Sergio Chejfec (1956–2022)

This work by Chejfec was a fascinating character sketch absolutely devoid of plot. The genius of it lay with its ability to reveal the narrator ever so gradually, to create a multi-dimensional view of him from one of the most talented and intimate first person points of view I have ever read. The scenes rippled back and forth through time, yet there was no confusion of the order of events, because there were no events. Chejfec used digital imagery to good effect here, and portrayed the combination of a walking habit, thoughtful personality, and varied life with a striking vividness.… (mere)

Don't even consider reading this book unless you are prepared for a serious intellectual workout! Personally, I think I pulled a few muscles during this one! Enter the interior monologue of a man trying to understand the nature of relationship. What relationship, you might ask? Well, between man and woman, between social classes, and between man and machine. The narrator dissects his relationship with the mysterious factory worker, Delia. Throughout the dissection are allusions to the dark, the darkness, the night. "...Definite and intangible..." are words he uses to describe relationship, and that is at the beginning of the book. I think those are the two best words to describe the experience of reading this astute and intense novel.… (mere)

Sometimes I feel bad for comparing every book I read to something I've read in the past. But a lot of times it seems helpful, especially when comparing books that have nothing to do with each other, in that they bring out a different way of reading, shadows of each reading experience accentuating the other.

Every once in a while, it isn't helpful, but also unavoidable. In cases like this, for instance. My Two Worlds is so firmly in the shadow of Sebald that I cannot not invoke his name. Chejfec uses many of the same devices, but doesn't achieve any of the magic of Sebald.

The question is: does he achieve anything else? Something of his own? That is hard to say. There are some good passages, but they quickly run out of steam, or become way too noodly, caught in a thought about a thought, instead of transcending it into a sort of meditation. A lot of it, while reading, seemed trivial while trying to be deep. The language, while interesting, doesn't sustain long enough for me to lose my breath. There is something here, but it's not enough of its own thing yet for me to truly love.

Next up on my Sebald-inspired reading list... Teju Cole's [b:Open City|8526694|Open City|Teju Cole|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1327935192s/8526694.jpg|13393712]

PS: But wait! This awesome review makes a good case for this book. Maybe you should give it a chance.… (mere)