Friday, May 21, 2010

Review of : The Mystery Guest by Gregoire Bouillier


I had medium level expectations heading into this one. I knew people liked it and that maybe I would like it too but it wasn't like this looming monster of a classic that I was almost obligated to enjoy and I'd be a fool of a took if I breathed a bad word about it. I find it hard to bring myself to read those kind of books because they're most certainly going to be a let down.

Now, with this short, delightful book in question, I rather enjoyed it. It wasn't flawless by any stretch of the imagination, though I'm not sure if flawlessness is necessarily a good thing or even something worth aiming for, as a writer. I think part of its umm I guess I'll say 'charm' is its length. It clocks in at 120 pages and it's a small book, like physically small, dimension wise, so it's really probably more like 40-50 "real" pages. So it's like a long short story. If it had been longer I think it would have lost whatever attraction it holds. So, no more, no less. It is perfect in that way, contained, though not really concise.

The narrative sort of parallels the conceptual art of one of the main characters, Sophie Calle, in that conceptual art, at least in my understanding, is more about the idea of the art than it is about the actual finished product. Art of Idea, or something. So the ideas that emerge through the narrative and that Bouillier dutifully tries to flush out, was ultimately the most entertaining portion for me. And I don't think Bouillier's personal life can be ignored upon reading, and in fact I think it adds more layers to the text. Like I didn't even know Sophie Calle was an actual person and conceptual artist (which she is) and that Bouillier actually did go to her birthday party as a mystery guest( and brought a very expensive bottle of wine as a gift) and that they would go on to become lovers (I think they call themselves 'lovers' in Europe, not boyfriend and girlfriend). And that Bouillier would end the relationship which would in turn cause Sophie Calle to produce a piece of conceptual art called 'Take Care of Yourself', based on his break-up email. I find that kind of reality blending fun.

And for those of you who think the author's personal life shouldn't have any bearing on the reading of the text, I say...well, maybe you're right some of the time, but maybe in this case, or cases like this, when the writer intentionally uses his or her life to construct art, then maybe we should add that to the pile of interpretation. Why not?

Also, an interesting factoid: Calle asked writer and filmmaker Paul Auster to "invent a fictive character which I would attempt to resemble" and served as the model for the character Maria in Auster’s novel Leviathan (1992). This mingling of fact and fiction so intrigued Calle that she created the works of art created by the fictional character, which included a series of color-coordinated meals. (lifted from a nifty webpage called Wikipedia)

Quotes:

"And all at once I saw why our societies use gift wrap: not for the sake of surprise but rather to cover up the fact that The Gift is based on a lie, as we inevitably discover every time somebody gives us something, yes, and we open it and, after that mircosecond when we expect the fulfillment of our deepest desire, disgust and sadness wash over us and we smile as fast as we can and say thank you, the better to bury our chagrin at never once in all our lives receiving something more than what we'd hoped for. And this evanescent joy, forever disappointed, remains incomprehensible to us." pg. 34

"I'd already kissed her cheek, closing my eyes and clenching my fists and fighting the urge to seek her lips and find and open them and taste her tongue and lose myself there the way I used to do- and so to put an end to this charade I placed the bottle in her hands, saying, "From the mystery guest." And I hope no one ever has to smile the way I smiled then." pg. 54

"I told her it was funny, none of these celebrities really look very much like celebrities to me. To me they looked more like little bits of bread bobbing around and sinking in a bowl of milk." pg. 63

"For the first time someone had captured the impossible demand that women make on men, and men's impossible acquiescence, and this curse that separates them, which is familiar to us all and weighs down on us like a kind of despair and-- I was sorry, I was talking too much and I hadn't even seen the film." pg. 112

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