Are you up for some weird fiction? I mean REALLY weird fiction. Reading this Kōbō Abe novel, I had the feeling I was floating six feet off the ground - reader as artist of the floating world. If you are up for existentialism of the oddball variety, The Box Man may count among your all-time favorite novels.
The core of existentialism is the opposite of abstract theory; rather, artists and writers of the existential school tend to focus on a particular individual facing the very human dilemma of living in a world frequently absurd and alienating, a world where two men wait for Godot or a teacher walks the streets of a French town with a sense of nausea. So, keeping within the spirit of existentialism, I will refrain from generalizations and zero in on specific passages of Kōbō Abe's 1974 one-of-a-kind novel.
“This is the record of a box man. I am beginning this account in a box. A cardboard box that reaches just to my hips when I put it on over my head."
The narrator of the tale is a writer who sheds his past identity to become a box man. I agree completely with Jerome Charyn's statement from his 1974 New York Times review: "The action of the novel seems to take place inside the box, which has become a kind of labyrinth for the box man, a porous, breathing skin."
“The most important reason to use the standardized form is that it is hard to distinguish one box from another.”
Here the box man shares a key concept for others who might consider becoming box men: if you want to shed individual identity, go all the way; become a box man who cannot in any way be distinguished from other box man; become as indistinguishable as humanly possible. He goes on to provide advice on the ways one can deal with useful objects within one's box - thermos, flashlight, towel, pens, change of clothing.
“To construct your box there is no particular procedure to follow. . . . The greatest care must be taken when making the observation window. . . . Last of all, cut the remaining wire into one-, two-, four-, and six-inch lengths, bending back both ends, and prepare them as hooks for hanging things on the wall.”
Indeed, the most important aspect in being a box man is viewing the world through your slit in your box. Curiously, the box man sounds as if he has developed his own distinctively creative way to become a voyeur, so imaginative that he views himself viewing through his slit as much as the people and objects of his gaze. I recall Ernesto Sabato saying "hell is being looked at." So, for the box man, he can create hell for others via his own gaze while not becoming the subject of the gaze of others.
“As soon as anyone gets into this simple, unprepossessing paper cubicle and goes out into the streets, he turns into an apparition that is neither man nor box. A box man possesses some offensive poison about him.”
I can imagine the reaction of others in the city to the box man. Back in the 70s I recall a college student who wore a black cloak over his body down to his shoes and called himself "The Black Bag." He said after a few days the other students on campus got used to him. Actually, I thought this fellow was rather cool.
“He squeezed the trigger. The barrel of the gun, and then the box, made a noise like that of a wet trouser cuff snapped by an umbrella handle. . . . The lead bullet must have bored into the fellow’s body with great force. But neither the screams nor the jeers he had anticipated were forthcoming.”
Ah! The box man reports a number of case studies, including how one box man was attacked by a gunman. Not everybody in society will remain passive when confronted by a box man.
“The rebounding bullet flying about inside his cranium would doubtless set his brain functions askew. After observing the neighborhood for a while, he drew the curtains over the windows and gingerly crawled into the box. . . . The place seemed very homelike. . . . He wanted to stay like that forever, but in less than a minute he came to his senses and crawled out.”
So the gunman tries out the box for himself. Sorry, it might appear like an appealing way of life conceptually or for the first five minutes, but, as he soon discovers, not everyone is cut out to be a real, live box man.
“I want to spy on all sorts of places, and the box is a portable hole that occurred to me under the circumstances, it being impossible to punch holes throughout the world.”
Now that's worth chewing on. The "ordinary" way of moving around in the world, you are part of the outside thus nothing like looking through a slit in a box. No question - the only way to gain first-hand experience of the box man is to do it yourself.
“The reason men somehow go on living, enduring the gaze of others, is that they bargain on the hallucinations and inexactitude of human eyes.”
Very true. Could you take being seen as you truly are, with all your foibles and quirks? If it wasn't for others' misperceptions we might be running for our boxes. Or so thinks the box man.
“I personally feel that a box, far from being a dead end, is an entrance to another world. I don't know to where, but an entrance to somewhere, some other world.”
But one has the distinct impression the box man has not succeeded in his desire to be in the world without a particular identity. In his box, he actually goes about inventing his own past life and future dreams. But then again, perhaps the box man has a past he wants to hide.
“Clinging to one’s outward appearance interferes with living.”
How much weight do you put on your outward appearance? Would you gain or lose freedom if you chose to live in a box? I recall one of my roommates back in college said if he had a continuous supply of LSD, he'd be more than happy to live his entire life in a closet. How about that - a closet. At least with a box, you can move around.
Recall I said this novel is REALLY weird back there. I wasn't kidding.
Japanese author Kōbō Abe, 1924-1993
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