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None of the half dozen of so books I've read from Mr. Baker sound like much when the plots are summarized, and that is certainly the case with The Fermata. The book's story line is based on the ability of the 35-year-old narrator Arno Strine to somehow stop time, and most of the pages are used up with explorations of how he decides what he can and can't do while time is stopped.
The unimpressive story line means that the value of the book depends almost entirely on Mr. Baker's ability to keep the prose engaging. Sometimes it doesn't work (as with his more recent effort Box of Matches) and sometimes it works well, as with The Fermata. As always, what holds it together when it works is Mr. Baker's memory for trivia, his intelligence, and his eye for detail: witness the title: "Fermata," the noun form of the word "stop" in Italian, is also a musical term that means holding a note longer than the time value -- a perfect name for a book with this kind of plot.
Ultimately, my criticism of The Fermata is one shared by all of Mr. Baker's books and all literature based on prose rather than memorable plots or characters. In my mind, they're like the old cliché about Chinese food, which tastes great but leaves you hungry a few hours later. In the case of this book, the prose keeps the pages turning, but when you're through, very little of it sticks with you.
Stopping time in order to undress women - the very idea invites accusations of misogyny, but the genius of the book is that Baker keeps his protagonist, Arno, on the right side of that line at all times. While his hobby is undeniably invasive and lacking in respect for privacy, Arno leaves no doubt that he loves women and is in awe of them in any number of ways. His lengthy but enjoyable treatises on the minutiae of women's bodies in general, and those of his "victims" in particular, suggest a genuine and deep admiration that enables us to forgive him for having no use for personal boundaries. Rather than just treat us to egregiously detailed descriptions of female flesh, he takes time - often a lot of it - to explain just why it's all such a turn on. (For me, this is what keeps the book squarely in the realm of erotica rather than pornography.) Arno also displays a sense of ethics about his powers - never using them to humiliate or hurt anyone, still expressing regret decades later about stealing a few shrimp from a "frozen" chef as a child, always putting his subjects' clothes back exactly as he found them - that makes his one vice seem wholly forgivable by comparison to other things he is capable of.
Although Arno's story is focused all but completely on the seamiest details of his life, he's not one-dimensional. As enviable as his voyeuristic abilities are, there's a strong sense of underachievement and untapped potential in the few non-sexual details he provides throughout the book. There is also an unspoken but growing aura of loneliness throughout the story, due to the touch-but-don't-be-touched-or-seen nature of his pastime, which Baker finds a wonderful way to address toward the end. Along the way, Baker's famous knack for detailed descriptions comes in handy with the scenes of frozen moments in the midst of everyday events. I have read critiques explaining that Baker got a number of things "wrong" (i.e. rain wouldn't really stop in midair), but it's beautifully illustrated all the same.
I'm hesitant to give away any further details, not only of the ending but of any part of the book, because it all deserves to be savored firsthand. If you're openminded about sexuality and not afraid to confront feelings and ideas we all have at some point in our lives, there's a lot to enjoy here. Don't let the raunchy nature of the story scare you off from such a brilliant achievement!