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The Five and a Half Minute Hallway

In times of great crisis and boredom, I seek out insanely complicated things. Movies, music, books, I like them all as layered and confusing as possible. I know a few people who find that to be entirely counter-intuitive, but I think it’s actually quite logical. People who seek out simple things in times of emotional distress are simply looking for a passing distraction to clear their heads before they can obsess over their problems once more. But I don’t obsess, I repress: as far as my emotional state is concerned, nothing is wrong. Admitting the problem means I have to deal with it, and I don’t deal with problems very well.

Complexity is the perfect escape then, you see? The more complex a work is, more of my time and brain-power is required to work through it. That means I have even less time to focus on what is bothering me. And lemme tell ya, a lot of things are bothering me right now

So what’s happened? I’ve developed an intense craving for House of Leaves, the modern-day Ulysses written by Mark Z. Danielewski. I read it last year, in February. I bought it over winter break after learning that it was a major influence on Radiohead during the sessions for Kid A and Amnesiac. I love Radiohead, and I love those albums (especially Amnesiac, actually) and was immediately interested in House of Leaves. So I bought it. It’s a 700-page behemoth, the story of a fictional documentary being academically analyzed by a dead blind man named Zampano, with footnotes (and another narrative) by a disturbed youth named Johnny Truant, which are footnoted by unnamed editors, and which, in reality, is all written by Mark Z. Danielewski over the course of ten years. The typography and format of the book are endless complex, a labyrinth of text that reflects the unfolding, supernatural labyrinth in The Navidson Record (Danielewski’s fictional documentary), incorporating fiction and real sources, and very, very difficult to get through until it grabs you. It took me from December to February to read the first two chapters. I finished the rest of the book on the eight hour flight back from Paris.

It is an incredible piece of fiction, a contemporary Ulysses (as I’ve already said), and a terrifically scary horror novel at heart. It’s endlessly surreal, using three different type fonts for the main narratives (Zampano’s academic analysis, Johnny Truant’s footnotes, and the editors’ footnotes). The word “house” always appears in blue (this is true of the word in all its invocations, including those in other languages) and the word “minotaur” always appears in red. The color technique is jarring and disorienting, as if the book needs to disorient its reader more. It occupied every brain cell I had. I need it right now.

I’ve settled for academic articles and doctoral dissertations (I’m in the middle of one that discusses the idea of the Uncanny, especially as espoused by Freud, as seen in the fictional Navidson Record, and not really even addressing the rest of the book), but it’s not satisfying. I could ask my roommate to send it to me, and I’m tempted to, but it would take another frustrating week to arrive. I don’t know what to do.

Interestingly, the online articles and dissertations seem to have developed a weird respect to Danielewski’s insistence on having house colored blue. Most independently published articles (not reviews from sites like Salon.com or other online publications [or print publications’ websites]) color “house” blue as well. But because it’s a device that Danielewski uses to subtly keep the reader within the fiction universe of the book, I find myself wondering if what I’m reading is really an analysis, or a Danielewski prank. After all, House of Leaves was originally published online… it only found print distribution after it developed an internet cult following. So who’s to say that Danielewski isn’t lurking around the web, adding to his decade-in-the-making masterpiece.

I want this book. Now.

posted by Sara @ 7:22 AM