Seven Types of Ambiguity
"Change is the only constant, except for the changes that change the constant."
Someone must have said it, at least the first part, because I could never come up with something that awe-inspiring.
You must excuse me for talking that way because I have just finished reading 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' by Elliot Perlman. The book, in short, was an interfusion of psychiatry, law, literature, troubled marriages, infidelity, prostitution, and the children that are sandwiched in between, absorbing all the unspoken violence of matrimonial agony. I kinda like the sound of 'unspoken violence'. Original but definitely inspired by what I have been reading these past few days.
I never used to like this kind of what I referred to as 'flowery language'. I often found them pretentious but now I am starting to appreciate the peotry in them, not that I am a huge fan of peotry. The only poet whom I have taken a vague liking to is Robert Frost though I can hardly recollect any of his works. Something about nothing gold can stay or last.
The book is divided into 7 parts, each narrated by a different character in the story. The main character is a melancholy man, in his late twenties or early thirties, by the name of Simon. He wasn’t always a melancholy man. He might have been, considering the strained relationship between his parents which cast a shadow on his childhood. But he certain became one when his college girlfriend, Anna, broke up with him, rather suddenly.
And that was ten years ago. Ten years later, he is still not over her. He is an alcoholic with a dog he affectionately named Empson after his most revered poet, William Empson, who wrote the book ‘Seven Types of Ambiguity’, a study of the meanings of poetry. He is also involved with a prostitute, Angela, who is obsessed with him the same way he is obsessed with Anna, his ex-girlfriend a decade ago, who is now trapped in an unhappy marriage to a stockbroker, Joe.
Simon’s father, worried about his son’s state of complete abandonment, hires him a psychiatrist, Alex Klima. It seems that the therapy, if there is any, takes place both ways. In fact, the psychiatrist and the patient eventually become more than just that. There is nothing sexual, of course. But there is also no denying that the psychiatrist is intensely fond of Simon, in whom he sees a large part of himself.
The story becomes complicated when Simon kidnaps Anna and Joe’s son, Simon. Things start to unravel and skeletons in the closet start tumbling out. Through their individual narrations, the reader, in this case me, begins to get an understanding of the background, fears, suspicions and secrets of each character.
It is not that the story is told seven times over from different perspectives, but rather it progresses
through their narrations. The first to start is the psychiatrist, Alex, followed by Joe, then Angela, then Mitch (Joe’s colleague and also a client of Angela’s), then Simon, then Anna and finally, Alex’s daughter. So each of them will continue where the previous has left off, while filling in a little of what transpired in the past.
Because each character is unique in his or her experiences, unbringing and circumstances, the author is able to explore different issues using each one. Through the characterisation of Alex, the psychiatrist, he questions the ability and extent to which strict professionalism can exist between the doctor and his patient. What happens when there is transference or even counter-transference? Through Joe, Anna's husband, the author exposes the insecurities that people, even seemingly successful people, experience. The need to be respected and admired is so great that in desperation, many mistakenly think that money and status are the key.
But the author's 'star character' would, no doubt, be the melancholy, obstinately devoted yet incredibly well-read, even tempered and immediately likeable Simon Heywood who is, however, burdened by a clarity with which he sees the world and all of its ugliness. I secretly suspect that Perlman has projected a large part of himself onto the character of Simon and along with it his anguish at the current state of affairs.
From what I gather, Perlman is a barrister (okay this is provided by the publisher) in Australia who is a literature fanatic and who also has more than a generic understanding of the stockmarket. He probably has some basic training in psychology/psychiatry or he just reads them for fun, in which case it would be a clear indication of an aberration of the mind, considering how ridiculously difficult psychology texts are. Trust me, I have one.
He takes an invested interest in social issues and is deeply bothered by what he sees as the brutality of the Invisible Hand driving today’s modern economies and possibly also the inherent flaws of the legal system. He is perhaps also some sort of a mathematician and to a lessser extent, a physicist and a social gambler. He knows how to count cards to win at Blackjack and he knows about Mach's principle (something about mass and inertia and gravity).
Why do people read books anyway, especially fictions? They want to get the story; they like the style of writing; there are certain themes explored in the book; because everyone else is reading them. As I have mentioned in my previous entries, I was not a great fan of fictions. I guess I was being unreasonable snobbish about reading purely for the story. Much as I hate to admit this, it is often the story which hooks me to a particular book. Sure, I would like to believe I read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' because I love Oscar Wilde's style of writing and his humour. I do but I found out that that was not enough to sustain my interest beyond page 50. The story, pardon my lack of literary proficiency to better appreciate it, is boring, outdated and didactic. It might have a message, an important one at that, but story was simply not engaging enough for me to want to delve further.
But having an enchanting story is not enough. All mysteries and thrillers do but I would not want to read them. I find that an equally important criterion, for me that is, is whether you can learn something from the book. It doesn't matter what it is that you learn. In fact, I think a good book is conceptualized with the aim of educating the public on a particular subject matter. They should be like good kindergarten teachers - they must know how to package whatever they are trying to teach the children into stories which captivate them.
In the case of 'Seven Types of Ambiguity', the author has achieved just that. He throws his readers manageable morsels of information on various subjects that are enough to create the 'Wow! I din't know that' effect and yet not over the top such as to turn the book into another piece of academic writing masquerading as fiction.
However, making esoteric subject matters more accessible is not quite enough for a good fiction. The writer has to write with a flair that leaves his or her readers gasping "How on earth did he/she come up with that!" A good writer also has to be a keen observer and has to be able to put down in words ideas which the average person can only vaguely grasp. He or she has to demonstrate the elegance and beauty of the English language that have sadly been relegated to less importance in favour of conciseness and functionality. In this aspect, both Perlman and Eugenides, have done an incredible job.
Next up, I'll either be starting on Saul Bellow's 'Humboldt's Gift' or another book of Perlman's, 'Three Dollars'. I have no idea why I started on 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' but I know Saul Bellow was meant to be a replacement, not nearly a close one though, of Eugenides. Eugenides was said to have the "verbal energy and narrative range of Saul Bellow's early fiction". So naturally I was curious at the amount of energy and the width of the narrative range of the great Saul Bellow himself. From the few pages I have skimmed through, so far, I still prefer Eugenides.
And wonderful news: I'm off to Taiwan in a bit! Wow!
Someone must have said it, at least the first part, because I could never come up with something that awe-inspiring.
You must excuse me for talking that way because I have just finished reading 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' by Elliot Perlman. The book, in short, was an interfusion of psychiatry, law, literature, troubled marriages, infidelity, prostitution, and the children that are sandwiched in between, absorbing all the unspoken violence of matrimonial agony. I kinda like the sound of 'unspoken violence'. Original but definitely inspired by what I have been reading these past few days.
I never used to like this kind of what I referred to as 'flowery language'. I often found them pretentious but now I am starting to appreciate the peotry in them, not that I am a huge fan of peotry. The only poet whom I have taken a vague liking to is Robert Frost though I can hardly recollect any of his works. Something about nothing gold can stay or last.
The book is divided into 7 parts, each narrated by a different character in the story. The main character is a melancholy man, in his late twenties or early thirties, by the name of Simon. He wasn’t always a melancholy man. He might have been, considering the strained relationship between his parents which cast a shadow on his childhood. But he certain became one when his college girlfriend, Anna, broke up with him, rather suddenly.
And that was ten years ago. Ten years later, he is still not over her. He is an alcoholic with a dog he affectionately named Empson after his most revered poet, William Empson, who wrote the book ‘Seven Types of Ambiguity’, a study of the meanings of poetry. He is also involved with a prostitute, Angela, who is obsessed with him the same way he is obsessed with Anna, his ex-girlfriend a decade ago, who is now trapped in an unhappy marriage to a stockbroker, Joe.
Simon’s father, worried about his son’s state of complete abandonment, hires him a psychiatrist, Alex Klima. It seems that the therapy, if there is any, takes place both ways. In fact, the psychiatrist and the patient eventually become more than just that. There is nothing sexual, of course. But there is also no denying that the psychiatrist is intensely fond of Simon, in whom he sees a large part of himself.
The story becomes complicated when Simon kidnaps Anna and Joe’s son, Simon. Things start to unravel and skeletons in the closet start tumbling out. Through their individual narrations, the reader, in this case me, begins to get an understanding of the background, fears, suspicions and secrets of each character.
It is not that the story is told seven times over from different perspectives, but rather it progresses
through their narrations. The first to start is the psychiatrist, Alex, followed by Joe, then Angela, then Mitch (Joe’s colleague and also a client of Angela’s), then Simon, then Anna and finally, Alex’s daughter. So each of them will continue where the previous has left off, while filling in a little of what transpired in the past.
Because each character is unique in his or her experiences, unbringing and circumstances, the author is able to explore different issues using each one. Through the characterisation of Alex, the psychiatrist, he questions the ability and extent to which strict professionalism can exist between the doctor and his patient. What happens when there is transference or even counter-transference? Through Joe, Anna's husband, the author exposes the insecurities that people, even seemingly successful people, experience. The need to be respected and admired is so great that in desperation, many mistakenly think that money and status are the key.
But the author's 'star character' would, no doubt, be the melancholy, obstinately devoted yet incredibly well-read, even tempered and immediately likeable Simon Heywood who is, however, burdened by a clarity with which he sees the world and all of its ugliness. I secretly suspect that Perlman has projected a large part of himself onto the character of Simon and along with it his anguish at the current state of affairs.
From what I gather, Perlman is a barrister (okay this is provided by the publisher) in Australia who is a literature fanatic and who also has more than a generic understanding of the stockmarket. He probably has some basic training in psychology/psychiatry or he just reads them for fun, in which case it would be a clear indication of an aberration of the mind, considering how ridiculously difficult psychology texts are. Trust me, I have one.
He takes an invested interest in social issues and is deeply bothered by what he sees as the brutality of the Invisible Hand driving today’s modern economies and possibly also the inherent flaws of the legal system. He is perhaps also some sort of a mathematician and to a lessser extent, a physicist and a social gambler. He knows how to count cards to win at Blackjack and he knows about Mach's principle (something about mass and inertia and gravity).
Why do people read books anyway, especially fictions? They want to get the story; they like the style of writing; there are certain themes explored in the book; because everyone else is reading them. As I have mentioned in my previous entries, I was not a great fan of fictions. I guess I was being unreasonable snobbish about reading purely for the story. Much as I hate to admit this, it is often the story which hooks me to a particular book. Sure, I would like to believe I read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' because I love Oscar Wilde's style of writing and his humour. I do but I found out that that was not enough to sustain my interest beyond page 50. The story, pardon my lack of literary proficiency to better appreciate it, is boring, outdated and didactic. It might have a message, an important one at that, but story was simply not engaging enough for me to want to delve further.
But having an enchanting story is not enough. All mysteries and thrillers do but I would not want to read them. I find that an equally important criterion, for me that is, is whether you can learn something from the book. It doesn't matter what it is that you learn. In fact, I think a good book is conceptualized with the aim of educating the public on a particular subject matter. They should be like good kindergarten teachers - they must know how to package whatever they are trying to teach the children into stories which captivate them.
In the case of 'Seven Types of Ambiguity', the author has achieved just that. He throws his readers manageable morsels of information on various subjects that are enough to create the 'Wow! I din't know that' effect and yet not over the top such as to turn the book into another piece of academic writing masquerading as fiction.
However, making esoteric subject matters more accessible is not quite enough for a good fiction. The writer has to write with a flair that leaves his or her readers gasping "How on earth did he/she come up with that!" A good writer also has to be a keen observer and has to be able to put down in words ideas which the average person can only vaguely grasp. He or she has to demonstrate the elegance and beauty of the English language that have sadly been relegated to less importance in favour of conciseness and functionality. In this aspect, both Perlman and Eugenides, have done an incredible job.
Next up, I'll either be starting on Saul Bellow's 'Humboldt's Gift' or another book of Perlman's, 'Three Dollars'. I have no idea why I started on 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' but I know Saul Bellow was meant to be a replacement, not nearly a close one though, of Eugenides. Eugenides was said to have the "verbal energy and narrative range of Saul Bellow's early fiction". So naturally I was curious at the amount of energy and the width of the narrative range of the great Saul Bellow himself. From the few pages I have skimmed through, so far, I still prefer Eugenides.
And wonderful news: I'm off to Taiwan in a bit! Wow!
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