Holy lipogram, Batman!
A Void - French author Georges Perec's 400-page novel where a bunch of buddies search for their missing chum Anton Vowl, an adventure yarn parodying genres like crime noir and Gothic horror, all with a variety of spins on style and wordplay - verbal monkeyshines, linguistic antics, quizzical phonetic pranks, rhetorical roguery.
Will the steadfast searchers smoke out the missing symbol needed to conclude their search? Who knows? But to add a pinch of piquancy, such stealth might be hazardous, even life-threatening.
And, oh, yes - Georges Perec took up Raymond Queneau and Group Oulipo's challenge to experiment with constrained writing techniques, in this case, writing an entire novel without once using the letter E. I recall the shock on the face of the librarian at my local library when I told her about the verbal void in A Void.
As by way of example of what a reader is in store for, here's a short paragraph from the first section of the book:
"Vowl turns off his radio, sits down on a rug in his living room, starts inhaling lustily and trying to do push-ups, but is atrociously out of form and all too soon, his back curving, his chin jutting out, curls up in a ball, and, staring raptly at his Aubusson, succumbs to a fascination with a labyrinth of curious and transitory motifs that swim into his vision and vanish again."
I read A Vod some years ago and I just did revisit the novel. Same akimbo experience. After a page or two, I had the feeling my mind was listing at a 45 degree angle. Oh, yes, both times I had the distinct impression the E-less sentences were messing with my neurology - but in a good, creative way.
For me, such offbeat Oulipo oddness demands a sharp slant for sharing the flavor of Georges Perec's highly original work.
So, let's take a look at the first short paragraph of The Bathroom by the contemporary Belgian author Jean-Philippe Toussaint:
1. When I began to spend my afternoons in the bathroom I had no intention of moving into it; no, I would pass some pleasant hours there, meditating in the bathtub, sometimes dressed, other times naked. Edmondsson, who liked to be there with me, said it made me calmer: occasionally I would even say something funny, we would laugh. I would wave my arms as I spoke, explaining that the most practical bathtubs were those with parallel sides, a sloping back, and a straight front, which relieves the user of the need for a footrest.
Here goes for my E-less Bathtub transposition:
1. Whilst I did start to put in my hours from noon to four p.m. in the bathtub I had no aim of moving into it; no, I would pass gratifying bits of day in the bathtub, ruminating, occasionally with shirt and pants, occasionally stark-ass. My gal, who would fancy joining in, said it would prompt my spirit into calm: occasionally I would blurt out funny stuff, gal and I would laugh, I would flap my arms as I took a stab at a bit of chat, clarifying that most practical bathtubs crop up with uniform points both ways, a sloping back, and a upright, straight front, which will allay the man or gal of a wish for a stool or ottoman.
I would strongly recommend you take a short paragraph from your favorite novel and try your hand at rewriting without once using the letter E. So doing, you'll have a deeper appreciation for what it must have been like for Georges Perec to write his novel, and, likewise, for Gilbert Adair to translate the French into English. Remarkable plus ten.
Up for a singular artistic whoop? A Void will work its tricky magic.
Did I really write the above two sentences without an E? Infectious.
French author Georges Perec, 1936-1982
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