I finished Artforum by César Aira (b. 1949) today and I am giving it five stars. I also want to let the reader know that my rating is merely for form’s sake. (There’s a bit of wordplay here, if you read Artforum.) In other words, this is not a novel qua novel and it is not the sort of thing that one really ought to rate by “stars.” I enjoyed reading this; it was good and good for me. It might even be good for you to read, but it is not good for everyone. The general reader might not care for whatever this is. The most significant thing that I can tell you about this work is that I really cannot tell you what it is.
There are difficulties in writing a review about this book. Professional reviews from the journals/magazines feel like they are “writing around it.” That is to say, their reviews feel to me like they are writing from a distance and using a lot of vocabulary to seem like they are saying something about something. This is not a criticism from me – I totally understand why this sort of vague-speak happens. I already said that I cannot really tell you what this book is – and neither can the professional reviewers. There is nothing mysterious or esoteric about this. This is a spare 80 or so pages that may contain a memoir or a novel or a meditation. Probably all three. However, if either myself or the professionals start to tell readers what this book is, the book is then ruined for readers.
Artforum, if you are not aware, is an actual magazine founded in the 1960s and currently (as recently as December 2022) owned by the Penske Media Corporation (yes, Penske family of automobile racing and logistics groups). In the most loose sense I say that Artforum is an art magazine. That is not untrue – but I feel it says nothing. Anytime one brings up “Art” there seems to be an immediate definitional and categorical warzone that opens up and swallows unsuspecting innocents. One could call it a fine art, design art, culture-focused, trade magazine, if one likes. I have no desire to attempt to describe, prescribe, proscribe, or any other scribe how to refer to this magazine and its decades of publishing. The individual in the book by Aira, however, collects the magazine whenever/however he can. Most of Aira’s book is at least peripherally about this process. Hey, but listen, the process is not entirely external.
Aira’s book opens with a very relatable anecdote that is vibrant and real and the scene is immersive. A copy of Artforum has soaked up rain – the one with the Robert Mangold art on the cover. I have seen Mangold’s work a couple of times – his artwork was often displayed at several of the local museums and galleries where I lived because he was born there. I suspect there is some significance between Aira’s thoughts and Mangold’s work – I can at least point to the sort of gentle Dadaist and minimalist experimentalism that I feel resonating in Aira’s work. All that means is that I tend to believe that even those who work on the fringe and frontier of the boundaries of art are still standing on the shoulders and ideas of those before them, those around them, and those they never knew. The segment in Artforum (book) titled Conjectures more or less hints at a similar thought from Aira:
There are no restrictions, there are no forbidden subjects, the entire universe in its innumerable manifestations is at our disposal. – pg. 59
I am sure at this point readers of this review are likely utterly perplexed and have decided that I have read some esoteric artsy-fartsy book that is incomprehensible to normal people and that it has loosened some dam of pontificating babble from my disturbed mind. Rest assured, readers, I am not unaware of your complaints.
Artforum is several snapshots of writing in which the narrator shares some of his introspection while he uses a somewhat unreliable, but attempting to be truthful, eye toward his own actions (including the collecting of Artforum magazine). However, if you think that is what this book is about, and you read about peso-value, bread, and clothespins, you will think I am loony. Be that as it may, the book works best as you, the other reader, come up with the answer to what this book is about.
And when it rained, it became the present: everything was tied together in a great web of interconnectedness. – pg. 15
If I had to put my finger on some central topic or theme for this book, I guess “interconnectedness” is as good as any. Aira may even be asking “what is the form of interconnectedness?” and is it from within or from without? Gee whiz, doesn’t that sound all abstruse! Well, and maybe that is why Aira approaches his meditations in little vignettes and anecdotes as opposed to asking uncomfortable sounding inquiries? I still think this is what he is thinking about – I submit the segment on his feelings toward the Postal Service as evidence.
So, then there is a bit about idea and formulation. This is very self-referential of Aira – because it is almost as if the thing has come full circle to the actual question involving how are these little writings about an individual thinking about Artforum (magazine) part of the writer’s art? Oh, that sounds convoluted. Let me try again: the narrator wonders about the gap between his ideas and the formulation of his idea in the real, instantiated by his writings. The narrator could create his own art-forum through the act of writing. Writing became a vicarious artwork – a way of marking time. I think that Aira has done a number of interviews and the interviewers often ask Aira to comment on his writing “style.” I feel like he should always be using the word: vicarious when he responds.
Like I said, it is not an easy thing to say what this book is about and further, if someone attempts to explain it – it harms the experience and encounter of the reader. It, in a sense, modifies that vicarious undercurrent. Now, to talk about a different matter: what is it that made me enjoy this experience so much that I gave the book five ersatz stars? I felt happy reading it because I enjoyed the lack of violence in these vicarious meditations. I enjoyed the way Aira is able to discuss these matters without using a cudgel. I liked the way I could sometimes empathize with the narrator. It does not put any regrets on display; it feels more hopeful. More and more I am liking Aira’s concept of a writer/writing. I like how he explores it and how he demonstrates it. Its nice to find things one likes.
5 stars
I read this novel during these days because of silly reasons: I wanted to challenge myself to get one more book read in January. So I purposely selected a shorter, speedy novel. Suffice it to say, I did not have any high expectations of the novel and perhaps that is the best way to read all novels. The Bormann Testament by Jack Higgins (1929 – 2022) was originally published in 1962 as The Testament of Caspar Schultz. The Bormann Testament is the retitled version republished in 2006. Higgins has a brief note at the start of the book that explains this. Allegedly, in the early 60s, it was not a legally/politically smart thing to allude to Martin Bormann (1900 – 1945), but this 2006 version reasserted the desired title and “a bit more” content. This is also one of Higgins’ earlier novels, maybe his sixth overall, I think.
The fifth book I have finished this January is Reliquary by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child. It was published in 1997 and is the direct sequel to Relic, which I wrote 
Strong Poison is the fifth novel by Dorothy L. Sayers (1893 – 1957). It was first published in 1930 and I have read the previous in the Lord Peter Wimsey series. After the rather unhappy undercurrent that ran through 
Anyway, I also want to share that the copy I read is a hardback Harper & Row edition. My copy is ex libris the US Naval Base Library in Charleston, SC. The last date stamped on the card in the back of the book (um, if you’re too young to know about this……. Wikipedia might help?) is 15 FEB 1994. From other markings, the book was acquired by the Naval Station for $4.95 in October of 1969.
In the 1950s, Frederik Pohl (1919 – 2013) edited collections of new science fiction stories. Pohl, an established author and familiar to the writing circles, managed to get the VIPs and MVPs of the science fiction world to include in these anthologies. I read the first anthology and enjoyed it immensely. That edition has a story by Clifford D. Simak (1904 – 1988) that still hammers at my soul from time to time. My favorite story in this second anthology is probably the one by Algis Budrys. I really ought to have read this anthology much sooner after reading the first because these are such high quality collections. Both the first and this second anthology were published in 1953. I read the Ballantine Books editions for both.
The Hal Clement story, Critical Factor, is quite good, however some readers might struggle through it. Its hard science and Clement makes the reader think. There is something esoteric and intangible about how Clement anthropomorphizes and develops characters that you always would know if its his story or not. His characters are always so thoughtful and almost always seem to have tendencies to be better and move toward the good. Anyway, it is not an easy read because Clement’s science meets up with his imagination and honestly, it is so beyond the human experience that its tough to figure out what the heck the characters are or are trying to do. I dropped a star in my rating because Clement did not fully immerse the reader because he had to make the characters use nouns/language that would be a referent for the reader, but at the same time, the characters would have zero referent for those words and therefore would not really use them. I certainly do not have a way around this, but it feels awkward. After you finish this story, a reader might not fully understand it, but I think they know they read a helluva story. Clement’s imagination was extreme, this is mighty.
is the story for the eighth episode of the third season of The Twilight Zone (1961). I do not know if I have seen that or not. The story did not feel familiar when I read it, so I want to say I probably have not seen the episode. Anyway, this is probably a must-read story for science fiction, horror, fiction fans. Its not super long, there is really no reason why readers cannot pick this up and get through it. The things that make it so good are that the frustration, fear, and immensity of the situation are palpable. These sensations are presented with an economy of words, an undercurrent of sympathy, and a subtle huge concept lurking throughout. Peaksville… population 46. A young boy with some major impact named Anthony is a massive creation by Bixby and even though the story might seem vaguely unsurprising, it is still disconcerting and disturbing. In other words, this story, like so many in this book, is good for the reader’s brain. Readers enjoy, as much as that makes sense, this harrowing tale.
The Secret People by John Wyndham (1903 – 1969) is the author’s first novel, although he published it under a pseudonym. It was first published in 1935; I read the Coronet 1977 edition with cover art by Colin Hay. I really like the cover art, but I don’t really think it representative of the novel. I had not read any Wyndham before, but I like to start, generally, early in an author’s career and work my way forward.
So, this novel has a really good juxtaposition of anthropology and sociological elements with fugitive/action novel storyline. I was really impressed with this structure. I still cannot believe this is Wyndham’s first novel. Again, comparing this novel – its structure and plotting – to a lot of the novels of the last twenty years I have to say that this one is really superior. In terms of novel qua novel, this one is really good. As I consider a list of things about this novel, I do not have many complaints. Characters? solid. Plot? solid. Science fiction stuff? solid. Novel structure? solid. Action and suspense? solid. There are not a lot of weak points here whatsoever. Any complaints would be nitpicking, I think, and overall it was a very imaginative, immersive story that entertained me quite nicely. It was also a bit different than anything I have read (underground people, caves, the New Sea) and I really enjoyed that it was imaginative and unique.
I am pleased to have started 2023 with reading a vintage science fiction novel. I read Meeting at Infinity by John Brunner (1934 – 1995). This novel was first published in 1961. I read the ACE edition with cover art by John Schoenherr. The book begins with a short prologue and has twenty-one chapters.
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