Customer Reviews

An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter (New Directions Paperbook)

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This is a stupendous novel, a real achievement in a very brief compass. Aira is a strange and somewhat scattered novelist -- I am not sure if he has control over his forms, and sometimes, as in "How I Became a Nun," he seems to want to relinquish control -- but his pace, his wit, his descriptions, and even his philosophic asides are tremendous. He is genuinely surprising. It's not just the plot twists that took me by surprise, it was individual descriptions and sudden parenthetical comments.

An aside on philosophic asides. This book is full of them, but none are over 1/2 page long. they aren't laboriously planned and unfurled with trumpet fanfares, like some of Milan Kundera's. They aren't faux-philosophy -- dogmas and cliches masquerading as paradoxes and profundities, as in Cees Nooteboom or Javier Marias. And Aira's philosophic asides aren't arch, ironic, and elliptical, as in Umberto Eco. When Aira wants to say something about representation, reality, expression, or communication, he does so brilliantly and quickly.

As an art historian, I wouldn't recommend this for understanding nineteenth-century painting, although there is some good material on Humboldt's theories of nature. No: it's fiction, and very inventive, odd, and unpredictable. If Aira can discipline himself the way Pynchon did to write "Gravity's Rainbow," he will be one of the principal novelists of the next few decades.

Recently a friend of mine went to Buenas Aires and returned with this short novel. I'd been doing a little study on Monet lately and this title caught my eye. What an amazing writer this Aira is. Of cours his writing is in Spanish but this English translation I beleive fully capture the fullness of thought process. It is a story without chapter breakdown and yet,though full of eclectic content, it flows like a memoir related story. I'm taking up a research of the characters in this story as well as the technical terms because it was so intriquing, historically and artistically.

César Aira, known to this reader first as a contributor to the commentary in the book 'ARGENTINA: THE GREAT ESTANCIAS', is surfacing in this country as a brilliant new voice in literature. Long famous in his native Argentina, his works are becoming available in English, in the case of AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A LANDSCAPE PAINTER, through the fine translation by Chris Andrews. Aira is a writer of style, wit, immensely gifted descriptive prose, and a mind that pays homage to magical realism without mimicking it. He is an original!

In this short novel Aira blends history with fiction in his recounting the adventures of Johann Moritz Rugendas, a gifted draughtsman and painter who is making his second visit to South America to paint the landscapes of Chile and Argentina from 1831 to 1847. Trained and influenced by the German naturalist Alexander von Humboldt, whose scientific vision of 'physiognomic totality' (definition of physiognomy:'a theory based upon the idea that the study and judgment of a person's outer appearance, primarily the face, may give insights into their character or personality. The term physiognomy is also used to refer to the general appearance of a person, object, or terrain, without reference to its underlying or scientific characteristics') Aria wished to apply to painting. Rugendas is accompanied by a fellow German Robert Krause, a man whose paintings by Rugendas' standards were poor but whose demeanor made him the perfect friend and traveling companion. Together the travel through the Andes, longing for adventure such as Indian raids to paint, and eventually wander into the pampas of Argentina where they encounter life altering experiences: Rugendas is struck twice by lightning and dragged by his terrified horse, an accident which peels the skin from his face leaving him severely disfigured - but undaunted. The remainder of the 'episode' relates how Rugendas, now requiring massive doses of morphine to control his pain, encounters Indian raids that he and Krause sketch and paint.

In Aira's words 'An artist always learns something from the practice of his art, even in the most constraining circumstances, and in this case Rugendas discovered an aspect of the physiognomic procedure that had so far escaped his notice. Namely that it was based on repetition: fragments were reproduced identically, barely changing their location in the picture...the fragment's outline could be affected by perspective. As small and as large as the Taoist dragon....Repetitions: in other words, the history of art.' And just as Aira is able to address cerebral issues such as this and incorporate them into his character's mold, he is also able to write some of the most comical prose encountered in literature today. Aira's spectrum of writing skill, even in this small volume, is amazing. He is at once able to entertain with wildly inventive storylines while enhancing the reader's knowledge and wrapping it all in balanced comedic and dramatic terms. The next novel to be translated is HOW I BECAME A NUN - and we can only hope that the rest of his output is made available to us soon. Highly recommended author, highly recommended book! Grady Harp, June 07

Approving words by Roberto Bolaño led me to this strange, elegant writer. I was further encouraged by the fact that he's translated by Chris Andrews--there is no better translator bringing texts from Spanish into English--and when I saw that he is published by New Directions.

Aira continues Borges, which is, I suppose, inevitable, coming as he does from Coronel Pringles, a little town in la provincia de Buenos Aires. In a very brief preface, Bolaño also suggests the influence of Witold Gombrowicz, the enfant terrible of Polish/Argentinean literature. I don't hear Gombrowicz, frankly--but I don't hear much that Bolaño hears, and that is no fault of Bolaño's.

I do hear Dostoyevsky.

If a bastard child of Dostoyevsky and Borges doesn't trigger your interest, then you can't be helped.

Consider, for instance, this line--a brilliant summary of the dilemma of the artist in the modern age:

"The variations revolved around a curious impossibility: how could he communicate the proposition 'I am a monster'?"

The influences one hears are to Aira's credit. Bolaño claims Aira is "one of the three or four best writers working in Spanish today." After reading this little book, I don't doubt it.

Nothing more has to be said. This book is a small miracle and should be better known by English-speaking readers. I won't get into what the book is 'about' onlt to say it is a fictionalized account of a real person, and with this fiction comes an excuisite story.

Wow! I've had this book for several years on my computer desk waiting for the time to read it. Last weekend an article in the New York Times on rereading mentioned it and I knew its time had come, and was long overdue it turns out. I'll not rehash what others have said to its advantage, but it's a memorable book. It captures a time in history, the Humboltian world of exploration and explanation and discovery. Great adventure story this is, but it's also finely written so that that style of writing reinforces and supplements the action in the story. When the pace accelerates in the action, so does the writing. A wonderful experience. Now I can't wait to reread it.

This intense little book by Cesar Aira is compelling and mysterious. At 87 pages, it is more a novella than a novel. And, like the Clint Eastwood film "Million-Dollar Baby," it starts out as one story and turns into quite another story midway through.

That initial story reminded me in many ways of the Andrea Barrett novellas in Servants of the Map. As with the British surveyors mapping the Himalayas, the German landscape painter Johann Moritz Rugendas, an historical figure, is drawn to spend long years away from his native land chronicling the lush and exotic world of Latin America in his drawings and engravings. The author describes his fascination with the flora and fauna, the geology of the landscapes he visits in Mexico, Haiti, Brazil and finally Chile and Argentina, where the action of this story takes place.

From the beginning, however, Aira focuses on his own preoccupations -- how do we perceive the world, and how do our interactions with it shape those perceptions. Rugendas develops a style of landscape painting that his patron Alexander von Humboldt dubs a "physiognomy of nature," embracing the whole of the world reflected in the painting.

As the narrative proceeds and takes its turn, the role of our own subjectivity in these perceptions becomes paramount. How Rugendas perceives his surroundings and how he translates this into his art changes because of changes in his subjective view of the world. At this point, Aira informs us that Rugendas's "physiognomy" is what we would come to call "surreal."

Rugendas's fellow artist and faithful companion Krause is a foil for these reflections. He is a platform where the reader can seek refuge from the maelstrom presented by the changes in Rugendas.

The novel, while tracing the real career of an historical figures, veers into the surreal. When the two Germans are forced to stay in a hospital in San Luis in the Argentine pampas, Rugendas tells Krause he had a nightmare filled with strange monsters. His companion informs him that this was no dream, that these strange beings, "half-man, half-animal, the results of cumulative genetic accidents" really did inhabit this hospital in the middle of nowhere. It was a revelation to Rugendas. "What an amazing coincidence! Or correspondence: it suggested that all nightmares, even the most absurd, were somehow connected with reality."

The painter was fascinated by the idea of being able to sketch an Indian raid in the area of Mendoza, a provincial capital just below the foothills of the Andes. Finally, he gets his wish and is present when the Indians emerge from the forests to raid for cattle and women. "The morning was truly glorious, perfect for a raid. There was not a cloud in the sky; the air had a lyrical resonance; birds were combing the trees. The lid had been taken off the world specifically to reveal the conflict, the clash of civilizations, as at the dawn of history."

In the brief space of this novella, Aira is metaphysical, scientific, dramatic, and, at times, surprisingly comic. His story of Rugendas is profoundly unsettling and yet it opens the reader to a new awareness of how we perceive the world around us.

A short preface by the late Roberto Bolano, currently everybody's favorite Latin American author, describes Aira as one of the top three or four best writers working in Spanish today.

I strongly recommend this short novel.

The author creates a dreamlike, other-worldly atmosphere in telling this story of a painter who comes to grief out of his desire to paint the nearly featureless pampas of Argentina's interior.

It is an imaginary treatment of a true story.

You'll likely be able to read it in 2 or 3 hours. I couldn't put it down.

An Episode In The Life Of A Landscape Painter
by César Aira
translated by Chris Andrews
New Directions, 87 pages. ($12.95)

No one is eager to talk about it, but every reviewer faces the dilemma of how much attention to pay to prevailing public opinion. Fortunately, in the case of César Aira--like Roberto Bolaño and a handful of other wonderful writers--that's not a problem, because a critical perspective has yet to crystallize around Aira and the 30, or 50, or according to his latest translator, 70 novellas he's written in the last decade or so. That An Episode In The Life Of A Landscape Painter is a masterwork of story telling and prose writing cannot be disputed, but when it comes to explaining just what makes it so good, critical voices falter. What seems clear is that Aira's prose is simultaneously strange, unprecedented, and yet in some important way familiar. His methods remain unpredictable, yet the results quickly come to feel like a part of the reader, as if one has always been reading this book, or isn't now reading it but hopes to get back to it soon. Like we had been waiting for this experience, and now it's finally here.

Part of the quality that makes Aira irresistible is sheer talent. He can write the kind of paragraphs that leave a discerning reader hungry to read them again, but out loud, and preferably to someone else. An anecdote early in An Episode hints at how such compelling passages arise. The protagonist's great-grandfather was trained as a clockmaker, but had to start over when an accident took his right hand. Rather than abandon the skills he'd practiced since childhood, he redirected them into drawing and painting with his left hand. Meticulous training, practical adaptation, and methodical deliberation gave him preternaturally precise draughtsmanship: `An exquisite contrast between the petrified intricacy of the form and the violent turmoil of the subject matter.' Something similar may have happened to an experienced translator--Aira's day job--whose inner, creative turmoil finally overflowed the precise use of language he'd practiced daily for decades.

What makes an Aira novella unmistakably his, in spite of the wildly inventive subjects and plots and the range of sub-literary genres he draws from freely, must be his approach to the actual process of writing. An outspoken partisan of el continuo, his term for constantly forward motion in a story, he has called his own technique fuga hacia adelante: flight forward. Painters among his readers will understand that an artist who meticulously prepares, working from sketches, preparing a ground, and finally filling in the colors, who examines the results and then makes changes as necessary, will get a different result from one who brushes paint on an unprepared canvas and takes directions from the spontaneous result. Aira's method is similar to the second, or to a brush-and-ink or watercolor process permitting no penitence. Aira composes episodically, supposedly in coffee shops, and should it go badly, he continues to write forward until the problem is resolved. The result, when he's `hot,' is one of those sections that soars and rushes along, hypnotic prose that generates surgically precise sense impressions that can build to overwhelming intensity. Then when he resumes, he may very well be in a completely different narrative mood, and the result may be a change of direction, a philosophical digression, or (in one of the best-known cases) a sex change for the protagonist that goes un-remarked upon within the text.

Johann Moritz Rugendas (1802-1858), the landscape painter of the title, was born and died in Germany. The men in his family had been documentary painters for generations, and Aira identifies him as not only the best of them, but the finest documentary painter of all. He is surely one of the most influential. How he became a painter, spent half his working years in Central and South America, and established his reputation on the work he did there forms the introduction to Aira's tale, in which the novelist shows how Rugendas' circumstances and his response to them, like his great-grandfather's response to the loss of his hand, came together to produce a watershed moment not only for him, but for art. Before him, the family business was painting the warrior caste in Europe and their battles. But Johann Moritz had the misfortune to come of age just after Napoleon's defeat, at the beginning of what he foresaw would be a long peace. Realizing his predicament, he left his teacher and enrolled in the Munich Academy of Art to study nature painting. Then as now, a graduating student was expected to take on a kind of thesis project, though Aira compares Rugendas' next step to Charles Darwin's decision to sign on for a sea voyage as the captain's companion. The failure of Rugendas and his new employer to get along is another deciding circumstance: while the expedition met with disaster in the New World, Rugendas was able to pursue his own interests.

Aira tells this story as efficiently as a summary, but in more forceful prose, bracketing the names of factual objects with evocative adjectives and strong action. I couldn't help comparing this lithe, fast-moving story telling to where creative nonfiction seemed to be headed before being hijacked by memoirs wallowing in self-regard. A novelist's decision to take real people hostage as fictional characters can cause a deadening rupture in the reader's suspension of disbelief. Aira avoids this pitfall by carefully controlling his proximity to the painter. Rugendas took copious notes throughout his travels, which aided him in turning his thousands of sketches into finished works. He also wrote long letters to his family and colleagues. By anchoring his point of view to this documentary record, Aira delivers a convincing illusion that combines the verisimilitude of fiction with the factual accuracy of a biography.

Rugendas returned to Europe and published a journal of his travels that brought him to the attention of Alexander von Humboldt, whom Darwin called the greatest scientific traveller ever, and who is known to us as the father of modern geography. Humboldt had already put forth the goal of setting down in one place everything known about the earth, with his priority on visual presentation as the most direct. He urged his theory on Rugendas and urged him to confine his art making to the tropics, where the density of mineral and vegetable data was richest. But a secret, life-long desire drove Rugendas: he wanted to explore the absolute emptiness that he anticipated finding on the Pampas of Argentine. Attempting to reach it led to the devastating title `episode,' and subsequent events reveal how Rugendas' character enabled him to translate Humboldt's process for portraying the rain forest into a model of anthropological study and presentation. It's not as dry as that makes it sound, and the challenges of carrying fragile art materials in nature and the sequence of sketching, note-taking, and synthesizing images makes for a story that can stand beside the accounts of Monet, van Gogh, and company as they learned to paint al fresco half a century later.

The popular imagination sees the artist as a romantic figure propelled by cyclones of inspiration, but Aira writes two to four novellas a year--some of them based, like this one, on 19th century history, others set in his neighborhood and full of surreal whimsy--and Rugendas is important to him because of the way, in the face of adversity, he got back on his horse with his sketch pad and returned to work. When the trackless plains of the Pampas presented him with new battles, this seventh-generation professional was ready to depict them, to rise above the fray and capture truth on both sides. He faces philosophical questions here, but ultimately what matters to Rugendas, as to Aira, is the work. Making art saves Johann Moritz Rugendas, and An Episode In The Life Of A Landscape Painter ennobles César Aira.

César Aria's short work reflectively connects the writer's canvas of images with the painter's canvas of expression. A wonderful book.