is about??? Well that’s part of the problem — I don’t fully know what it is about.
There are 30 chapters to this novel. I guess it would make some sort of sense (to me) if the first chapter told a story, and then there were 30 more chapters, each a variation of the first chapter (or initially-told story). But that’s not the way the novel was structured. It went from one time period to another, from one character to another. Josipovici, in other works I have read of his, makes use of the typographical em (—) when people are conversing to one another. But in this novel, he uses ems even when people are carrying on a one-sided conversation, and that thoroughly flummoxed me.
I took 4 pages of notes… all pretty much to no avail. I mean, I could sketch out for each chapter pretty much what transpired. But if you and I were in my house in my living room, and you asked me to give a short and succinct summary of what the author was trying to get at across the 30 chapters, I’d tell you there was something on the stove I had to attend to in the kitchen, and then probably leave my house by the back door. After a while you would realize I was not anywhere around, so you would leave, and then I would come back to my house. We both would be no wiser as to what Goldberg: Variations was about. 😐
Notes
• Edition I read was from Harper Perennial, issued in 2007. First edition was from Carcanet Press Limited in 2002.
• Here is a blurb on the front cover from Muriel Spark (1918-2006): I am a constant admirer of Josipovici’s talent and intellect.”
• From back cover: Josipovici is able to relate ordinary human concerns to some of the most important intellectual issues of [this] century. There are few writers in England of whom this could be said. —Times Literary Supplement (London)”
Reviews:
• This was originally published in a poetry periodical but it is on Josipovici website: • http://www.gabrieljosipovici.org/gvre...
• https://www.bookforum.com/print/1402/...
• https://ofbooksandbikes.com/2007/12/3...
• http://www.booksincanada.com/article_...
• https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-...
• Caveat 1: I am not a musician and maybe if I understood Bach’s ‘Goldberg Variations’, I would have been enlightened as to what was going on in this novel.
• Caveat 2: I am writing this review before reading other people’s reviews including on Goodreads and elsewhere. It is possible that I will have an ‘a-ha!’ moment after reading other reviews and all of a sudden get a lot more from this novel that I have got after finishing it last night.
“The Goldberg Variations,” the musical piece, consists of an aria and a set of 30 variations. From Wikipedia: The story of how the variations came to be composed comes from an early biography of Bach by Johann Nikolaus Forkel:[For this work] we have to thank the instigation of the former Russian ambassador to the electoral court of Saxony, Count Kaiserling, who often stopped in Leipzig and brought there with him the aforementioned Goldberg, in order to have him given musical instruction by Bach. The Count was often ill and had sleepless nights. At such times, Goldberg, who lived in his house, had to spend the night in an antechamber, so as to play for him during his insomnia. ..
“Goldberg: Variations” the novel is about??? Well that’s part of the problem — I don’t fully know what it is about.
There are 30 chapters to this novel. I guess it would make some sort of sense (to me) if the first chapter told a story, and then there were 30 more chapters, each a variation of the first chapter (or initially-told story). But that’s not the way the novel was structured. It went from one time period to another, from one character to another. Josipovici, in other works I have read of his, makes use of the typographical em (—) when people are conversing to one another. But in this novel, he uses ems even when people are carrying on a one-sided conversation, and that thoroughly flummoxed me.
I took 4 pages of notes… all pretty much to no avail. I mean, I could sketch out for each chapter pretty much what transpired. But if you and I were in my house in my living room, and you asked me to give a short and succinct summary of what the author was trying to get at across the 30 chapters, I’d tell you there was something on the stove I had to attend to in the kitchen, and then probably leave my house by the back door. After a while you would realize I was not anywhere around, so you would leave, and then I would come back to my house. We both would be no wiser as to what Goldberg: Variations was about. 😐
Notes
• Edition I read was from Harper Perennial, issued in 2007. First edition was from Carcanet Press Limited in 2002.
• Here is a blurb on the front cover from Muriel Spark (1918-2006): I am a constant admirer of Josipovici’s talent and intellect.”
• From back cover: Josipovici is able to relate ordinary human concerns to some of the most important intellectual issues of [this] century. There are few writers in England of whom this could be said. —Times Literary Supplement (London)”
Reviews:
• This was originally published in a poetry periodical but it is on Josipovici website: • http://www.gabrieljosipovici.org/gvre...
• https://www.bookforum.com/print/1402/...
• https://ofbooksandbikes.com/2007/12/3...
• http://www.booksincanada.com/article_...
• https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-...
January 9, 2021
In Goldberg: Variations, Gabriel Josipovici presents us with a series of apparently unrelated narratives that interlock over the course of the book, forming a coherent whole. There's the eighteenth century, Jewish writer, Goldberg, commissioned by the wealthy Westfield to read to him each night as a cure for his chronic insomnia. We gain insights into Westfield's disappointment in his life of leisure, in his wives and sons. Goldberg travels in a coach with his friend, Hammond, holding forth on various esoteric topics and so on...
Goldberg: Variations proves to be another of Josipovici's metafictions. In a letter, Goldberg explains the difficulty of the task he has been set to his wife. He realises that this letter can comprise the text that he will read to Westfield. The yarns he spins form the text that we are holding in our hands. So far, so 1001 Nights... Another thread is introduced in which an egomaniacal writer struggles, in the present day, to complete a manuscript. And it turns out to be the one in which Goldberg features. In the following chapter, we switch to a third person account of the same writer, stating that he was just a fictional ruse too. So far, so If on a Winter's Night a Traveller... It also brings to mind Beckett's admission in Molloy that Molloy and the characters in his previous novels are mere fictions.
The theme here seems to be the challenge presented by writing something with meaning in our present age and thus links to the "death of the novel", the reports of which have been greatly exaggerated. In What Ever Happened to Modernism?, Josipovici delivers a pretty pessimistic prognosis on the future of the English novel. Looking at the literary scene, it's hard not to concur.
Beckett was a pioneer of the anti-novel. It's no surprise that Josipovici mentions him as an early influence and also references him here. The Unnamable famously ends with the words, "I can't go on, I'll go on". And "I cannot go on" becomes a refrain in Goldberg. The abiding spirit of the book is very much that to be found in the Beckett Trilogy, one of battling on through life while death lies in wait as an almost tangible force. The writer is unhappy with what he has written. He'll never be satisfied with what he produces. It's all he knows how to do. What else can he do with his life? He cannot go on. He goes on...
As to the genesis of the novel and its relationship to Bach's work, Josipovici has stated that he wrote the first of the chapters about Goldberg as a short story. He sent the story to the composer, Judith Weir, who asked him where the other 29 variations were... Josipovici makes direct reference to this incident in the novel, having the "author" of the book be challenged by his wife to undertake a similar task. The novel's central conceit derives from the origins of Bach's work. Bach is said to have composed the variations for his pupil, the harpsichordist, Johann Goldberg. Goldberg then played the pieces to his patron, Count Kaiserling, seated in an antechamber next to the count's bedroom to combat his insomnia.
Paul Klee's late painting Wander-Artist, discussed in the book and cover to the first edition, becomes Josipovici's aria, the thirty chapters his variations on the theme. The "writer" of the book explains that in German a "wander-artist" could be an itinerant performer, and this is, perhaps, a metaphor for the writer, both for Goldberg and for Josipovici and for the ephemeral charm of their craft, storytelling. I, for one, was entranced.
Goldberg: Variations proves to be another of Josipovici's metafictions. In a letter, Goldberg explains the difficulty of the task he has been set to his wife. He realises that this letter can comprise the text that he will read to Westfield. The yarns he spins form the text that we are holding in our hands. So far, so 1001 Nights... Another thread is introduced in which an egomaniacal writer struggles, in the present day, to complete a manuscript. And it turns out to be the one in which Goldberg features. In the following chapter, we switch to a third person account of the same writer, stating that he was just a fictional ruse too. So far, so If on a Winter's Night a Traveller... It also brings to mind Beckett's admission in Molloy that Molloy and the characters in his previous novels are mere fictions.
The theme here seems to be the challenge presented by writing something with meaning in our present age and thus links to the "death of the novel", the reports of which have been greatly exaggerated. In What Ever Happened to Modernism?, Josipovici delivers a pretty pessimistic prognosis on the future of the English novel. Looking at the literary scene, it's hard not to concur.
Beckett was a pioneer of the anti-novel. It's no surprise that Josipovici mentions him as an early influence and also references him here. The Unnamable famously ends with the words, "I can't go on, I'll go on". And "I cannot go on" becomes a refrain in Goldberg. The abiding spirit of the book is very much that to be found in the Beckett Trilogy, one of battling on through life while death lies in wait as an almost tangible force. The writer is unhappy with what he has written. He'll never be satisfied with what he produces. It's all he knows how to do. What else can he do with his life? He cannot go on. He goes on...
As to the genesis of the novel and its relationship to Bach's work, Josipovici has stated that he wrote the first of the chapters about Goldberg as a short story. He sent the story to the composer, Judith Weir, who asked him where the other 29 variations were... Josipovici makes direct reference to this incident in the novel, having the "author" of the book be challenged by his wife to undertake a similar task. The novel's central conceit derives from the origins of Bach's work. Bach is said to have composed the variations for his pupil, the harpsichordist, Johann Goldberg. Goldberg then played the pieces to his patron, Count Kaiserling, seated in an antechamber next to the count's bedroom to combat his insomnia.
Paul Klee's late painting Wander-Artist, discussed in the book and cover to the first edition, becomes Josipovici's aria, the thirty chapters his variations on the theme. The "writer" of the book explains that in German a "wander-artist" could be an itinerant performer, and this is, perhaps, a metaphor for the writer, both for Goldberg and for Josipovici and for the ephemeral charm of their craft, storytelling. I, for one, was entranced.
February 13, 2019
This is my 4th Josipovici. Unfortunately, it has not become my favourite of his. Named after Bach's fugue, it is a collection of 30 linked stories. They are connected through two writers: Goldberg, the Jew of 18th century, who is invited to entertain an aristocrat and to provide him with bed-time reading; another writer is a modern one who appeared to be writing the book Goldberg is the part of. The set up sounded very promising as I normally admire many stories tangled into each other. The title suggested they would be a set of variations on a certain scheme. It has started well enough with the first couple of episodes. But then, somehow Josipovici lost the momentum. It is still a stella book full of erudite references and allusions. Swift and Klee are the first two coming to my mind. But it has not quite reach for me the height of Infinity: The Story of a Moment. And I think it anticipated The Cemetery in Barnes, while the Cemetery is more refined, less confusing and elegant.
I suspect I would value it more if it would be my first book by this author.
I suspect I would value it more if it would be my first book by this author.
October 2, 2013
This recent-ish novel from Josipovici is as clever as the others read recently, but ultimately the least structurally and narratively successful to me (meaning it did not hang together or engage me as much as the others). To encourage newcomers, let me say the weaving of different styles across varying time periods is terrific, even if the novel loses momentum as it progresses (can’t stress that enough) and deserves more credit than this feeble review offers. Some books get a second chance in another life. This one is at the front of the queue, alongside Gravity’s Rainbow, The Fountains of Neptune, and Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
June 30, 2020
Having acquainted myself with Josipovici's works and style,I would say this comes with his usual references to greek epics, music, painting, christianity, etc. But what I have already remarked as his style, namely leaving the story to the imagination of the reader, is not so evident in this work.
Nevertheless, if you are a fan of his writing, there is much to savour. His intellect and knowledge of history and literature shines through.
May be I rushed a bit, I am not sure. The structure itself is of a non linear and incoherent.
The story is about a writer named goldberg, who is summoned to the place of a "thinker" named Westfield, to narrate stories so as to make him sleep as he is suffering from chronic insomnia.
And around this one simple plot line, Josipovici expands much about the characters ( their wives, sons, their friend's wives and sons), history of Scots, discussions on greek epics, music ( there is one on fugue) and much more.
And to come back to his initial point, he puts them in multiple possibilities and that's where the title comes from.
Only towards the end you see why there were much incoherence over the narration. Which turns into something I didn't see it coming in the first place.
I felt there were too much digression in the writing.
But why did I give a 4 stars rating, may be I am still enraptured by certain stories. His acute sense on literature, art and his skill at character development are a treat and they stand out here too.
Just that I felt it was necessarily made into an incoherent mess (that one needs to read to find it out towards the end) and suddenly as if Josipovici was deconstructing the whole edifice he was building on.
If you have already read a fair bit of Josipovici, I would suggest you to try this. This shouldn't be the beginner.
An update:
I have changed it to 3 stars. Since I have given 4 stars for his cemetery in barnes, which I consider as one of his best works, I think it is wrong to give this book a 4 stars rating. I would say it is more like a 3 and half stars.
Whatever be it! This obsession over rating sometimes gets out of hand!
Nevertheless, if you are a fan of his writing, there is much to savour. His intellect and knowledge of history and literature shines through.
May be I rushed a bit, I am not sure. The structure itself is of a non linear and incoherent.
The story is about a writer named goldberg, who is summoned to the place of a "thinker" named Westfield, to narrate stories so as to make him sleep as he is suffering from chronic insomnia.
And around this one simple plot line, Josipovici expands much about the characters ( their wives, sons, their friend's wives and sons), history of Scots, discussions on greek epics, music ( there is one on fugue) and much more.
And to come back to his initial point, he puts them in multiple possibilities and that's where the title comes from.
Only towards the end you see why there were much incoherence over the narration. Which turns into something I didn't see it coming in the first place.
I felt there were too much digression in the writing.
But why did I give a 4 stars rating, may be I am still enraptured by certain stories. His acute sense on literature, art and his skill at character development are a treat and they stand out here too.
Just that I felt it was necessarily made into an incoherent mess (that one needs to read to find it out towards the end) and suddenly as if Josipovici was deconstructing the whole edifice he was building on.
If you have already read a fair bit of Josipovici, I would suggest you to try this. This shouldn't be the beginner.
An update:
I have changed it to 3 stars. Since I have given 4 stars for his cemetery in barnes, which I consider as one of his best works, I think it is wrong to give this book a 4 stars rating. I would say it is more like a 3 and half stars.
Whatever be it! This obsession over rating sometimes gets out of hand!
April 19, 2021
This was an interesting read but if I'm being honest I felt frustrated with some of the chapters. It's quite possible this is a fault of mine and not Josipovici. Maybe I just wasn't locking in to what he was trying to accomplish sometimes. But some of the chapters did feel much stronger than others. The first chapter easily stands alone as short fiction. One of the last chapters on Klee's Wander-Artist painting really felt like it was hitting on all cylinders and getting at Josipovici's themes and main modernist interests, more from an accrual of words and images than any straight explanation. And the work is chock full modernist concerns, such as the lack of inherent references or systems to rely on, the falsity of narrative and writing, the need to write anyway for many reasons, the absurdity and randomness of life and ways humans can combat the feelings that randomness brings, the feeling everything has already been said and done and yet every day we still must say and do those things...
You get the point.
If I was battling between 3 and 4 stars (so stupid really...) it was only the flatness of some of the chapters as compared with the quiet brilliance of others. In spite of these quibbles, I will certainly be looking forward to reading another novel by Josipovici.
You get the point.
If I was battling between 3 and 4 stars (so stupid really...) it was only the flatness of some of the chapters as compared with the quiet brilliance of others. In spite of these quibbles, I will certainly be looking forward to reading another novel by Josipovici.
September 19, 2008
18th-century English country gentleman Westfield, a self-appointed philosopher, is plagued with insomnia. He engages Samuel Goldberg, a Jewish writer, to read him to sleep. Somehow the assignment changes in nature, and Goldberg is expected to write an original composition to lull his patron to sleep with each night. The 30 chapters of this book are nothing so straightforward as the stories Goldberg might write - instead, they're meditations on the process of storytelling, on the past and how it touches the present, on art, music, literature (especially the warhorses of the western canon) and philosophy and the relation they might bear to wisdom. Good stuff, very elegant and economical in style and packed with substance to mull over. In a way this is the sort of allusive, nuanced, symbolic and formally ambitious book that's tailor-made for me to enjoy. And I enjoyed it.
February 24, 2016
I am surprised flabbergasted that this book has simply TWO reviews!!! Had I any premeditated notion to read this book after looking it up on this website, I am pretty sure I would have been highly discouraged. Lucky for me, I picked it up randomly from the library just to kill time while waiting for a class to end.
I thought it was quite intense and relatable. There is frequent reference to literature, mostly to Greek mythology such as Iliad and Odyssey, which might throw off the reader he if s/he is not familiar with it but other than that, its straight forward and well written. Its a little absurd but nothing compared to Murakami's bizarreness (for lack of word). I think I was too greedy with it and read it too quick when I should have let it sink in gradually. I would definitely want to read it again some years from now.
I thought it was quite intense and relatable. There is frequent reference to literature, mostly to Greek mythology such as Iliad and Odyssey, which might throw off the reader he if s/he is not familiar with it but other than that, its straight forward and well written. Its a little absurd but nothing compared to Murakami's bizarreness (for lack of word). I think I was too greedy with it and read it too quick when I should have let it sink in gradually. I would definitely want to read it again some years from now.
March 8, 2022
This novel wears its experimental nature on its sleeves and, although usually excellent piece by piece, it did not work for me as a whole. This made it grow tiresome as I went further and further into it. It also prevented the novel from being at all memorable. Admirable, but not memorable.
Read
April 24, 2012Gabriel Josipovici has published a series of fictions centering around artists, writers, painters, musicians. This is perhaps his most opaque yet compelling work in this group of novels.
March 1, 2008
I really liked this, maybe the best thing I picked up totally at random in a while, but it's also a book that kind of threw me, that I would like to read again.
The conceit here is sort of 1001 nights type stuff. There's an insomniac, and he hires a writer to read to him all night. To make it nightmarish if you're a writer, well, all he reads is to be new stuff, stuff he writes that day. Yikes, I tell you.
Anyhow, each chapter is one story that the writer tells. Maybe. Anyhow, the stories kind of overlap, covering some related thematic territory: questions about companionship and how two people need each other, things about husbands and wives but also friends dominate, as do questions about writing, and about wandering (Odysseus is referred to pretty regularly, and the myth of the wandering jew lurks in the background here). There's some good stuff about language, there are chapters that are some pretty astute literary or art criticism, not narrative at all. And it comes together in such a way that of course makes you question which parts are the stories being told and which are the stories of the stories making. You get the picture.
Again, this isn't a book for everyone. But I found it consistently smart, compelling reading. It's a weird little book, but I will definitely read more by this guy, if I can find more of his stuff.
The conceit here is sort of 1001 nights type stuff. There's an insomniac, and he hires a writer to read to him all night. To make it nightmarish if you're a writer, well, all he reads is to be new stuff, stuff he writes that day. Yikes, I tell you.
Anyhow, each chapter is one story that the writer tells. Maybe. Anyhow, the stories kind of overlap, covering some related thematic territory: questions about companionship and how two people need each other, things about husbands and wives but also friends dominate, as do questions about writing, and about wandering (Odysseus is referred to pretty regularly, and the myth of the wandering jew lurks in the background here). There's some good stuff about language, there are chapters that are some pretty astute literary or art criticism, not narrative at all. And it comes together in such a way that of course makes you question which parts are the stories being told and which are the stories of the stories making. You get the picture.
Again, this isn't a book for everyone. But I found it consistently smart, compelling reading. It's a weird little book, but I will definitely read more by this guy, if I can find more of his stuff.
July 30, 2010
This is a strange and wonderful book, loosely based on the original "legend" of how Bach came to write his Goldberg Variations - one Mr. Goldberg (his landlord?) couldn't sleep at night, and begged J.S. to play music to him to help him sleep. Josipovici's book has 30 chapters, and starts with a Mr. Goldberg, a Jewish writer in the early 1800's, who is hired to "read" to an eccentric English squire (is there any other kind?) to help him sleep. But I think that's where the resemblance ends, and the storytelling begins...
Want to read
October 6, 2010I am guessing it is not an accident that this book's title echoes edgar allan poe's goldbug and richard powers' gold bug variations?
Someone who's read all three, do tell. ... please!
Someone who's read all three, do tell. ... please!
November 29, 2020
İç içe hikayeler yapacağım derken kopuk öykücükler topluluğu olmuş. Kötü değil ama çook da iyi diyemedim. 3.5
November 27, 2021
It was interesting. Brainy. Confusing. I'm not sure I liked it, but it left me thoughtful.
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews