books@cc.

by Kobo Abe (1966)

The narrator, a scientist whose face has been disfigured in a laboratory explosion, penned his (self-absorbed) thoughts and confessions in three notebooks meant for his wife. Feeling disconnected with the rest of humanity with the lack of a face, he created a mask, a personality to go with it, with the glee of someone who felt s/he’s deceived the world.

Frankly I am quite surprised by the amount of self-serving rumination and the lack of Abe-ish “strangeness” that’s usually present in his other fictions. The narrator’s obsession to posses almost reminds me of a typical Moravia’s, and there were plenty of times I felt like bashing his head, althought towards the end he somehow redeemed himself. Not Abe’s best, nor even up his usual standard.

Much thanks to Astrid for the book.

Tags:fiction, Japan
Abe, Kobo, fiction, Japan

May 31, 2006 @ 9:42 pm