Oh, you know your're in the middle of a barely bearable heatwave, and the nights are too bloody warm and humid to sleep. And what you really need is a book you can pick up and instantaneously get deeply absorbed in its world. To enjoy the simple process of reading again, in order to distract you from your overly fatigued state. But, I've lumbered myself with one humdinger of a boring book. Even before the heatwave, I'd been making very very slow progress with Ceilings by Zuzana Brabcova.
So even though I reached the halfway point last night, I finally resolved I would take it no further. Life, my dear, is far too flippin short to spend time reading such a miserable book, that does nothing more than wallow in the confused delusions and misery of its protagonist. A review on the inside cover describes it as - 'a literary event, an extreme work, exceptional in its concision and poetry' I think there must be some hidden subtext here, because 'This will tax more than your patience' is what that review communicates to me. It ought to have a warning flag.
Ema is in a psyche ward. Basically she's so badly bejazzled her brain cells with drug use, she can no longer tell you whether she's Arthur or Martha, what's real and what isn't. As she is your only guide through this book, even the flash backs to apparently more sane times, fail to enlighten. She's the ultimate unreliable narrator. Why? because she's utterly bonkers that's why. As are all her fellow patients. So far the most exciting incident is that she's been referred downstairs to another ward.
I have not had a good run in my fictional reading choices recently. The last one, Devoured was shackled with being written from the limited perspective of an eleven year old, and this one is over burdened with the insights of someone who believes the images she sees on the ceiling are real. All the time you are having to second guess her. Are even the most inconsequential events really how it was, or are they also twisted recollections from her precarious mental state?
This has been all the book has been about thus far. As one wades through the muddy flood waters of one closely recounted psychotic incident after another. If even her husband can't handle it anymore and has buggered off, imagine how I must feel? But do I feel any pangs of guilt as I prematurely abandon my care for the fate of frail little Ema,? No, I'll not give it a second thought. I'm pretty confident this novel will end exactly back where it began - off its trolley in catatonia. I thought initially that Ceilings was more engagingly written than Devoured. It became quickly obvious that it has a consistent absorption in the detailing of her mental collapse, that then drags you shackled like an intravenous drip to this woman, whose completely off her tits. page by page by bloody page. It has no discernible plot, nor does it appear to evince any belief in one.
Well, fuck em, is what I say. I'm a free man, I can decide to flick a V sign at this and throw this novel with a huge amount of disinterest in the direction of charity. Though I might question whether that is a charitable act, given how bad it is. Perhaps a bit of anarcho-syndicalist paper shredding might be better. All of this further convinces me that I really shouldn't waste any more good money on fiction books. Its second hand, or the Library from now on, then at least I could return the book if it turns out to be this shite.
CARROT REVIEW - 2/8
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