I've been a bit of a Mark Z. Danielewski fanboy since my college professor brainwashed me back in the springtime. House of Leaves left some battle scars I will likely carry with me for years to come. So when I had the opportunity to listen to MZD read his latest novel... well, I was pretty annoying to be around.
Heading up to San Francisco is not something I do very often. Having spent most of my adult life in Santa Barbara, I never really experienced the night life or artistic scene in the city. I pretty much only know of one bar that I enjoy. Even though it's relatively close, driving up 280 builds a little bit of excitement for the evening to come. You can imagine how much that would be amplified when going to see one of my favorite authors talk at us for a few hours.
I picked up my book at the entrance of the Swedish American Hall. MZD's art instantly came alive in my hand: the book cover is riddled in pock-marks. Sort of like a Goosebumps novel, but somehow even more creepy. And I'll be damned if Monster Blood and Night of the Living Dummy still don't haunt my dreams now and then. Also that freaky dog with the glowing eyes. Yeah, I couldn't even watch the intro of the Goosebumps TV show without freaking a bit.
The actual concert hall is very small and intimate. The theme of the evening was... orange. The curtains were even the same color as the book cover. Very appropriate considering it was almost Halloween and MZD is going to be telling us "ghost" stories. I was happy with anticipation.
And then it all happened. It was pretty much what I expected. A guy reading a book. I wasn't expecting an immensely climactic experience, but what really made the night was the musical accompaniment by Chris O'Reilly. The different sections of the book lend to a lot of different musical interpretations. The varying pace and suspense of this short story really made for a memorable and haunting soundtrack. As for the content of the book itself, I knew it would be very difficult for me to follow along because my imagination generates images somewhat slowly. While I understood the book to some extent, listening to it didn't give my brain enough time with it. Everything just happens a little too fast for my liking, whereas when I read I am able to pause and ponder sections at a time. I'll re-read parts, too.
So I didn't have a DVR installed on my brain. Whatevs. I wasn't fretting about it. I had the book in my hand, and I knew I'd have time later to delve into the actual physical text. And I did that night. In fact, I went downstairs to the Cafe du Nord, had a beer, chatted with other MZD junkies, and then went straight to my car to crack it open. For musical accompaniment I had Parallax II. Well, that album has been accompanying me everywhere lately. So I started reading the story I just heard, but it was so much more satisfying to see the text. If someone ever read House of Leaves to you, you would get bored. But if you read it, you'll probably go a little crazy. That's a good thing. The Fifty Year Sword doesn't disappoint when compared to the unusual form of House of Leaves. The book is rife with bizarre structures that compliment the text and confound the senses. There are beautiful illustrations that actually appear as if they are stitched into the novel. At first the appearance of such just seemed like a neat little gimmick to make the book more aesthetically pleasing. Yet as I continued to read, it eventually became exceedingly relevant to do such a thing. The fact that the illustrations weren't "drawn" became so symbolic for me. I really began to appreciate each little threaded illustration as the details of the text became clearer. In some sense, it no longer felt like these were illustrations, or interpretations by an illustrator. They appeared to be something created by characters in the book and they simply emerging for me to see. It's not really clear who stitched them, but then again, it's never clear as to who's telling the story in the first place. The text is disjointed and interrupted by various speakers as noted by differently colored quotation marks. The speakers or story-tellers are often inconsistent in their presentation of the story, as though the thread of the plot has been cut and stitched back together. Yet it still achieves a sort of flow and, well, you can understand it. It's not neatly done, but I believe this is the effect MZD is trying to convey.
This book is about telling stories, or suturing together fragments of stories to reach some sort of completion. Completion isn't really the right word, but I find it difficult to choose the right words when discussing MZD. Overall I don't find the content of the story itself very memorable, but the immensely symbolic visual elements really stuck with me. Definitely worth the time, and I got two different experiences out of the same novel.
Books. I loves them.
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