Being shipwrecked on a remote, uninhabited island in the 18th century. Communication is non-existent. There is no hope of rescue. The wreck is the only source of supplies but there is the green tropical island full of Nature’s bounty. This is the age of enlightenment, the age of discovery. An age which believes in the destiny of human kind and the wondrous ability of man to harness nature. This is the thematic back ground of Daniel Defoe’s ‘Robinson Crusoe’ one of the first novels portrayed with the idea of survival pressing hard, but also the collective capital of language and culture giving abundant confidence to fall back upon.
Leapfrogging from these exciting beginnings in the 18th century let me contrast this novel with a few of the novels I’m currently reading. I’m reading Asako Yuzuki’s novel Butter. If Robinson Crusoe is about an adventurous young sailor, Butter delves into the mind of Japanese women, into misogyny, about distortions and appropriators of familiar gender roles. I’m also reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s “The Remains of the Day.”; a novel about post first world war British society seen from the point of view of an experienced and intelligent, English Butler. The novel explores various themes like manners, class and status, interpersonal relations, the advent of the neo-rich, social hierarchies, culture and conditioning. The classic, flawless and flowing expression of the narrative reaches outstanding heights in this novel.
“The incredible and sad tale of innocent Erendira and her heartless Grandmother “ by Gabriel Marquez has just been completed. As always, nothing can stop Marquez from stretching the limits of reality. A line of men stretching miles to have their time in bed with innocent Erendira could be quite far-fetched. But in a land where mad storms can burn down houses and diamonds can be grown in oranges, nothing will sound hollow. Also finished Italo Calvino’s Cosmicomics, a novel from my limited comprehension, I could say belongs to the league of Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum. Each of the stories in the book is built around a scientific theory and also is a memory of an event in the history of the Universe.
His novels are classified as Post-modern but I have tended to regard his work to be mischievous and playful. The monumental and momentous events of history and time are twisted on their heads to explore the other side of the story. In a way science has diffused into fable, history has permeated into folklore and truth merged into fiction.
Jorge Luis Borges said, “I’m not sure that I exist. Actually I’m all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited.” Also I have Markus Zusak’s ‘The Book thief’ waiting to be read. Who says the novel is comprehensible? Like Marquez’s vision of Macondo it is barbarous and brimming with immense possibilities in an infinite array of beams. (To be continued)