In the world of literature, there's a lot of the same- a lot of mediocrity, a lot of good, and a lot of bad. The fact is, however, that in all that diversity, there's an awful lot of uniformity. Books, no matter their quality, tend to be whatever they are in one of a limited number of ways. While the convenience of categorization and familiarity might be nice, sometimes it's nice to have a little departure. Soon after I recieved an advance copy of The Labyrinth for review, I realized that I was going to go on a little trip.
Enter The Labyrinth. There are some books whose language can evoke images that transcend mere vivid visuals- they can inspire waves of emotion and empathy with its protagonists that wash over you in unexpected, engrossing ways. It sets forth on an unconventional and perhaps daunting literary course, one that demonstrates a powerful command of language, as well as a rapt knowledge of the classics. The style is poetic but not poetry, written in cantos so beautifully yet succinctly constructed that they seem as the lost lyrics of an arcane epic song. Valente does so with such captivating skill that the book quickly becomes difficult to put down, if your first appraisal might tell you that this is not your cup of tea.
It tells the story of the Walker, once a woman, no longer so, on a surreal quest in the underworld-like Maze. There, the Walker encounters a host of the surreal- predatory Doors that consume those who enter, strange talking beasts, and odd helpers reminiscent of the archetype established by myths modern and ancient. The tale is told with refreshing femininity, but it is a savage, wild femininity that often disturbs as much as it enchants.
As you might have determined by now, the book is damned intense, and damned different. It is filled with surreal sights, sounds, and speeches; it distorts reality with every turn and unapologetically disorients the reader. With what becomes a trademark skill, however, Valente provides relief with her decidedly quirky sense of humor, inserting quixotic characters and dialogue that self-effacingly reminds us that the world of The Labyrinth is not entirely deeply meaningful and sweeping. She reminds us that she doesn't take herself too seriously, and in those moments, neither do we. It's appreciated.
Any reader who rigidly prefers conventional styles and plots of their chosen works will likely find The Labyrinth not to their liking, but I won't dissuade anyone who considers themselves a lover of literature from picking up this book. It is fantastic and dark, but in an age where classification is key, perhaps an author as truly different as Valente deserves a classification of her own.