Silk

Alessandro Barrico. Translated from the Italian by Guido Waldman. Harvill Press, London. 1996.

Frankly, this book attracted me because it seemed to read so much like Snow (see previous post). It's also written by a European but set in Japan, and seems to have the same tone as Snow, which is best and most easily described as a European slant on the technique of the haiku, i.e. a world of emotion packed into very few syllables.

What this invariably seems to lead to (in the European novella) is a somewhat haunting, dreamlike love story - almost as though it's a fable, or at least an allegory. But an allegory for what? Not sure . . .

but, for me, the end was worth the rest of this novella, which relied a little too heavily on repetition of previous chapters (the description of the journey across the world - repeated verbatim 4 TIMES!) and, in presenting the repression of the main character, Hervé Joncour, often came dangerously close to being outright dull.

However, the story keeps your interest primarily with the haunting figure of the Japanese girl (who may or may not be Japanese, technically - a mystery never solved, alas) who never speaks but communicates in one (or possibly two) letters to our "hero." The crux of the story, actually, and we as the reader don't find this out truly until later, is the contrast of this "desired" woman, in comparison with the Frenchman's wife, Helene, who is described as having the most beautiful voice in the world. (note the contrast already: "most beautiful voice" vs. "the one who never speaks.") Helene, as well, is simply the devoted wife: caring, kind, compassionate, and while we as the readers are invariably interested in whether Joncour will attain the object of his desire, we are also beset with regret for the attention that this draws from Helene.

And now here's the spoiler, so if you want to read the book, don't read the following paragraphs. OK?

Here goes: the climax of the novel is the most tender part about this love story, because it sets the whole thing on its end. That is: Joncour never gets the Japanese girl/war breaks out/he gets a letter from her which is a long intense erotic letter about all the physical contact they could never have, and as some Japanese woman is translating this for him in Paris, I was thinking to myself that this letter did not truly seem like a Japanese writing style, in that it was too long, too expressive, too detailed. Didn't think about this until the climax of the book, which is this: OK, after this letter is translated for him, it ends with "this is the contact we could never have. Consider this the consummation of our love. Now go live happily with your wife." And he does! He and Helene have another two decades of sweet marriage together, until she dies. Then he gets the idea to go see the Japanese woman who translated it for him in the first place, and she reveals to him that Helene had actually written the letter and had her translate it into Japanese. The woman also tells him that Helene had the most beautiful voice that she'd ever heard.

So the point was this: Helene gave him the girl, in a way that would allow him to let go and spend his days with her, so that he would never be thinking about what might have been - so that he could live fully.

Now, not to p'o all the feminists who will inevitably read the text out of context, I consider this an homage to the strength of the female character (in contrast to the weakness of the male!). In fact, Helene is the greatest, most developed character in this novella, and as a testament to the strength of the story, we don't discover this fact until the final pages.

Not badly done, all in all.

VG