BERG - ANN QUIN

This was a weird one. As always, I try to mix it up and throw some fiction into my book-diet but I was feeling like it was time for something totally new. I believe I heard about Quin from the same people who are into Djuna Barnes, and since I enjoyed the Barnes I figured I’d look into Quin. She’s got a bit of a cult following and only wrote 4 books (N. West style) before taking her own life. She seems to be in a lineage of well-respected but under-read mid-century English weirdos. The book’s plot is fairly simple and basically summed up in the first line, “A man called Berg, who changed his name to Gerb, came to a seaside town intending to kill his father.” And, not unlike Hamlet (there are a few other Shakespeare references snuck in that I managed to catch), he spends the rest of the book thinking about and attempting to kill. The book is radically shrunk down, there’s basically only 4 characters, Berg/Gerb, his dad, his mom (who we only read letters from and see in memory), and his dad’s mistress who B/Gerb is also attracted to/obsessed with. Even beyond that, the book is really only one character because it’s totally in B/Gerb’s head and Quin does an amazing job of replicating what it feels like to think. The whole thing is seen through B/Gerb’s deeply personal and idiosyncratic brain. Which is to say that it isn’t linear or logical or sequential, it jumps back between observed present and memory and speculation, all without warning or rhythm. “Thoughts are switchbacks, uncontrolled.” Berg thinks at one point. In that way it reminds me of Virginia Woolf, who comes closest all all for me to capturing the experience of consciousness, except Quin’s G/Berg is a deeply troubled and insane man whose interior is a total mess. There’s a lot of stuff about identity, including a prominent ventriloquist dummy, fate and memory but the real reason to read the book is the totally unique and strange prose. I really admire the confidence that it takes to write something in this style. The confidence that it takes to really disorient the reader and to make them come to where you are, not the other way around. This is one of those books that you need to get into a bit of a trance with to grok the vibe and the rhythm and, generally, what is going on. You’ll be reading, confused, for pages, then get hit with something like, “Does memory alone dwell on detail - the fragrance of nostalgia” making the whole thing worthwhile and demonstrating that novels aren’t just plot. I’m sure it would reward a dozen rereads. It’s also quite short which makes it easier to pick it up and tear through. If I could recommend anything, I think this would have been better read in one long session (or as few sessions as possible) just because it gets so much better when you’ve really settled into B/Gerb’s brain. Each time you pick it up there’s a shocking strangeness that takes the reader out of it for the first few pages. I think I’ll keep an eye out for her other stuff, like I said, there are only 4 total sadly and I believe they’re all weird and short. RIP Quin, I wish you’d lived longer and gotten stranger still. 4 British Beaches