Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories... And the attack on "Intellectual Literature"

[islandclimber]

I've started reading the latest offering of Hungarian writer Péter Nádas, Parallel Stories. I'm only a few pages into this 1133 page epic, yet I'm quite intrigued already. I read his previous offering, A Book of Memories and quite adored it. It was one of the best novels I have read from this latest century. Maybe not quite at the status of "the greatest novel of our time" as Susan Sontag suggested (she seems to have a predisposition towards Hungarian art, as she also championed Bela Tarr's 7 hour film Satantango as a saviour of our time and a film worth watching every single year- it is quite brilliant, yet every year?), but quite amazing nonetheless, and I am quite looking forward to diving fully into his latest postmodern epic, and hopefully reading the whole thing this weekend.

However. I came across this review of it in the Guardian by my least favourite reviewer Tibor Fischer (his review of/attack on Martin Amis' Yellow Dog was awful, and so horrifically self-promoting of his own fiction)... I thought I would post a link here, along with a question.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/nov/11/peter-nadas-parallel-stories-review

He seems to continually suggest that Nádas wrote this book in a way that was inaccessible for most, and that he did this on purpose; that he did things like leave out quotation marks only to confuse the reader (ignoring the fact that many writers do not use quotation marks and so far in this book it has been quite easy to determine who is speaking and when); that he does not want people to be able to link the many storylines going on throughout the book. I suppose I shall have to get further into the book to confirm the veracity of this, yet his previous work was challenging and provocative, yet all the same entertaining, and followable without an overarching exertion. Fischer continually seems to promote the notion that serious and entertaining are mutually exclusive and of the two, entertaining is obviously the only worthwhile type. He seems to be unable to understand a world in which a serious, provoking, challenging, fragmented, surreal discourse can also be extremely entertaining. Krasznahorkai's Melancholy of Resistance could not be described as anything but entertaining. Thomas Pynchon, the same could be said of Against the Day. But according to Fischer, it is a German notion -serious literature- and this means it cannot be entertaining.

Take the beginning of his review for example...


The Germans have a lot to answer for in Hungary. Perhaps because of historical guilt (Jewish writers such as Konrád, Nádas, Kertész and Dalos have all been especial recipients of largesse) or perhaps because Hungarians are almost the last students of the German language, Germany almost single-handedly keeps Hungarian literature in business. And the Germans, it seems to me, have encouraged the Teutonic notion that anything entertaining or exciting must be lightweight or pulp. Serious writing has to be … serious, and hard work. If you're not straining, it ain't literature. László Krasznahorkai and Peter Nádas seem to be particular exponents of this attitude.

Susan Sontag lauded Peter Nádas's A Book of Memories (published in English in 1997) as "the greatest novel written in our time". Of course, it's not Nádas's fault that Sontag was delusional, and while I wasn't bowled over by A Book of Memories, it was a merciful 700 pages in length. The new novel, Parallel Stories, wobbles in at 1,152 pages of dense type.

This review doesn't read like a review at all, but more so like an attack on literature of the sort that doesn't readily appeal to the average reader or Tibor Fischer apparently, and Nádas just published his book at a convenient time for Fischer to use it as a crutch for his argument that can be read as literature needing to be safe and easy and entertaining. Although as he is Hungarian, a supporter of the populist regime, and a novelist of less "weighty" works, one might see a little bit of a purpose behind his caustic review. Fischer promotes a populist agenda in this review certainly, it seems a right-wing populist agenda, condemning the perceived elite/intelligentsia. Strange this, that the Guardian would publish such a biased review. I would expect better of the Guardian, and a serious review of a book lauded by Hungarian critics amongst others. This review spends more time mocking post-modern literature, than actually reviewing the book itself. Fischer suggests it is slow and plodding, has a fascination with our private parts, is purposefully obfuscatory, is too fragmented too understand. Yet, he gives no examples, he frequently flees from the book in question to plug other, "more entertaining" writers, and he disparages other brilliant Hungarian writers of what one might call "intellectual literature", such as Laszlo Krasznahorkai.

I have seen this in a number of reviews of "intellectual literature" lately, this crusade for the strictly entertaining novel. And in surprising places like the Guardian and the New York Times Book Review, and other such publications. Could this be a ploy for increased readership? A watering down of content for the average reader? Myself, I read mostly this "intellectual literature", especially in the post-modern vein from the past 75 years. Pynchon, Nádas, Krasznahorkai, Bolano, Murakami, Esterhazy, Perec, Delillo, DFW, Borges, Markson, A. Smith, Nabokov, I. Reed, Gass, Lyacos, Eco, Calvino, etc. It is intriguing to see it disparaged thusly, in the Guardian. What do you think? Is this a sign of our new era? Do we grow tired of post-modernism and intellectualism? Do we seek easy and safe entertainment that does not challenge the mind? Are we all longing to join the Oprah Book Club and have our choices made for us, easy, safe, quick, yet surely not without a cost? It seems to me this is indicative of that pernicious homogenization of society, where everyone shall have read the same books and seen the same films. And instead of drawing up the level of the average, we desire to lower it towards a more mindless entertainment typecast. Thoughts?

Also, here is Nádas own explanation of the apparent random and chaotic nature of his novel. Why didn't Fischer engage with this in his review, explain why Nádas failed in it, if that is what he thinks?


The real pattern of the structure is chaos, not in the present-day sense of this word, of course, but in the ancient Greek sense. This is what I wanted to stick to—not chaos as a synonym of disorder, lawlessness, or a brothel in Mexico, but chaos in that each story has an aspect that you cannot tie to anything else. The structure is chaotic because the world is chaotic, and I, the novelist, do not want to create an arbitrary semblance of order in this chaos. I’m not capable of it; I would be telling a lie if I said I was. At most I register the elements and principles that are structure-forming within the chaos, and others that are not suitable for this. Thus you arrive at some organizing principles that emerge involuntarily.

Interesting, n'est-ce pas?

[Anton Hermes]

Great post.

I actually haven't read Nádas yet, but he's on my list. I love Esterhazy, Pynchon, Ben Marcus, and many of the other writers you mentioned. This type of literature is an easy target for phony populist grandstanding: it's intellectual, often purposefully abstruse, and intended for only the most adventurous and dedicated readers. I fully agree that intellectual literature can be wildly entertaining. But there's something about it that really pushes people's anti-elitist buttons.

I've never gone on rants about how modern fiction is dumb and derivative, because I think everyone should read whatever they want for whatever reason they want. But it's funny that Fischer decided to fixate on the miniscule amount of postmodern intellectual literature for his diatribe. The amount of scorn that this kind of fiction generates is totally out of proportion to its prevalence or popularity.

[islandclimber]

Nádas is quite an excellent writer. Not quite so surreal as Pynchon, and maybe not quite so lucid as Esterhazy. A fine balance, to steal from Mistry. What's Ben Marcus like? A friend recommended his work recently but I have of yet failed to search it out.

I suppose anytime you have a work that is mumbo-jumbo to a majority of readers, it is likely there will be some disparaging opinions put forth. And when you have 50 years of a literature movement that is overly intellectual, and like you say, often purposefully abstruse, eventually a backlash is bound to occur, regardless of its validity. I just have not come across anything so caustic and obviously bias'd as Tibor Fischer's two infamous reviews. Of Martin Amis' "Yellow Dog", which I found mediocre, but nowhere near so bad as the diabolical rant of Fischer's professed. And then now. This review of Nádas. Neither one deals with the relative merits of the work... They are both basically spiteful and caustic attacks on the writers and the style of literature. Like you say, it is wild that this sort of literature, belying its prevalence and popularity, is the target of so much populist vitriol.

I suppose it is a prevalent notion in our time, that art, especially literature, should appeal to all. Anything that experiments with language and pushes boundaries, challenges and provokes, requires active participation from the reader is bound to alienate many, and in that feeling of alienation an irrational hatred can surface. And I often wonder if from certain perspectives this type of mind-expanding, unsafe literature is viewed as dangerous to the status quo. For me, I want literature to disturb, derange, provoke, stimulate. Yet, like you, I think everyone should read what they want, for whatever reason. If someone wants to discuss the merits of this work or that, or this type of literature or that, I will make my opinion known, but I don't spend my days acerbically attacking the idiocy of most mass market fiction... Perceived snobbery and elitism in literature is strange. We're all individuals, different people are drawn to different things, different writers express different voices, I for one, am glad of this. Sometimes I wish the general reading public would challenge themselves a little further, yet most of the time, I'm rather indifferent in this regard and do not care that most prefer easy and safe, and don't have the ability nor the desire to concentrate on a book that requires so much of oneself put into the reading process. In our modern world, we want everything to be safe and easy and trouble free. It's a zeitgeist of our time it seems. And it is seeping into the arts certainly.

[JBI]

You all are so full of your selves so much of the time. If the book is not fun to read it is not fun to read. You say you feel you need to "work harder" or whatever, which means you are working hard to like something. I want to love a book right from the beginning. Ulysses is still fun, others just aren't. It is not a question of difficulty - I read text more difficult than Ulysses daily (relying on extensive footnotes, like most people reading Ulysses do), yet there are many opaque snobby texts that just do not do it for me.

Some people feel it is difficult so I need to convince myself working hard is worth it. We all do it, especially when we invest ourselves into critics who say these texts are good. Does that make them particularly good novels? Of course not. An opaque book can be just as dry as an accessible one. With the opaque one we just make an excuse and say "You did not understand it, you didn't work hard enough, you are too stupid, whatever." The fact of the matter is many people substitute difficulty for content. Pynchon does so on numerous occasions even if you like selected parts of his work.

[islandclimber]

I don't recollect once suggesting that I feel I need to work harder in order to enjoy a book. Besides, effort and enjoyment are not mutually exclusive. I come from a high performance sport background and I can say the intense effort put forth there was almost always immensely enjoyable. Your statements are slightly beyond absurd. It's a gross simplification to suggest that because one must work a little harder with one particular book than another, that one is working to enjoy it. And it's entirely false. Like you, I want to love a book from the beginning as well. And though I didn't mind Ulysses, for me, it was rather tedious at times. You, who read so many difficult and footnote filled texts, may find another text opaque and snobby, yet this means nothing to me. Good for you, you have different literary appetites than I do.

You act like just another Tibor Fischer. Impressive. I want to love a book immediately also. But, I love books that draw me in and envelop me completely, that make me lose track of all else around me, because I am forced to be that involved. I read Gravity's Rainbow long before I'd read a critical review of it and its merits through abstruseness and difficulty. I was enthralled from page one through page 760. Each and every page I loved. It seems to me that just because you think Pynchon frequently substitutes difficulty for content doesn't mean this is the case. Unless you're omniscient? Are you? Mason & Dixon, Gravity's Rainbow, Against the Day, V. I've read them all, several times, and never once found myself struggling to continue, lacking in entertainment. Yes, they are difficult and challenging and provocative at times, but what does this have to do with lack of content. A piece of prose can satisfy content and be extremely difficult at the same time. I'm not even sure the term difficult means anything here. Occasionally in reading any piece of literature, even from my own culture I find a reference I don't recognize and research it. Some books have a few more than others. Some books have none at all. These brief interludes where I discover something new don't lessen enjoyment.

An opaque book can be just as dry as an accessible one; I agree with you entirely. But you and I have very different opinions as to which books in particular are opaque and dry. I could list many critically acclaimed writers, considered both accessible and inaccessible, who I dislike... My taste in literature trends towards the post-modern often, towards violently fragmented and provocative texts. Yet I adore many accessible works as well. Both can be wonderfully fun to read. The opposite is true as well.

[metal134]

You all are so full of your selves so much of the time.
I'm at peace with that.

[Anton Hermes]

Some people feel it is difficult so I need to convince myself working hard is worth it. We all do it, especially when we invest ourselves into critics who say these texts are good. Does that make them particularly good novels? Of course not. An opaque book can be just as dry as an accessible one. With the opaque one we just make an excuse and say "You did not understand it, you didn't work hard enough, you are too stupid, whatever." The fact of the matter is many people substitute difficulty for content.

"Sour grapes to all, and to all a good night!"

[Eiseabhal]

A little nonsense now and then is ... Etc etc. Surely you do not want texts to derange their readers! There is nothing wrong with some intellectual fun (If that is what it is) but when writers become deliberately obscure in order to pass themselves off as smart, it will be common for intelligent general readers to suspect they are being taken for a ride by a smartarse with nothing to say but a myriad ways of saying it. I enjoy Pynchon and one or two others but despise Perec. The traditional novel still has the ability to move, entertain and excite without diving off the post-modern cliff into an addled stew. Now that is a stramash of a metaphor! Or is it a goulash?

[islandclimber]

I adore your goulash of a metaphor. Yet, I must confess, I do want a literature that will disturb the mind and derange the senses. I want a literature that is not safe, easy, and certainly never free (in that sense that I want the reader to have to offer something in return). As I said, my adoration of much post-modern literature does not mean I follow all of it blindly. I dislike much but not all of Gaddis, Burroughs, Pelevin and certainly others (pretty much all the post-modern sci fi types)... And I love many novelists of a more traditional or modernist bent, even in the contemporary crowd. I was only suggesting that all the vitriol spewed forth at the so-called "difficult" literature, at these apparently "post-modern experiments" is getting a little ridiculous. If we want to lower ourselves to the average reader, we'll soon be swooning over Dan Brown and Stephanie Meyer. Most of these average readers would call Dickens or Dostoevsky or Austen exceptionally difficult.

[Pierre Menard]

I would expect better of the Guardian



That's where you went wrong. Expecting anything of The Guardian will leave you disappointed.

[Eiseabhal]

Shouldn't that be The Guadrian! I agree that many "post-modernists" are intellectually challenging and when there is obvious linguistic and structural ability the reader including the Big Bad General Reader can get a lot of pleasure. Pleasure is what I look for first - sybaritic hedonist that I am. I like Gaddis and I believe he was a thoughtful and serious writer who makes demands of the reader and that is certainly a good thing to do but I do not want or need constant challenge. Sometimes a quick read (Another of your trashy novelettes Dan ah Dan) hits the spot.
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