Customer Reviews

Beatrice and Virgil: A Novel

5 star:		(46)
4 star:		(36)
3 star:		(29)
2 star:		(27)
1 star:		(30)

 

 

Coming in to this slight novel--barely more than a novella--all I knew was that it was Yann Martel's "Holocaust allegory," and that it had animal characters. Those animals are the eponymous Beatrice (a donkey) and Virgil (a howler monkey) but they're actually characters in a play within the novel. Let me back up...

The central character of Beatrice and Virgil is a novelist named Henry. Henry has written a very successful book that featured animals as characters. Henry's career, in short, is remarkably similar to that of Yann Martel. The beginning of the novel describes his travails while attempting to publish a follow up to his very successful book. Henry, who is not Jewish, wants to write about the Holocaust. He has noticed that almost all Holocaust fiction is in the style of historical realism. Henry believes there are other ways to have this dialogue, to tell this story. "Other events in history, including horrifying ones, had been treated by artists. To take just three well-known instances of artful witness: Orwell with Animal Farm, Camus with The Plague, Picasso with Guernica. In each case, the artist had taken a vast, sprawling tragedy, had found its heart and had represented it in a non-literal and compact way. The unwieldy encumbrance of history was packed into a suitcase. Art as suitcase, light, portable and essential--was such a treatment not possible, indeed, was it not necessary, with the greatest tragedy of Europe's Jews?"

It is this that Henry attempts, but fails, to write. Despite his exalted stature, he is told repeatedly that his book is unpublishable. At this point, sick of publishing and completely blocked, Henry decides to pursue other interests. He and his wife move to an unnamed major city in another county. He takes music lessons, acts in plays, and even waits on customers in a chocolatería. He's happy. And it's a pleasure to read about Henry. Sure, he's rich, talented, and free, but at heart he's an everyman and so darn likable.

Eventually, a series of events leads Henry to an acquaintance with a taxidermist, also coincidentally (?) named Henry. In most ways Henry the taxidermist is completely unlike Henry the novelist. He's older, dour, and very, very serious. But he, too, is a frustrated writer. He has been struggling for years on a play about Beatrice and Virgil. The characters are real in his mind, as they are literally two stuffed animals in his shop. Gradually Henry the novelist begins collaborating on the play, and sections of the play's text make up large portions of the novel. And the text is... well, I swear it sounds like Samuel Beckett wrote it. Beatrice and Virgil may as well have been renamed Vladimir and Estragon. Truly, if you have any appreciation of that sort of thing, it's an absolute joy to read.

And that's the thing: This light, short novel is a compelling and deceptively simple read. Other than novelist Henry's unpublished work, there's no further talk of the Holocaust until more than halfway through the novel. There's something going on a bit under the surface, but you can't really put your finger on it. And then novelist Henry says to his wife, "It's all quite fanciful, yet there are elements that remind me, well, that remind me of the Holocaust." She accuses him of seeing the Holocaust everywhere, and that's that. Mr. Martel's fanciful story of the novelist and the taxidermist and the donkey and the monkey continues. And slowly, gently, the real story being told becomes more and more self-evident. By the time I reached the end, I was well and truly chilled, with goosebumps breaking out all over.

Where the fictional Henry failed, Yann Martel has succeeded. It's a stealth allegory, and as I stated earlier, it's deceptively simple. Deceptive, because there's actually SO much going on in this little novel. There are cultural, literary, historic, and religious references. I was actually busy googling things as I read and there was much food for thought. It seems almost ridiculous to say this about another Yann Martel novel, but you want to read this with a friend or a book group. By the time you're done, there is so much you'll want to talk through and discuss. Highly, highly, highly recommended!

Every time I interact with a work of art that deals with the Holocaust -- be it a film, documentary, novel, painting, photomontage -- I am left traumatized, exhausted, and drained of emotion. Sometimes it takes me days to recover. When faced with yet another major artistic work on the Holocaust, I always pause and ask myself if I want to go through that emotional rollercoaster again. Will this work of art help me better understand? Will it bring me closer to the truth? Is this new work of art worth the pain?

Unfortunately, Yann Martel's new Holocaust novel, "Beatrice and Virgil," is not worth it.

In many ways it is an arresting work that pulled me inside and kept me compulsively reading. It beguiled. It charmed. It triggered an abundance of tantalizing intellectual associations. But, it is a very odd book: an absurdist allegorical play with animal characters, contained within a thinly disguised memoir, enveloped within an odd fictional mystery, and the whole work is interlaced with fascinating, obtuse, intellectual essays. The writing is at times utterly mesmerizing and brilliant; at other times, it is downright boring. Again and again, the book begs the reader to discover where this is all leading. And then finally, in the last 30 pages or so, the reader is hit over the head with an emotional sledgehammer so effectively that the pain of this Holocaust encounter put me in a state of shock. Frankly, I felt manipulated and conned.

So, if this appeals to you, go ahead and read it. For those that loved "Life of Pi," this is nothing like that book. The novel is odd and wonderful, but it also misses the mark. I will not recommend it to my friends, and it is not a work that I would enjoy discussing with a book club.

Yann Martel's new novel deserves much more thorough and lengthy discussion than is possible in a brief Amazon review. The complexity and high ambition of the novel are impressive, almost overwhelming. At the same time, its flaws must be recognized, and the serious questions it raises (but may not confront satisfactorily) must be acknowledged.

Martel here attempts a direct challenge to the famous remark by Theodor Adorno (to paraphrase--after Auschwitz, poetry is no longer possible) by writing a work of fiction about the Holocaust, even though the author is not himself a Holocaust survivor. I had a colleague who taught "literature of the Holocaust," but always refused to include any fictional narratives--only factual, truthful, survivors' narratives were allowed in his course. He felt the reality of the Holocaust was such that no fiction could convey it and no writer of fiction had the moral right to attempt it. Martel does not so much contradict that view as explore its implications in the intricate self-reflexive novel he has created. His narrator, Henry, has written a novel the characters of which are animals--a work received favorably enough to make him financially secure--but he is "blocked" since his more recent effort--a novel about the Holocaust that he wants to be published in tandem with an essay on the subject. His editors have concluded that the work is umpublishable because it would never sell--people would not understand what it was.

This Henry receives a manuscript from another Henry, a mysterious man who makes his living as a taxidermist and has written a play--Beatrice and Virgil--in which two animal characters, a howler monkey and a donkey, contemplate the fate of life on earth following some (at first) unexplained calamity. Excerpts from the play appear at intervals throughout the novel, not in the actual order they would appear in the play, but as the taxidermist chooses to offer them; as a result, we gradually learn the nature of the story of Beatrice and Virgil, but not in chronological order. The taxidermist has also provided (perhaps as a kind of predecessor work) a copy of Flaubert's "Julien l'Hopitalier." When Henry the first author visits the taxidermist, a series of encounters and disturbing revelations ensue, all forcing Henry to confront and attempt to understand his relationship to this play--which reads very much like one of Samuel Beckett's major works--Endgame, most obviously, and Waiting for Godot, as well, as played by, however, two quite innocent animals. At the same time, Henry the author is rehearsing his role in the classic play, Nathan the Wise.

As is obvious, this is a novel rich in allusions and connections with other works of literature. It becomes increasingly clear that the taxidermist is also, symbolically, confronting the facts of the Holocaust through his beautiful and deeply sad, emotionally wrenching, portrayal of the two animals confronting their loneliness, isolation, rejection, mortality.

I can imagine some negative responses to this work--some who might find it too precious, too "intellectual," and especially in its final pages, perhaps too manipulative. The questions about its effectiveness are legitimate--I felt for a while at the end that I was unsatisfied, disappointed that it had not been more carefully and fully developed through its final pages. But I also felt that my disappointment was partly that I was wishing it were still going on.

I don't want to provide any further details about the ways the story unfolds. I would want to encourage readers to encounter it on their own. Its richness and fascination will certainly carry any reader along, and I feel that most readers will find themselves both moved and stirred up by the implications, the challenging questions, of this intense and beautiful work.

I'm torn - I'm really not sure if I HATED this book or if I LOVED it. I finished this last night and decided to sleep on it before I typed up a review.

I won't belabor the plot here, because it's been done quite well by other reviewers. And THIS REVIEW DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS, so stop reading if you don't want to hear them.

I've read all of Martel's works and would place Life of Pi in my top-5 favorites of all time. I've gifted Life of Pi to so many people; it would seem I worship the ground he walks on. And then I read Beatrice and Virgil (or B&V to save some time here), which MAY have taken me down a notch in Martel's fan club... The writing in B&V was just as beautiful as I expected from Martel. The character development (especially B&V) was terrific.

And then there's the subject matter... Martel's use of metaphors, obscure references (I'll admit, I didn't look them all up), symbolism, etc. can be weighty at best. All through my 200-pages of reading, I found myself pondering just why he chose to "trivialize" (his word, not mine) the Holocaust. At times I thought to myself that it was utterly blasphemous! To write about the death (his family pets), torture (Beatrice) and sadism (drowning women and babies) all in an effort to fictionalize the Holocaust was appalling. Or was it? Maybe it was brilliant? And this is why I'm torn about my love and hate of this book.

Slightly autobiographical, the use of the story-within-the-story (which I loathe this as a plot device), and again using an author as a character had me grinding my teeth and asking myself, "Why, Martel? Why do this?! You are a better writer!" But it kept me reading (pardon the pun). The use of animals, again, for characters was another eye-roll for me. And I hate to say this (or do I?), he pulled it off. Beautifully, too. He WAS able to fictionalize the Holocaust, yet maintain the utter atrocity of it all, thus, maintaining the "historical realism" (again, his words, not mine) of it. Brilliant? Or pretentious?

The taxidermist's ultimate desire to have his story heard (by Henry) and later re-told (again, by Henry) was extremely clever, in my opinion. The short, 2-sentence passage about Henry (the taxidermist) stating that his story was not a "story" and hinged on the "fact of murder" might have been overlooked by many readers. While it all comes together in the end (with Henry realizing that the taxidermist was indeed a murderous Nazi, who had no qualms with stabbing him), the development of the taxidermist's history and admittance-of-guilt through his play was brilliant.

My mind is reeling with the "what-ifs," such as: Did the taxidermist know that Henry was trying to write a fictional story about the Holocaust before he met him (certainly a lonely, old taxidermist didn't have the time or resources to research Henry's unpublished works - written under a pen name, at that!)? Did the taxidermist intend to share his play so that Henry (the author) could conquer his desire to finally publish the fictional Holocaust story? If so, did the taxidermist only do it to atone his sins? When the taxidermist stabs him, did he really intend to kill him? Or keep him alive to re-tell his B&V play? Or was the entire story really just inside Henry (the author's) head (TWO Henry's?! Maybe it was all a delusion and there wasn't really a taxidermy shop?)? Yet again, Martel has left me thinking, another reason I love his is writing so much. Such an impact on me and to do that with FICTION is amazing.

And finally, the ending... Sounding like a broken record here, but was it brilliant? Or completely offensive - GAMES?!? If you could take a pill to forget the bad times, would you? To even postulate such an idea is such a slap on the face to those that lived through (or know someone who did) the Holocaust. While I, like Martel, have no affiliation to the Holocaust, I can only imagine that there were many people who wished for a simple pill to forget the entire experience (i.e., Game No. 13 - a blank page). And maybe that's what Martel is saying... Maybe our society HAS taken a pill and we've forgotten an atrocious, important event of our history. And perhaps we shouldn't ever forget, which just may be the reason Martel tackled this subject matter today - never forget.

I'll still buy every book he puts on the shelf and I'll still enjoy the reeling in my mind after finishing a Martel book. Wow. I think I may just LOVE this book.

`Beatrice and Virgil' is a hard novel to describe for the very reasons that Martel himself states in the book - it explores the Holocaust in a new and unusual way. Most accepted literature about the Holocaust is based on true History: memoirs by survivors, diaries of the victims and, even when fiction tackles the topic, it sticks with historical facts.

"Beatrice and Virgil" begins with Henry, our protagonist, and his attempt to bring to publication his next great novel. Having achieved fame with a novel that used animals to tell an allegorical tale, Henry now wants to turn his attention to the Holocaust. However, his attempt to write about it in a new way, is torn apart by his publishers and he retreats from writing in general.

Then Henry gets a letter from another `Henry', who sends him a fairly barbaric story by Flaubert (available at gutenberg.org) and a request/demand for help. The sender is a reclusive taxidermist who is writing a play that does what Henry had wanted to do with his story - represent the Holocaust allegorically in a story about animals - reminiscent of how Animal Farm depicted Communism.

With the success of `Life of Pi' Martel must have been very aware that his second novel would be judged in comparison to his first one. However, while the use of animals is the same this novel is quite different. The first half is an examination of Art and Henry's philosophy about writing. Once Henry meets the taxidermist the story moves over into a more Pi-like atmosphere where the reader knows that there is more going on than what is written on the page.

There are very obvious parallels between Henry and the author - both are Canadian, both have become famous with books about animals as characters and both have children named Theo!! There are many more for the reader to find.

I would say that this book is about assumptions and the interpretations of silence, or of the inability to speak of what is unspeakable. The taxidermist does not communicate well in his conversations with Henry. It is only from his writing and Flaubert's essay that Henry decides that the man is fascinated with violence - he is writing about murder, he is interested in the sheer number of animals murdered in Flaubert's story, he writes that he became a taxidermist to see if something could be saved once it had been killed - to bear witness. At the end of the book, Henry makes a huge assumption about who the taxidermist actually is and there is certainly enough of a shock to make the reader return to the earlier pages to search for clues.

There is no pat ending and, in that too, the book does resemble `Life of Pi.' You won't find gas chambers and crematoria in these pages but you will find fear and violence and the unfathomable hatred that one group can have for another.It is a harrowing read but, in the end, a successful allegorical representation of the Holocaust and its impact on people, even 60 years after the fact.

Yann Martel's bestselling "Life of Pi" is a stunning novel that raised questions about the very nature and the power of story as well as what humans believe about life in general. His latest novel, "Beatrice and Virgil" is similar in that it raises some very profound questions and uses two animals as main characters, but it travels a very different path than Martel's previous work. "Beatrice and Virgil" is a fast-paced read, one that does not always flow cohesively, but one that manages to discuss some very difficult issues in a new and unique manner.

The tale begins with Henry, a novelist who has had great success anonymously, but whose latest book (a strange combination of fiction and essay about the Holocaust) has been rejected. Cue to this rejection, Henry ceases to write, pursuing a variety of other activities to fill his days. One day, he receives a letter from a fan, which contains a short story by Flaubert, a snippet of a play featuring the two title characters, and a cry for help. Henry is intrigued by the story and what he reads of the play, so he seeks out the author out of curiosity, not intending to offer any help. What Henry is not suspecting is that the author is a strange and somewhat creepy recluse of a taxidermist, and that the two characters of his play are a donkey and a howler monkey. Against his better judgment, Henry finds himself wrapped up with this man's creative writing block for he believes he sees parallels between his failed project and this man's strange and fascinating play. Yet the more Henry spends time with the taxidermist, the less he learns, until one day his life is changed irrevocably.

"Beatrice and Virgil" is a fascinating mix of narrative and drama as Henry recreates the taxidermist's play. Martel is a gifted storyteller able to make the most implausible of situations seem real and enchanting. The story seems to wrap up a little too quickly, as if there were more Martel could have said, but the final segment is a fitting corollary to the questions that the author has already raised. While not as lyrical as "Life of Pi", "Beatrice and Virgil" is a unique fictional look at a historical event that should never be forgotten.

I rarely review books, confining myself to classical music but as soon as I'd finished this I felt compelled to register my vote. Like many a previous reader and reviewer, the only reason I a) bought this book, b) persevered with reading it was because I had read, taught, studied and admired "Life of Pi". I have never encountered such a dour, pointless, tedious farrago of nonsensical ideas in my life; the novel is all the more incomprehensible for being written by such a talented author. A previous reviewer has it right by characterising the book as 95% boring and 5% shocking; the grinding, right-on relevance of the message is appreciable only "retrospectively" after you have been repulsed and shocked by the moments of graphic brutality, hideous cruelty and gratuitous violence. Yes; of course I know that is what typified the Holocaust and that evil is inevitably banal compared with the transcendence of goodness - but the reiteration of wickedness and banality does not a work of art - or indeed a tolerable novel - make.

Even worse is the author's ultimate insistence on hitting you over the head with the "message". Rather than being content with providing an intelligent reader with subtle clues, towards the end Martel elaborates a literal, clodhopping explanation of how to decode the novel. We get it, OK? The earnestness with which he does so just about negates any appreciation I might have had for his craft.

Certain critics and pseuds are falling over themselves to hail this as a profound masterpiece; I can only suggest that you obtain a copy - for heaven's sake don't waste money on it as I did - and read for yourself if you suspect me of poor judgement, prejudice or ignorance. I assure you I wanted to like the book, having been so impressed by "Pi". Try, by all means - but don't say I didn't warn you.

Yann Martel has proven himself to be a thoughtful, original, and deep writer. Not only his prizewinning megahit Life of Pi but also his more obscure book of short stories were terrific and rewarding. They played a few games with the reader, but for good reason.

Not so Beatrice and Virgil. This one starts with a long dull section of whining about how an author (no, really, it's NOT Yann Martel, it's some character) can't get a rather strange second book published after his first one was a huge success. Then there's an odd encounter with a taxidermist who shares the author character's name. Then there's a lot of talk about a Holocaust-related play featuring as characters two of the animals (ex-animals) in the taxidermy shop.

And then things get wierder.

And we end up with an unprefigured set of moral fables posed as questions about how "you" would act in some unpleasant dilemma set against a Holocaust-reminiscent background.

Ok, so there's something going on here with a lot of symbolism. Beatrice and Virgil aren't just a pair of stuffed animals, they are also narrators from Dante's Divine Comedy. The taxidermy shop isn't just a taxidermy shop,it's something else too. There are lots more allusions if you care to pick them out.

But the rewards of deciphering all that are simply not worthwhile. Either the book is a pretentious mess, or I just don't get it.

Two stars because there is some good writing embedded here and there. And if you get it, please comment and let me know what I am missing.

What is Beatrice And Virgil about?

The question of "about-ness" is asked more than once in Yann Martel's latest novel. In reference to the main character Henry, "What is this book about?" is asked of his latest novel regarding the Holocaust. When Henry's publishers and editors don't "get" his work, he gives up writing for a time, moves to a big city with his wife, adopts a dog and cat, gets his wife pregnant, and meets another Henry; a taxidermist writing a play. In this play, the taxidermist has written about a donkey and a monkey, but they represent more than two animals. In Beatrice And Virgil, Martel has written about genocide, the Holocaust, cruelty, marriage, life, death, Flaubert, talking animals, and the interpretation of art. "It's all quite fanciful..." as Henry says.

It's hard to explain, or describe this work, and I think, perhaps, that's the whole point. Martel's last book was published many years ago, as is the case with his character Henry. His first book was about animals, likewise with Henry. So many themes resonate in Beatrice And Virgil that my head is spinning and I'm wondering, even as Henry is asked, what is this book about?

If I took the strange otherworldlyness of Milan Kundera's Immortality and meshed it with the dark psychological twistedness of Ian McEwan's Enduring Love, and then made the outcome pear-shaped, that is the general tone of Beatrice And Virgil. Surprisingly violent, a bit disturbing, ultimately strange and disquieting. I think I hate it... but I also think I like it... or at least respect it for whatever IT is.

This book was a surprise. From the first page I thought I would love it. Martel's prose-style writing is magical and seductive. I thought, "I wish I could write like this." And then the bizarre plot came into focus and I felt as though I was watching something disturbing that I couldn't turn away from. Like I was in a dream, trying to scream, and no sound was coming out. Eyebrows furrowed, head scratched, questions raised, and little answers given. Even now, having just finished the book recently, I've no idea what I just read. Can't recall the ending, because there isn't one. And yet, I know it was good.

Some people are going to love this book, it will be memorialized as a truly unique piece of written work. Other people will hate it, will say Martel's self-indulgence is over the top and it's all too dramatic. Still others will, like me, have little idea what they've got themselves into. They will wonder, "I thought this was a book about a donkey and a monkey?" They might even put it down if they haven't been educated with an appreciation of literature. But if they keep on reading, if they get to the end that isn't an end, and set it down completed, they will have learned or dislearned something, and it will have changed them, as all books should.

5 stars and one big question mark.

(I received this book from the publisher for review)

Yann Martel, author of the timeless parable, LIFE OF PI, has written what will certainly be one of the best books of its year.

The book begins as a funny satire on the publishing industry, with a protagonist named Henry who, very much like the author, has written an unnamed inspirational work, a parable involving animals and zoos. His next novel is an artful novel about the Holocaust, but he has a tough time selling it to the cynical, yeah-but-what's-your-novel-about editors.

Soon the protagonist gives up and retires to a nondescript but happy private life, working as a waiter at a coffee/chocolate shop, engaging in amateur theater, enjoying his marriage, and occasionally answering fan mail from readers of his famous novel. Much like Yann Mantel himself, you might think.

Then the novel becomes a parable and a mystery involving a shadowy correspondent who asks for the famous author's assistance on his play, and for the rest of the novel, we are engaged with the protagonist in trying to solve the mysteries of identity, morality, life, and death, through different levels.

Plainly this is not a children's novel. Beatrice and Virgil are a donkey and a howler monkey but they are also the characters of those names from Dante's INFERNO. Samuel Beckett's THE UNNAMABLE and WAITING FOR GODOT get an interpretation in here, as Martel gets beyond the names of things to the things themselves, such as the howl of the monkey. I see an allusion or two to Allen Ginsberg's HOWL--at least it resonates that way to this reader.

Different readers will relate differently to the nuanced symbols in play here. Jewish and Christian references abound. I also see Buddhist allusions, as from the monkey mind of the protagonist in MONKEY: A JOURNEY TO THE WEST as retold by poet David Kherdian. Flaubert's SAINT JULIEN L'HOSPITALIER plays a part in here and is interpreted by the protagonist, the ethics of animal slaughter laid bare.

The powerful ending punch will have you reconsider all that has gone before. You may love it as much as I do, but even if you do not, it will be a novel that has made you confront the horror we so often subliminate and try to escape. This is a novel to be reckoned with and remembered.

Readers who missed Martel's earlier novels--some critics dismissed LIFE OF PI as a children's novel--will now be encouraged to give them another look.