Olga Tokarczuk - The Empusium (Fitzcarraldo, 2024) *****

The book ends with this "Author's Note": 

"All the misogynistic views on the topic of women and their place in the world are paraphrased from texts by the following authors: 

Augustine of Hippo, Bernard of Cluny, William S. Burroughs, Cato, Joseph Conrad, Charles Darwin, Emile Durkheim, Henry Fielding, Sigmund Freud, H. Rider Haggard, Hesiod, Jack Kerouac, D.H. Lawrence, Cesare Lombroso, W Somerset Maugham, John Milton, Friedrich Nietzsche, Ovid, Plato, Ezra Pound, Jean Racine, Frarnçois de La Rochefoucauld, Jean-Paul Sartre, Arthur Schopenhauer, William Shakespeare, August Strindberg, Jonathan Swift, Algernon Charles Swinburne, Semonides of Amorgos, Tertullian, Thomas Aquinas, Richard Wagner, Frank Wedekind, John Webster, Otto Weininger and William Butler Yeats."

This novel is Tokarczuk's literary game with male supremacy, toying with it, exposing it, but in her usual non-conflictual way, with a deep respect for the opponent, and even sympathy. The main character is a young Polish man, who goes to Germany to be treated for lung problems (tuberculosis), like all the other characters in the novel, to a sanatorium in Görbersdorf, now called Sokołowsko, and located in Poland, the place which inspired Thomas Mann one hundred years ago (in November 2024) to write "The Magic Mountain". Like in Mann's novel, the protagonist meets a set of characters who all represent one or the other ideology of the moment, allowing for lengthy discussions about politics and philosophy. 

But of course there is more going on. The book has many layers. It is a "horror story" as its subtitle suggests, and many other things are taking place, things that fall beyond the discussions among the men. Both cosmic events take place, as well as brutal primitive events. 

"By a twist of circumstance, as Frau Opitz's body was descending on ropes into the open grave, the exact au­tumn equinox took place, and the ecliptic was aligned in such a special way that it counterbalanced the vibration of the Earth. Naturally, nobody noticed this - people have more important things on their minds. But we know it." (p. 82)

 Every so often, yet sparingly, the "we" appear in the novel, described in the Cast of Characters at the beginning as the "Nameless inhabitants of the walls, floors and ceilings", beings that observe, that blend in with the background, yet are always present. The other aspect that is beyond control is brutal human nature: in the woods (outside civilisation) live the coal burners, who have made female puppets of natural materials that they can use as sex dolls. 

The main character, Mieczyslaw Wojnicz, feels uncomfortable in this entire bizarre context. He is the odd one out, the neutral person all the other characters want to talk to, to convince him of their opinions, and yet he is also not what he seems. They mystery will not be revealed here, but he sheds a completely new light on the narrative. He engages with the other men, listens to them, talks to them, yet somehow feels alien to their world. 

"The funeral was brief, devoid of unnecessary words, as if it were impossible to say more about this terrible, macabre event that should be forgotten as quickly as possible. And that was what Wojnicz did - he forgot. As they were driv­ing back to the guesthouse, perversely, or mischievously perhaps, he asked Lukas and August if they believed in the immortal soul and what happened to it after death, and thus prompted a veritable pandemonium of ideas, arguments and counterarguments, quotations and refer­ences, so by the time the carriage was passing the nursing home at the start of their village, he did not know what his companions were talking about, and his only thought was of lying down in bed." (p. 82)

Women are almost absent in the novel, with a few exceptions. They are not subjects with a voice or a plot. 

"'Woman represents a bygone, inferior stage of evolu­tion, so writes Darwin, and he of all people has something to say on the matter. Woman is like .. .' - here he sought the right word - 'an evolutionary laggard. While man has gone on ahead and acquired new capabilities, woman has stayed in her old place and does not develop. That is why a woman is often socially handicapped, incapable of cop­ing on her own, and must always be reliant on a man. She has to make an impression on him - by manipulation, by smiling. The Mona Lisa's smile symbolizes a woman's en­tire evolutionary strategy for coping with life. Which is to seduce and manipulate.' (p. 94)

The men are having a great time bouncing off abstract ideas and opinions, arguing with broad philosophical and ideological concepts, but Wojnicz is beyond this. He lives in another world, one that is not delineated by clear rules, categorisations, definitions and constraints. Here he remembers playing chess with his father when a kid. 

"Little Mieczyslaw Wojnicz understood the rules (of chess) and could foresee a lot, but to tell the truth, the game did not interest him. Making moves according to the rules and aiming to defeat your opponent seemed to him just one of the possible ways to use the pawns. He preferred to day­dream, and to see the chessboard as a space where the fates of the unfortunate pawns and other pieces were played out; he cast them as characters weaving complex webs of intrigue, either with or against each other, and linked by all sorts of relationships. He thought it a waste to limit their activity to the checkered board, to leave them to the mercy of a formal game played according to strict rules. So as soon as his father lost interest and went off to see to more important matters, Mieczys would move the chess pieces onto the steppes of the rug and the mountains of the armchair, where they saw to their own business, set off on journeys, and furnished their kitchens, houses and palaces. Finally his father's ashtray became a boat, and the pen holders were rafters' oars, while the space under­neath a chair turned into a cathedral where the wedding of the two queens, black and white, was taking place." (p. 162)

Tokarczuk herself is a majestic player with language, with character, props, sub-plots and scenes. She is the one to colour outside the lines, to use her wonderful imagination to create a special carefully constructed edifice, that you can approach from many different angles and be suprised and perplexed by the wealth of ideas and possibilities for interpretation. Wojnich's closest friend Thilo is a fan of the paintings of Herri Met de Bles, a 16th Century Flemish landscape painter, who is known for the many levels of his work. 

"How is it that from tiny strokes of a brush dipped in paint an entire world with many depths comes into being? De Bles's painting seemed fathomless - when he magni­fied it, he saw even more details, minute spots of paint, very light brushstrokes, indistinct patches and myste­rious flaws. As he wandered about the clouds, supple, rounded lines emerged from them, resembling figures, faces or wings. But when he moved down towards the vegetation, among the leaves he saw eyes and noses, bits of hands and feet, elusive bodies that existed fleetingly, only when his vision brushed against them for a single, unrepeatable moment. In the aerial castle windows, he spied the corners of chambers, and semi-transparent creatures inside them, each connected with a tragedy, a regret. Maybe Abraham's sacrifice was being performed there too, but in slightly different configurations and with different actors? De Bles's canvas seemed to be full of messages, like a detailed map using a language of simple signs that carry branching meanings, a world that proves infinite once one goes deep inside, where one keeps discovering new things" (p. 259)

 You can look at the trees and the details, but you can look at it from a further distance, and you will see something else entirely. This is Tokarczuk at play: inventive, creative, challenging the reader, throwing little hints and pieces of half-formed information, real elements (including pictures of the village and sanatorium) and wild fantasies. She is a true master, writing an entire novel with primarily male characters, yet in truth it's all about women, it's rational in the philosphical discussions, yet in truth it's about the in-between worlds that defy categorisation, that cannot be captured in words even, the world of the senses, a world that is as elusive as the narrator. It's a comedy on the surface, but a deep tragedy at the same time, a horror story. Her language is straightforward, as is her style - indeed Thomas Mann comes to mind - yet its clarity is in stark contrast with the darkness of the novel. The men all have the answers to the problems of the world, the men all believe they are in control, yet they are all ill, weak and brought together in a sanatorium in a desperate and more often than not futile attempt to make them healthy again. You can only appreciate the irony, while outside the sanatorium darkness reigns.

Brilliant! 

Olga Tokarczuk - The Books Of Jacob (Fitzcarraldo, 2021) *****

Some novels create an entire universe to dwell in. Books that come to mind are "Lord Of The Rings", "Les Bienveillants", or "2666". Their sheer size and the introduction to a reality about which you knew nothing before - immersing you now in full and in minute detail in an alien universe with which you gradually grow more familiar, page after page, character after character - makes this a unique and memorable reading experience. 

The author's incredible effort to create a universe, 900 pages long, full of detail and coherent, well-paced, rich in style and full of different perspectives, requires the same effort from the reader. Superficial or quick reading will not work. As the reader, you have to submit yourself to the work, become part of it to the extent that it will be high on your mind for the period it takes to read it till the end. 

The story is about the real person called Jacob Frank, who lived in Poland in the 18th Century. He was the leader of a jewish sect, and he proclaimed to be the Messiah, and he converted to the catholic faith to demonstrate that he was the bridge between all abrahamic religions. The fact that a jewish community was willing to convert to christianity obviously served the agenda of the Polish catholic church, some secular leaders, while leading to the ex-communication by the jewish community. 

I have applauded Olga Tokarczuk's writing before, especially the brilliant "Flights", which received a 5-star rating, but this novel is even better. Tokarczuk must have researched this book for many years in order to provide such a complete picture of all that happened during Jacob Frank's life, even if this novel is not a historical novel in the purest sense. It's a literary work of art, and her angle of approach is to create dozens of perspectives in the stories and the lives of the people who girate around Frank. Frank's perspective, even if he is the book's protagonist, is only given succinctly, and rarely. All information we get is indirect, which makes his presence more abstract, mythical, legendary, full of contradictions. 

It's a novel about the human condition, about people struggling with their poverty, their friendships, their beliefs, their hunger for power, their allegiances, their lusts, their love and their fears. The myriad of stories leads to a kaleidoscopic view of what actually happened, sometimes clarifying, often obfuscating. 

What makes this an absolutely brilliant novel: 

- the knowledge: as mentioned, an extremely well-researched book, full of real-life figures, but also about the little facts of life during 18th century Poland: the food, the living conditions, travel, world views, and then especially the jewish literature of Talmud, Kabbalah and Zohar. Tokarczuk does not explain or describe or educate us on all these topics. No, they are just part of the background, unexplained often but present as if a given.

 - the writing: like many good authors, the pleasure of writing is palpable in almost every sentence. Nothing is cheap or fast or hurried. Every character's story has its own style, its own approach, its own language even. Some characters only come to life through the letters they write to each other, others tell their story in the first person, some others in the third, and in some stories you get stories within stories, with diary scraps interspersing the rest of the narrative. 

- the humanity: just like in "Flights" and other novels by her, there are no real bad guys. She has a tremendous empathy for each character, understanding their motivation and behaviour, while at the same time taking a wise distance, slightly humouristic mocking over the absurdity or the all too human actions that take place. It's a book about moral choices, about indoctrination and tolerance, about open-mindedness and self-preservation, about narcissism and altruism. And to the author's credit, she does not judge, she does not take the moral highground, she leaves every character with its own beliefs, doubts and consequences. 

- the creativity: or maybe I should say the smart and intelligent way she presents things, the offering of obvious things through a different lens, including the Garcia Marquez-like magic realism of Yente, the old woman who is not dead but neither alive, who found her last resting place in a cave, and who watches everything that happens knowingly, including the thoughts and feelings of the book's characters. 

- the coherence: despite the book's length, and despite its dozens of perspectives, its geographic spread from Germany to Turkey, its chronological span over several generations, the quality of the writing is maintained till the very end, as is the perfect composition of the book. Tokarczuk does not guide the reader through her universe. You are thrown in, and like in Pynchon "Gravity's Rainbow", you have to work your way through it, trying to find out what's actually happening and how or if it makes even sense. 

I could add some more categories of why this novel exceeds many of the books I've read in my life. 

It's massive, it's brilliant, it's unique. 

It's also right to give kudos for Jennifer Croft for the translation. 

Olga Tokarczuk - Primeval And Other Times (Twisted Spoon, 2010) ***½

Since I read "Flights" by Olga Tokarczuk, I've become an addict to her writing. In "Primeval" and other times, she leads us to a small village and its many characters, all the subjects of the different stories of the village. There are no real protagonists, except maybe the village itself. 

Like in "Flights", she philosophises once in a while as on the nature of God in the page copied below. She loves the changes of perspective. She loves challenging existing thoughts and approaches It makes her literature all the richer and unique. 

She treats all her characters with understanding and compassion, despite all their human shortcomings and sometimes not so nice intentions. 

A pleasure to read. 

 

Olga Tokarczuk - Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead (Fitzcarraldo, 2019) ****

After the wonderful "Flights" that I mentioned as the best book that I read in 2018, I had to read more by her. "Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead" can also be recommended, even if it is less innovative.

It tells the story of an elderly woman living on a hill in a small village in Poland, near the Czech border. She looks after the empty holiday houses of some townspeople. When people get murdered in her environment, she comes with the amazing story that the victims were killed by the deer in the woods, as a vengeance against their hunting habits. She keeps being rejected by the police who - obviously - do not believe her theory.

Tokarczuk is a great writer. The story-line is original by itself, but Janina's - the old lady - narrative is even more fun. She recounts her story with opinions on each and every thing she sees, commenting on the fly, using her belief in astrology as a guiding rod and the poetry of William Blake as its mirror. She has energy despite her many Ailments.

Here's just a little taste of her tone of voice, by itself already a strong achievement.

Under the surface of the crime story, is the story of human existence, its hesitance between free will and determinism, between the boundaries of humans and animals. Who is responsible for which act? And who defends whom? It's a story about loneliness and society and about the individual's right to be different, to think differently. And it is so much fun to read. In her small village on the border, Tokarczuk managed to create a universe with its own human dysfunctionality.

Olga Tokarczuk - Flights (Fitzcarraldo, 2017) *****

Brilliant!

Winner of the Man Booker International Prize 2018, and fully deserved, I would say. Tokarczuk's writing is exceptional: it is part 'reverie', part history, part travel diary, part short story-telling, part philosophic musings, part poetic prose, and all that that written with a beautiful pen full of lyrical joy and an attitude to life and people that remains positive throughout.

There is almost no page where you don't stop and pause because of a new insight, an interesting perspective to look at things, the beauty of a phrase, the originality of a thought.

The narrator is travelling around the world: in planes, trains, airports and hotels. She meets people, she observes, reflects, interacts, fantasises. At the same time, "Flights" is also a history of the preservation of the human body, literally, with a special attention to plastination. She tells some true and longer stories about the Filip Verheyen, the Flemish 18th century anatomist, who wrote "letters to his amputated leg", about the letters by Josephine Soliman to the Austrian Emperor Francis II to let her bury her father, an African loyal and personal servant of the emperor, whose body was stuffed after his death and put on display in the emperor's curiousity cabinet, a story about the heart of Chopin that was secretly smuggled back into Poland after his death in Paris.

In essence, the book is about life and death, and flights are just the transition moment, when you are traveling from A to B, with body preservation as a futile attempt to avoid arrival, to prolong the flight artificially.

Some of her stories are cut into chapters that form the backbone of the book, but they are sprinkled with little memories and minute stories and thoughts, often not longer than a paragraph.

One example:

"RUTH

After his wife died, he made a list of all the places that had the same name as her: Ruth. He found quite a few of them, not only towns, but also streams, little settlements, hills - even an island. He said he was doing it for her sake, and besides, it gave him strength to see that in some indefinable way she still existed in the world, even if only in name. And that furthermore, whenever he would stand at the foot of a hill called Ruth, he would get the sense that she hadn't died at all, that she was right there, just differently. Her life insurance was able to cover the costs of his travels". 

... and one more:

"IRKUTSK- MOSCOW

Flight from Irkutsk to Moscow. It takes off at 8 am and lands in Moscow at the same time - at eight o'clock in the morning on that same day. It turns out to be right at sunrise, which means the whole flight takes place during dawn. Passengers remain in this one moment, a great, peaceful Now, vast as Siberia itself. So there should be time enough for confessions of whole lifetimes. Time elapses inside the plane but doesn't trickle out of it". 

Who wouldn't like to read this again, and again?

Tocarczuk's writing defies all conventions of structure, plot, narrative. Her style is as precious as it is meticulous, carefully crafted, concise, sharp and impactful. And her tone of voice is so full of wonder, optimism and positive thinking, without even a trace of sarcasm. And it is masterly composed, like a symphony of musings.

"Flights" is deep, insightful, gripping, funny, horryfying, philosophical, poetic.

A real treat. A real delight.

Mandatory reading.