Customer Reviews

The Fly-Truffler: A Novel

5 star:		(3)
4 star:		(5)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

On December 31, 1999 my wife and I had a deliciously indulgent millennial dinner at March. The first course was a "beggar's purse" filled with truffles and topped with an edible shaving of 24-carat gold. (OK, so it was over-the-top indulgent.) This book by Gustaf Sobin reminded me of that first course: small, sensuous, exquisitely crafted, poetically expressive, unlike anything I had experienced before and celebratory of passages, of memory and moving on. "The Fly-Truffler" is Philippe Cabassac's elegy to his wife, Julieta, their intimate romance and her tragic death. But, most of all, it is an elegy to the passing of local languages and customs, to the loss of the simple country life. The poetic heart of the book is Philippe's recognition that Julieta is the embodiment of Haut Provence followed by the erotically charged consummation of their love by a waterfall, a memory ultimately restored through truffles. When you are finished with this appetizer, I would recommend "The Rings of Saturn" by W.G. Sebald as a second course of what is slowly becoming a literary feast of moving millennial contemplations.

A perfect moment of storytelling -- to be read in one sitting, thus inducing a dreamlike sense of place, love, loss and inspiration.

This novel is written in four chapters - the second chapter, the story of a philology professor's romance with a student only justifies the cost of the book. Sobin's understanding of language - words as objects to be enjoyed, the importance of silence, of absent words - is remarkable. (You may note some similarities to Edmond Jabes.)

Sobin's understanding of a person's rootedness in place and the effects of loss of place is another thread expression through the professor's estate of many generations, his cousin's emigration and his wife's orphanhood.

At one point, the plot of the novel fails, becoming contrived but the grace and depth of the prose makes a reader ready to forgive the slip.

An enjoyable novel with depth.

This is a gem of a book -- rich, fragrant and indulgent in its earthy sense of place, redolent in its emotionally heavy and languid atmosphere, and the sheer poetry of the story's telling. This is a book that lives on for weeks after reaching the end....we remain with Cabassac in the realm of the mind.

I first discovered Gustaf Sobin through his leading-edge poetics. From there I ventured into his novel of Provence, "Dark Mirrors". "The Fly-Truffler" is the second of his novels I have read, and it, too, is at the leading edge. Sobin's voice is as recognizable in his prose as it is in his poetry. It is a voice that refuses to let the reader not reach to grasp (or gasp) at it's excellence, which, although deliberate and technical to a degree, is as natural as breath. The poetry of Sobin's prose manifests itself mostly in its rhythm, and barely manages to not overshadow his stories and storytelling which are great feats in their own right. This is a one-sitting read.

Truffles can be said to be an obsession if only for the prices that people will pay to have them. Caviar is an inexpensive snack by comparison, I don't know what other product of Mother Nature competes. Part of the mystique that continues to surround this delicacy are the ways by which they are detected, and their elusiveness. In, "The Fly Truffler", the role of these buried treasures are an obsession, grantor of dreams, and ultimately destructive.

A professor loses the love of his life but he is not allowed the normal release that grief, mourning, and time allow. He finds that as he continues the elaborate ritual from detecting the tiniest insect clues, to the digging, and the ritual of bottling the truffle with eggs for days before eating, he dreams, without fail of his lost love. The metaphors that surround his activities are many, not the least of which is his digging of individual truffles from the ground that holds what he has lost, and their ability to offer a bit at a time an intensifying second chance relationship. His former mate appears to him and becomes increasingly aware of his presence and then tempts him with information she must share. The problem is that only the truffle can bridge this gap between his world and hers, and truffles are rare at the best of times and are present for only a portion of the year. A period that is maddeningly short as he is tormented by these nocturnal trysts.

An all consuming love can destroy a person's real world when all the participants are still amongst the living and can act as a painful reminder and tempting target for reconciliation or even retribution. In this tale there is no opportunity for either and the author takes apart this man's world with the same efficacy and devastation, even as he is alone. A love for one of nature's offerings becomes his obsession, as he attempts to unnaturally continue another love that nature has taken, what is gone, irrevocably.

There is little to say except this is one of the most lovely books I've read. The ending may be a little thin- but it doesn't matter. The rest of it is so stunning... I suggest anyone to read it who doesn't mind a bit of unabashed beauty.

In the tradition on Bruges-la-Morte, Vertigo and All the Mornings of the World, Sobin's novel is a love story in which only one of the lovers continues to be alive. The narrative starts off as a bit of somber realism then becomes less so as Cabassac's love for his dead wife takes over the narrative. By the novel's end we are treading a vague terrain where one man's truth is another's madness. The Fly-Truffler is a compelling, but by no means cheerful, read.

Every time I think of this book I can't help but come up with alternate names, like The Truffle Snuffle or The Fly Whuffler. Something about the word "truffler" just does it to me. Anyhoo...

Sobin has an obvious love of words that is apparent from the get go. Though a thin book, this is a very slowly paced thin book, allowing for mountains of description to be heaped on: memories, the lazy days of spring and summer, and Cabassac's vivid dreams of his dead wife. The Fly-Truffler is an ode to language and linguistics--as much of the plot and descriptions revolve around Cabassac's interest in the fading dialect of the Provencal hills. Whether or not that's your cup of tea is entirely your call. I personally enjoy words, so I didn't mind reading it, but the pacing was very heavy and at times trying. This isn't a particularly happy wook and it continues to gain weight right through to the end. There's a nihilistic quality to it. Cabassac's interest is in joining his dead wife in the vivid dreams that the local truffles provide him. As he becomes more and more entrenched and drawn to this etherworld, his reality gets more and more depressing--he neglects his teaching, then his job, and finally... Not exactly life re-affirming.

Had the pacing or the use of words been a little tighter, I think I would have given it a higher rating. However, there was much repetition that did not seem intentional, and ended up feeling slightly sloppy and self-indulgent. Kind of like a depressive's poems or song lyrics. And unfortunately, though we can feel and empathize with Cabassac's pain, neither he nor his wife are quite dynamic enough to make the sad journey seem worthwhile.

This is a short little book that reads more like poetry than prose. I found the experience of reading this book a little like visting a museum of contemporary art -- you know it's got to be good, but you also sense that much of it is over your head. It's worth reading, but don't expect a light read -- it's short, but very dense and challenging.