Customer Reviews

Villa Incognito

5 star:		(18)
4 star:		(29)
3 star:		(25)
2 star:		(14)
1 star:		(18)

 

 

Tom Robbins is a great American treasure. His novels have entertained (and confounded) his ardent fan base for nearly 30 years, and his style of writing is as original as it gets.
"Villa Incognito", his 8th (and, along with the classic "Still Life", one of his shortest) novels opens in typical Robbins fashion - parallel stories seperated by generations, farcical characters and an alluring female whom you somehow know is going to tie the entire story together. The action in "VI" is primarily set in Asia (which gives Robbins a chance to focus on herion as the drug of reference in this novel), where 3 Vietnam (thought to be) MIA's have established their own Walden. Meanwhile, the possible offspring of a Tanuki (don't ask, just trust me that only Robbins could make such a mythical character work SO WELL) and her circus comrades worms her way into the story, creating the mischief that Robbins works so well with his female creations (think Amanda from "Another Roadside Attraction", or the exotic dancer from "Skinny Legs and All" ).
As always, Robbins words simply sparkle. His ability to fashion similes remains unchallenged in modern writing. And the "modern time" sections of the story allow Tom (and his fans) the pleasure of Bush-bashing, 9/11 ruminating, and general "religion-government-organized society is failing us" rambling.
Unfortunately, the story runs into serious trouble after about 150 pages. You see where he wants to go, but lately Robbins has had a bad habit of letting his strong talents get in the way of a solid finish. It's not as bad as "Fierce Invalids" (which crumbled under its own weight), but then again, at only 230 or so pages, there isn't as much room to fail here.
One really has small reason to complain whenever there is some fresh TR on the market - no other wirter makes a reader simply giggle quite like Tom. And he isn't afraid to poke fun at sacred icons. This book reinforces everything I love about Robbin's writings - and reminds me why critics seem to dislike him so much.

I've read every Tom Robbins book (some multiple times), and I was thrilled to see this book released so quickly after "Fierce Invalids", but unfortunatley, I was kind of disappointed.

The first 100 pages or so, are just great - but the second half of the book kind of lays an egg in my opinion. I believe the reason this happens is because when one of the major characters - Mars Albert Stubblefied - is introduced, my energy and enthusiasm left this story. This character is just not up to par with the many great characters of wisdom and charm as in his other books, and I feel the overall story suffers a bit for this reason. He is just not a very likeable character and is portrayed to be a smart/ground breaking thinker, but most of his views make little sense, and have even less relevance to the world - even in their defiance of normal society - and this is very 'odd' for Robbins, as most of his stories thrive off of argumentive energy - that is difficult to debate. Stubblefied's theories didn't even lead me to attentive thought to be honest - which is always my favorite part of Robbins' work.

That being said, it is still worth the read, because one always learns great things when reading Robbins, and the worlds that he creates conjure journeys that all people should take once in a while in their life to escape this world for a brief moment. I still consider him the best writer of our time.

To reiterate what many reviewers have written, if you have never read Tom Robbins before, please don't start with "Villa Incognito." If you are an established Robbins fan, please read it with an open mind.

My main qualm is that, in the absence of a central main character (who IS the protagonist anyway -- Dickie Goldwire? Tanuki Himself?), we get a great deal of the author's voice instead. In fact, the book comes across as a thinly-veiled excuse for Tom Robbins to expound his political and philisophical views. Fortuntately, I happen to agree with many of said views, however I'm not sure that a novel is the appropriate vehicle for such a venture, and it at times verges on, well no, crosses over into preachiness, which often distracted me from the world of the story.

That being said, while I don't think this novel is quite up to the literary standards set by "Jitterbug Perfume" and others, I thoroughly enjoyed it once I accepted it for what it was -- among other things, an exploration of the relevance and pervasiveness of Myth in our modern age. Robbins' inspired prose continues to astound me (even if after nine novels, a few of his requisite metaphors come out a little forced), and I don't think I have yet to meet a Robbins character that I didn't want to know more about, although it must be said that the brevity of this novel does, with a few exceptions, leave you a bit dissatified where character development is concerned.

All in all, I feel extremely lucky to be around at a time when Tom Robbins is a living, working author and there is always the next wacky novel to look forward to.

While I must confess that I'm no seasoned Tom Robbins reader, I did have the pleasure of savoring "Fierce Invalids" while on the first leg of a long trip to China. The delectable aftertaste of that absolutely splendid literary romp drove me to Robbins again at the bookstore last week; I chose "Villa Incognito" simply because the back cover description sounded intriguing. The clerk, a T.R. fan himself, sighed when he saw my selection. "It's hardly even a whole novel," he said, and encouraged me to read, oh, pretty much any other Robbins instead.

Maybe I should have listened, and picked up "Still Life" or "Half Asleep." I might not have learned what a tanuki is (nor about their rather titillating "assets"), and perhaps I would never have been enlightened as to the four different ethnic groups in Lao society. But I would probably have spent my vacation reading something that left a discernable impression on me, the way "Fierce Invalids" did.

Looking through the other reviews here, I find that the bookstore clerk and I are not alone in wondering whether Robbins' excellent storytelling abilities sputtered to a halt on this one. Although the majority of the plot takes place in Southeast Asia, there is the occasional American interlude - but the American characters and events are so poorly interwoven into the main story that their recurrence every twenty pages or so is as jarring as an acid flashback. Any real identification with the main characters, or any shared involvement by the reader in the events taking place, is in this case hindered by Robbins penchant for espousing obscure philosophies via his verbose protagonists. (In "Fierce Invalids," I found this an endearing method of developing a personal credo for the story's hero; here, it merely comes across as Robbins rather crudely inserting himself into the very story he is creating.) Finally, the novella (for I think it is most accurately termed as such) has an ending so abruptly and inappropriately placed that even Robbins himself apparently found not one, but TWO epilogues necessary. While they *were* enough to keep me from screeching with outrage and flinging the book across the room, they surely *weren't* enough to prevent me from merely dropping it to the floor and falling asleep - hardly an enthusiastic response, I'd say.

The book is not without its merits, of course. Robbins' unforgettable and unexampled descriptive gifts are on full display here, with metaphors and turns of phrase that stick with you for a surprisingly long time. Furthermore, they're to be found on nearly every page: a random page-flipping yields "an ice cream parlor on Main Street in Hell," "something the proverbial cat *refused* to drag in," and "its mask of lipstick democracy and mascara faith." Similarly, the author bravely straddles genres and stitches together folktale with biography, history with political polemic, creating a patchwork tale that, while hardly seamless, can certainly carry the entertained reader from lecherous Japanese animal ancestors to circus clowns in Seattle without derailing. Robbins' gift for language, and for sheer imaginative thinking, is definitely on a roll here - which is why I've bumped up to 3 stars a book which in any other author's hands would surely have merited no more than two.

Unfortunately, however, this patchwork tale is full of holes, and while I was indeed entertained I simply was not engaged - a disappointment from an author I *know* has the capacity to engage his readers. Robbins' ability to provide the reader with a complete and satisfying story seems to have decoupled from his other significant gifts. While it may be anathema to say this on Amazon, if you want to read "Villa Incognito" I recommend borrowing it from your local library or from a friend. If you want to read Tom Robbins, on the other hand, start with "Fierce Invalids" and proceed to "Half Asleep" or "Still Life," which are recommended as better alternatives by both the reviewers on this site and the bookstore clerk to whom I should have listened. While I won't say I regret reading "Villa Incognito," I most certainly regret the $15 I spent on what was, in effect, half of a good Tom Robbins novel.

Tom Robbins' books are almost always the literary equivalent of a sprawling, sumptuous buffet-style feast representing the finest cuisine of some wonderfully exotic and mysterious place, daring you to run from one end of the table snarfing and snacking on some of this, some of that, until you're sated to the point of nirvanic bliss and unsure if you can get through the door of experience. Even his poorest work is infinitely better than most authors' best. Through seven novels, written throughout the course of my existence on this planet, T.R. has never failed to lay out an impressive table, generous with his wit and philosophy like enormous crocks of Brazilian baked beans and steaming Tibetan Peach Pie (ice cream softening nearby). This time, however, the picnic, while no less enjoyable, is lacking some substance.
The image from Villa Incognito I think most characterizes the novel best is the plain mayonnaise sandwich - not much there but what is there makes you feel like a kid again, like the first time you read a Robbins novel. But the meat is missing, the goofy meandering is far too brief and a whole subplot or two seem to have been forgotten, leaving clueless characters with nothing to do but spout their dizzy quirks at each other. This goes a long way to explaining why the novel is so short: half the story is missing. It's the part of the story that has nothing to do with what the part that is there is about, dealing with Bootsie and Pru in Seattle, and that interesting lesbian clown Bardo Bippie Bop, who for some reason only appears twice and very briefly in the course of the narrative.
Speaking as a T.R. fan, I could have waited another couple of years for him to flesh out the story more. I'm used to the five year gap; when you have to wait a long time, it usually means when it comes, it'll be worth the wait.

I looked forward to this novel the way any true fan would, and was immediately suprised and mildly disheartened by its slim figure. I dove in with abandon and read it from cover to cover. The book did not disappoint--the passages on Tanuki, Himself are reminiscent of those in Jitterbug Perfume involving Pan, and the prose is wacky poetic, as usual--however, I was left wanting more, feeling as if Mr. Robbins might have been distracted by a quivering chrysanthemum or some savory sake.

This is not to say that I did not enjoy the novel--I most certainly did, and will treasure it as I treasure his other seven wonders of the literary world, but I was left with the sinking feeling that maybe in a effort to meet a deadline, self imposed or otherwise, Mr. Robbins ended where he might have furthered the intensity of the novel and its resolution with another few chapters. Still, a fan, ever and always.

For a writer who has turned out as many brilliant books as he has, this latest one does a poor job continuing that trend. Overall, it's a fair book in terms of what others produce in today's market. But for Robbins, it's clearly well below his standards.

A problem I have with this book is that I never care about the characters, nor do I care about the plot. While reading this I would wake up every morning, and maybe I would read it. Or maybe I wouldn't. The idea that there were still more pages to go did not intrigue me. Contrary to my past Robbins experiences where I had trouble putting the book down, this time I had trouble picking it up.

If I'm being totally honest, I have this exasperated question to pose to Robbins: An Epilogue where we find out what happened to all the characters? I feel insulted. Seriously, this isn't a Brady Bunch book. I'm not yearning to find out who went where, how, and why. I don't read Robbins for that. I read Robbins for eye opening perspectives. I read Robbins for new stories, for new situations, for fresh looks at old topics.

Robbins accomplishes none of these. His usual word play? Mundane. His dancing metaphors? Flat footed. Long winded descriptions that make your mind's eye glow with excitement? Short of breath. To boot, his messages, once cloaked in brilliant prose, are now thrown at you with the grace of a monkey throwing a piece of crap from its cage.

Is this a joke of a book? Am I the punch line? I find it hard to believe this is all he has left in the tank. After so much excellence, it's hard to believe that this is where we've ended up. Robbins should have worked on this one another 2 years before it saw the light of day.

Obviously, I'm disappointed. Yes, there is some standard Robbins content. But only a sliver of it. It's not a terrible book on its own. But it's not great either. It is what it is. You is what you it. Man oh man, I'm not sure if this was a mistake or not, though. Even if one claims there are no mistakes, this one will make you wonder.

If you are a long time Robbins reader, you have to pick this one up for the sake of completeness. If you're new to Robbins, try Woodpecker before you read this.

You know you've stumbled onto something special when the first sentence of a book concerns the scrotal parachuting of fictive Japanese animal ancestors. Recommended to me by my librarian friend who claimed Robbins put the 'fun in anti-fundamentalism', I was delightfully surprised at how thoroughly enjoyable an experience it was to read this novel. Robbins' writing style is sublimely engaging and rather than attempt to narrate the aspects of the book I found so captivating, how about some strung-together adjectives: Irreverent. Absurd. Lyrical. Mythical. Artfully crafted. Insightful. Hilarious. And practically, though not totally, perfect in many ways. Tom Robbins is a total rockstar! I was shocked when I was checking out reviews of VI on the web and found that many people considered this to be their least favorite of his novels. I can't imagine that, but being the first book I've read by Robbins, what do I know? All I do know is that if this is anyone's least favorite, then I am certainly in for a treat when I get to the other ones.

I was nearly crestfallen when I saw that "Villa Incognito" was only about 240 pages long; however, any reservations I might have had were mitigated by the end of the first paragraph. I could not stop reading, smiling nearly the whole time. Robbins has been redeemed for the sins of "Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates!" Villa Incognita has everything that I and other Robbins fans love about him: interesting and engaging characters (including his ever present exotic, alluring female who, of course, pulls everything together) interesting plot twists, his signature word play, mythology, and philosophical rants about consumerisism, capatilism, and religion, and some of that great uniquely Robbins abusrdity. If you are not already a Robbins fan, beware, you might become a big one.
The story begins with the antics of a Tanuki, a kind of wild dog, which resembles a racoon or badger. In Japanese mythology tanukis are playful, thieving shape shifters with a taste for women, fun and sake; they are also known for having enormous scrotum. We later meet Lisa Ko, also known as Madame Ko, a circus trainer of tanukis, who is alleged to have Tanuki blood. Her fiance is one of three US MIAs who decided to remain in Laos after the war's end. All of their lives are turned upside down when Dern Foley, one of the MIAs, is caught with drugs in Guam, despite the fact that he was well disguised as a French priest. We also meet Foley's two unusual sisters, and the two military intelligence officers assigned to sort out the situation. Although other rewiewers have complained about the resolution: I liked it. Most things were wrapped up nicely, and the two characters left with mysterious endings, should have been that way. My biggest regret was that "Villa Incognito" was over too soon.
If you have liked earlier Robbins books, particularly "Jitterbug Perfume (my favorite) and "Skinny legs and All" you are destined to like "Villa Incognito."

I guess I had my expectations set a little high for this book. Having read earlier work by Tom Robbins, I had hoped for some new tricks. It didn't happen, which was disappointing.

Par for the course with Robbins, we have several story lines that are eventually all tied together. In _Villia Incognito_ it involves a "tanuki", 3 MIA's from Vietnam, and a circus preformer. As fans of Robbins expect, there are the delightful word play and colorful metaphors, a bit of the absurd, the irreverant and the off-color. But this is stock Tom Robbins stuff. I was hoping for more than the "same-old same-old."

_Villa Incognito_ just didn't SING to me like his other words have. Maybe I am maturing as a reader, or maybe Robbins has nothing new to share, and so results to being "cute." The final resolution wasn't as tidy as I had hoped, and several of the characters just fell flat. It is entertaining, to be sure, but it lacked the raw emotional appeal of his earlier work.