Glyph [Paperback]

Percival Everett (Author)

Book Description

Publication Date: May 20, 2004

With this inventive and humorous novel, Percival Everett has created his unlikeliest hero to date. Mute by choice, baby Ralph is able to ponder the worth (not much) of Derrida and Barthes. On discovery of his talents, a host of people are soon eager for a stake in this child prodigy.

Editorial Reviews

From Publishers Weekly

A creator of fantastically clever fictional conceits who at times is incapable of channeling his seething imagination into a coherent story line, Everett (Frenzy) attempts another ambitious feat of literary ventriloquism in this off-kilter academic spoof about an infant with an IQ of 475. Grandiosely reminiscing, at age four, on the tumultuous first few years of his life, Everett's hero, Ralph, recounts his manipulation and eventual imprisonment at the hands of a group of nefarious, constantly squabbling adults. "My father was a poststructuralist pretender and my mother hated his guts," declares Ralph, who at roughly 10 months confounds his parents by composing hyper-sophisticated poems about the human anatomy. Ralph refuses to speak, but begins devouring books in his crib, reading "all of Swift, all of Sterne, Invisible Man, Baldwin, Joyce, Balzac, Auden," and everything else within reach. He's reading Daisy Miller one evening when he is kidnapped and held hostage in a remote, pink stucco research institute, by a violently unstable child psychologist who hopes to dissect him, mentally and perhaps physically, and ride her discoveries to academic superstardom. He is then kidnapped from his kidnappers by a rogue Pentagon officer, who views Ralph as the ultimate espionage device, and kidnapped again by a Latino couple seeking their first child. These events are not recounted in linear fashion, but are, as befits an infant learning to mimic his surroundings, interspliced with a maddening hodgepodge of semiotic analysis, intricate equations and diagrams and often silly imagined dialogue between philosophers and writers. Emerging from this clutter of ideas is a notion that will strike a chord for those without the wherewithal to wade through this densely philosophical novel. Genius, Ralph proposes, must not be measured by one's command of all of Western civilization's great ideas, but by the ability to find "a way back to the beginning where the truths are uncorrupted and honest and maybe even pure." (Nov.)
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

From Library Journal

"My father was a poststructuralist and my mother hated his guts." That's exactly the sort of snide aside one might expect from an exasperated child prodigyAbut not from an enfant. Little Ralph, however, is barely a year old when he makes this observation, and though he refuses to speak, he writes quite observant comments on his sheets and is soon plowing through the classics of Western literature and philosophy, which his mother sneaks him. This gives rise to considerable discussion of the nature of language and being that will be fun for the academically inclined but doesn't quite fly. In any case, the heart of the novel is the conflict between Ralph's loving mother and those who are terrified of the little boy's geniusAhis arrogant but clueless dad, a mean psychiatrist, and a priest bent on exorcism. The ever-experimental Everett (Frenzy) makes good points about the way children who don't fit the mold are treated in this society. But finally this is a not-so-uncommon story of how an intuitive artist mom ("with a wild hand I envied") wrests control of her son from the forces of evil. Had Ralph been less mean-spirited himself, this could have been a funny and insightful book, but he's crabby and insufferable enough to leave a sour taste. For readers who like fancy intellectual footwork.ABarbara Hoffert, "Library Journal"
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

See all Editorial Reviews

Product Details

• Paperback: 208 pages
• Publisher: Faber & Faber (May 20, 2004)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0571221122
• ISBN-13: 978-0571221127
• Product Dimensions: 7.6 x 5 x 0.9 inches
• Shipping Weight: 5.6 ounces
• Average Customer Review: 4.1 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (7 customer reviews)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #809,758 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

10 of 10 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Ignotum per Ignotius : Obscurum per Obscurius, January 18, 2000

By 

mrpennysworth "mrpennysworth" - See all my reviews

This review is from: Glyph (Hardcover)

Ralph is no ordinary infant. Inside his one-year-old body is a fully matured, literate mind hell-bent to excoriate academia like a post-modern Voltaire. Glyphically eschewing speech, Ralph wields his pen as if it were a rapier tipped with deadly acerbic wit. One by one, the inflated pretensions of the unrepentant deconstructionists are skewered and burst. This erudite satire by Percival Everett requires some inside knowledge of the intellectual gymnastics performed at Western universities during the past few decades, which may limit its audience. But for those who venture forward, their efforts to discern and dissect ultimately will be rewarded. The thing I will remember most about the book, however, is the moment when the author interjects (almost as an aside) the most startling expose of racial stereotyping I have ever read. I can still feel the shudder of recognition that even I, who profess total inclusion, may harbor the seeds of racism deep within my psyche.

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars A Glyph worth deciphering, November 12, 2000

By 

Reader "piratebean" (Newport, RI USA) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Glyph (Hardcover)

There is nothing better than great satire, especially a great satire of the literary criticism of the 1960s and 1970s - the kind of satire that has you laughing out loud at conversations between Bruneau and Thales (Bruneau: Would you like some water? Thales: Very funny.), God and Barthes, Wittgenstein and Russell, and many others.

Glyph, according to its cover, is a novel, but the book is much more than that. There are tidbits of anatomically themed poetry, literary theory, and seemingly random dialogues wrapped around the central text, which are the memoirs of Ralph, age four, reminiscing about his infancy. Ralph is no ordinary child; he is gifted, although no one realizes it, since he will not talk. Then Ralph one day writes a note to his mother. He has a gift for language, which he displays through reading and writing, not speaking. Incidentally, the first book he read was not written by A. A. Milne - it was by Wittgenstein.

Ralph has an interesting childhood - his father is a "postructuralist pretender" and his mother is an artist. With the best intentions, they take Ralph to see a psychologist, the evil Dr. Steimmel, and there his adventures begin. He is kidnapped, then kidnapped from the kidnappers. Along the way, Ralph tells the reader what he really thinks of "that Derrida guy" and a whole slew of other has-beens in academic circles, always with Barthes appearing in snippets of conversation, to say, among other things, "I am French, you know."

One might assume that the plot plays second fiddle to Ralph's commentaries. On the contrary, the plot is engrossing. I laughed at the satire and cried for Ralph. It was quite an emotional roller coaster, and I reveled in every minute of it. Glyph takes literature to new horizons. I highly recommend it, even if the reader has no experience with literary criticism. Sifting through the jargon for the plot is worth the trouble.

7 of 7 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars A book to read without forethought, September 24, 2001

By 

Jason Edwards (San Jose, CA) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Glyph (Hardcover)

I picked this book up because of the pretty cover. I read the dust-jacket blurb, was intrigued by the premise (a baby who won't talk but can read and write! Neat-o!) and started reading. I had no fore-warning about it's "wit, satire, intelligence." After 20 pages I had to put it down-- it was that good, that I had to reflect on how good it was. I was amazed. Yes, I suppose, all that stuff everyone says about post-structuralist posturing and the hemophilia of the literary brotherhood, its all true-- but I haven't enjoyed well-crafted sentences like these since Berger and Leyner.

Impossibly, a "structuralist" dialogue is accomplished between Everett's obvious genius with what words can do and with what words are for. A new "parole" and "langue"? Ralph would easily make fun of me for that one.

Just read it. You don't need to know nothing about nothing. It's not erudite-- it's fun.