Palinuro of Mexico Book

"...and I vowed that the book which I would write someday would be as sickly, fragile and defective as the human organism and also, if possible (which it isn't), equally intricate and magnificent."
Encyclopedic. Kaleidoscopic. One of its kind.

If I were asked what this book is about, I will be able to do no more than babble like a six month old. This book is like a house of mirrors. Each mirror sends you down a rabbit hole, carrying you on an enticing journey full of wonder and splendor. It's a solid testament to the richness and power of imagination and the ability of fiction to stretch the reality to that which lies beyond the physical world and the conscious mind. It's an eloquent tribute to ageless mythologies and to unforgettable works of art and literature. It's a token of respect to the marvels of medical science seen over the centuries and a romanticized view of the human anatomy. It's a mirror to the culture of Mexico. It's a creative exploration of the concepts of love, knowledge, fantasy, death and more. It has the charm of fairy tales and prince(ss) stories without being one such story itself. It has the enchantment of dreams, but is much beyond a dream. It's excessive and overwhelming, it's epic and sprawling, it's many things all at once.

Reading Palinuro of Mexico makes for a rather demanding relationship. With the uncountable allusions to art, literature, science, history, philosophy and what not, it was all I could do to not lose myself in a Wikipedian labyrinth. Else it would have taken me years to finish it. Lack of anything resembling a narrative drive, run-on sentences, walls of text much longer than Ali's, long paragraphs, prose that often requires concentration, medical terminology and detailed anatomical descriptions, very curious goings on with Palinuro being multiple characters and narrator all at once - this book presents several reasons against reading it. And yet, it had me hooked.

I find this a hard book to recommend to anyone. But I can tell you this much, give it a few chapters, if it doesn't seduce you within those, you can comfortably put it aside without having to wonder if you'll like it better on reading further. What Palinuro of Mexico taught me about reading it was to be in the moment. Don't read it looking to get somewhere or to finish. Don't look for big questions or answers. Let it into your bloodstream and when it hits your head, you will know.

There were a few occasions when I felt like I was dragging my feet through sand, when a chapter began to look longer than eternity. But, for each of those moments, the Del Paso voiced angel on my shoulder made me fall in love with it all over again. Taking into account all that is wonderful and all that is potentially frustrating about Palinuro of Mexico, my rating averages to all of those five stars. Five stars for Estefania's blue eyes. Five stars for Grandfather Fransico's stories. Five stars for Aunt Luisa's Parisian love. Five stars for Cousin Walter's patchwork waistcoat. Five stars for Tristram Shandy's apples. Five stars for Don Prospero's obsession. Five stars for the three friends' trippy adventures. Five stars for the house in Holiday Square and the world around it. Five stars for the mirror who died. Five stars for the General's one hundred eyes. Yes, five stars all around for this one.

Let me not forget to acknowledge the great job by the translator who not only made this work accessible to us, but sculpted all the wordplay, never-ending sentences and paragraphs into delicious prose.
And many thanks to the Loch Ness monster's neighbor for bringing a terrific book to my attention yet again.

I keep seeing Rabelais's name in reference to some of the books I have been reading. I ought to read me some Rabelais soon. And Joyce. And Sterne. But for now, a needy Warholic is looking for my time.

______________________________

Cape Palinuro, named so after Palinurus of Aeneid, who was the navigator on Aeneas's ship. Palinuro of Mexico, likewise, is our navigator through this ambitious book.