Few premises are as original as the one in THE 351 BOOKS OF IRMA ARCURI, the debut novel by David Bajo. In it, a twice-divorced, unemployed mathematician named Philip is willed the titular library of his former lover and the one he probably should have married, if only he had asked. But she’s not dead — she’s merely dropped out of life, and clues to her whereabouts are hidden within her volumes.
Philip’s first inclination that something is up is when a current woman he’s bedding (and this guy gets laid a lot) notices that Irma’s collection of Jorge Luis Borges short stories includes one the author never actually wrote. Next, Cervantes’ DON QUIXOTE becomes the subject of much comparison and decoding.
Unfortunately, the novel is more metaphorical than mystery. It’s one of those literary affairs that’s longer on dialogue than plot, where the characters say a lot, yet don’t say anything at all — in other words, a book that sips espressos with pinky extended on a sidewalk café, brooding.
The first third is pretty decent and mildly engaging, as Philip’s miserable life is established — a routine of jogging with his former stepdaughter and fucking other women — and flashbacks tell of his torrid affair with Irma … and Irma’s torrid affair with one of Philip’s ex-wives. But at some point, I just stopped caring, and the drama wears all too dreary — not to mention the missed opportunity with the mysterious messages.
What he lacks in follow-through, Bajo makes up for in descriptions. Witness his near-pornographic explanation of why books aren’t just for reading: “They bind and revive friendships. Their spines cupped for coolness or warmth. Their covers lingered over. I still love to slip my fingers between cool pages, like finding the fresh creases of bedsheets with your bare legs. They are portable, the most efficient of vessels. You can carry an entire country or civilization in the crook of your wrist. Hold open a life or the expanse of a relationship with the gentle crimp of your thumb. They are incredibly light and manageable for what they contain, what they can induce.”
Schwing. —Rod Lott
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
I dislike the plot of the story
It’s disappointing that he couldn’t pull off such an interesting premise. It sounded like it could be a great gift book for readers. It’s always frustrating when books don’t live up to their promise.
I loved it all the way through. There are lots of charged descriptions like the one noted. He solved the mysteries in unique ways. You have to think about the solutions, but they are there. It’s really about books.
Rita, I also really loved this book. The author doesn’t offer any pat answers, but I felt that he did solve the intriguing puzzles he set up and that I did know what happened to Irma and where she was (and, most important, why!). You’re right that you have to think about things a bit, but that’s a virtue in my book (pardon the dreaful pun), especially for discussing the book with other people. Sort of Milan Kundera with a much warmer heart, or John Fowles without the social frost. I confess that I love reading about Spain no matter what, and I’m a book geek. The reviewer is right: books are really sexy in this book!
Well, I have to tell you, I read a hell of a lot of books. And for my money, The 351 Books has been the book of the year in 2008. It is has not been a good year for literary fiction–I have found the Roth and the Auster compelling reads. But, I keep coming back to Irma. . .How I was transported by obsession. . .I was running, I was in Spain, I was wanting to reread Cervantes! We all read books for a lot of reasons. And yes, as a member of my highly literate IMPAC Dublin committee pointed out to me, I liked the sex. But, it was my desire to go running again, to be alive enough to even HAVE that passion for anything–that’s where Bajo took me–running, to love the feel, texture, and smell of books (ah, all just a sexual metaphor, eh?), and to walk the streets of a city without the din of cars. . to pursue the thought of another person. . .