Small Rooms and Cigarette Butts

I'm bummed I missed the Cortazar discussion last night. I was so curious how this band of b-gangers reacted to such a novel novel. I was looking forward to finding out what level of discord or satisfaction other readers felt deciphering this book. Was it all one big metaphor? What was Cortazar trying to teach us? Overall, I felt like what I've been feeling with a lot of the novels we've been reading and discussing lately: that we dissect the writer and his patterns and style (more so than the book sometimes) and how that unfolds within reading the book, and I can't help but wonder what kind of "fuck you" Cortazar was after we he set out to break so many habits of the conventional reader. Saying it now doesn't mean we haven't realized it all along with other authors. So when I use words like "plot," or "chapter," or "protagonist," know that these terms are in some sort of definition limbo, where I don't know if Cortazar used these tools to distribute his metaphors or if in some way (fucked up or genius) this was simply his version of a novel.

I chose to read Hopscotch the "traditional" way starting with chapter one and ending with fifty-six. And I must admit, I was counting on the discussion among other readers to fill me in on what I missed, having read the shorter version, and also if they felt I had indeed missed out. I thought the plot was loose and left up to my own feelings with past and current "clubs" I've found myself in where, holed up with copious amounts of cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, and wandering intelligent minds, to fill in the gaps where description didn't. Or late nights (in Paris in spirit) wandering the streets (in my mind) in search of something that's really nothing. I was thrown back to my college days when I practiced many a "quiet exercises in freedom," tortured and arrested by my own thoughts and what they were capable of. (Although, an elaborate system of threads to make sense of and choke out those mind wanderings, I doubt I could ever concoct.) And it was lovely to revisit those days of unapologetic self-destruction through Oliveira and it reminded me how much I missed thinking, speaking, and writing outside of logical habit. He called the club once "a band of failures . . . bothered by legality when some logic begins to function too well." (Screw/I love you Cortazar!) Once again, I couldn't help but think of JC and who he is and for that matter, what role mate, jazz, and Goulouise cigarettes play in his life. I can understand him having some personal connection to Oliveira, culturally speaking, but there was so much more to this book than the protagonist. And my creative mind begs to know, where did the rest come from? I also thought: Jean-luc Godard's film Band a part. Anyone else?

So was Cortazar looking to break down this conventional wisdom or was he simply just answering his personal needs as a writer? I think we can all agree that the language was beautiful and some of the existential ideas presented were provocative and amusing. I think it was Babs, writing "a story about a sound" . . . or Oliveira being a "firm believer in autosuggestion." And then there was chapter 34. Oh chapter 34 how I loathed and loved reading you! I would giggle out loud as my eyes crossed again and again trying read every other line! And after reading the same line five times give in and switch to the other letter. I was furious at the same time I had to applaud Cortazar for this new experience. And it went back and forth like this the entire novel. So how can I form a solid opinion on such a wobbly (but not hollow) book?

That's where bookgang would have been nice. Having missed last night, I feel restless and unsettled about the whole book. So this is surely one that will stay with me for a while at least until I can work it out. Jury's still out. Perhaps a mate and a Goulouise a walk on a Parisian street will do the trick.



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