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Jorge Luis Borges declared The Invention of Morel a masterpiece of plotting, comparable to The Turn of the Screw and Journey to the Center of the Earth. Set on a mysterious island, Bioy's novella is a story of suspense and exploration, as well as a wonderfully unlikely romance, in which every detail is at once crystal clear and deeply mysterious. Inspired by Bioy Casares's fascination with the movie star Louise Brooks, The Invention of Morel has gone on to live a secret life of its own. Greatly admired by Julio Cortázar, Gabriel García Márquez, and Octavio Paz, the novella helped to usher in Latin American fiction's now famous postwar boom. As the model for Alain Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet's Last Year in Marienbad, it also changed the history of film.… (more)
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The story is told in the first person by a man who has escaped from custody to an unknown, uninhabited island that has a museum, a chapel, a swimming pool, a mill (we are never clear what the crime was, but it seemed to entail the death penalty). At least the island is initially uninhabited, but then a group of “people” arrive and the protagonist, fearful that they are part of a larger plot by the police to try to capture him, hides in the marshy areas of the island, in some considerable physical discomfort, from which he skulks about the island spying on the arrivals. To complicate matters, and the emotions of the protagonist, he falls in love with one of the arrivals….a strange relationship of unrequited love, unrequited attention, even unrequited awareness that baffles him until he discovers that the arrivals are, in fact, not real people, but sort of holographic images stuck in repeating scenes of activity, like an eternally running loop of film. This is adumbrated (in hindsight) early in the story when the protagonist notes, “I believe we lose immortality because we have not conquered our opposition to death; we keep insisting on the primary, rudimentary idea: that the whole body should be kept alive. We should seek to preserve only the part that has to do with consciousness.” Ah, but do the images have consciousness? They have no free will, though the inventor of the machine that creates them (Morel) hopes to imbue them with it.
The protagonist (who is recording the story in a diary) discovers the secret of the machines and inserts himself into the loop, so that he can be with his love thus blurring the lines between realities, and uttering one of the most plaintive of all cries at the very end of the book when he writes: “To the person who reads this diary and then invents a machine that can assemble disjoined presences, I make this request: Find Faustine and me, let me enter the heaven of her consciousness. It will be an act of piety.” Just as one can never enter entirely into the consciousness, the core of a person, even a person one loves, so the protagonist finds himself, in the extreme, eternally outside the consciousness of his “love”.
This slim volume touches upon a number of interesting themes and issues: the Malthusian theory of population growth, prospects for environmental disasters, the cloning of human beings, the existence of parallel universes. The choice of the name “Faustine” is obviously not accidental and the protagonist does indeed abandon his soul, his physical consciousness in entering into the loop of images. As a Canadian, I was intrigued by two references, one to the province of Quebec and one to Canada as place that Faustine talks about. Maybe Bioy Casares visited Canada at some point in his life.
The
A few times, he's sure he's been spotted, but the behavior of the guests never changes. He leaves clues for the woman, but she never indicates that she's noticed. He tries to speak to her, but she ignores him.
There's an explanation for what's going on. And it's an interesting one that I'm glad I found out about because the story was, despite its brevity, becoming repetitious and annoying. Of course, the repetition was a necessary part of the tale, and the explanation is one that opens up so many questions and implications. This novel is the inspiration for the French modernist film classic, Last Year at Marienbad, just to give you an idea of what goes on. The film is set in an utterly different setting, the people are not the characters in the book and the explanation that ties the book together and makes it all worthwhile is missing, but other than that, it's eerily faithful.
What I like about it is the realism with which the narrator questions his situation. It's a very good emulation of a guessing game, where you know the answer while your partner is following every tangent except the right one: it looks obvious to you, but try being in their shoes. The author's language is spare and he reveals the clues at a decent pace. There were only a few times when the poor man (conveniently) didn't investigate something he ought to have. The ending produces an interesting compare/contrast exercise with what we have today. It doesn't quite serve as a metaphor for us, but it offers a vision of the original frustrations that conjured up the world we live in.
I was more than a little reminded of The Island of the Day Before, and I feel certain Eco must have read Morel. Although Borges called this book an "adventure story," I feel compelled to view it as a parable.
The moral of Morel:
Washed up on a deserted
The narrator is a fugitive from Venezuela (we aren't told why he is on the run from the law, but there are hints that he's the victim of some sort of political persecution) who has taken refuge on what is meant to be an uninhabited island. Naturally, he's a bit miffed when a bunch of tourists suddenly appear and start playing the gramophone a week or two after he first arrives. At first, he keeps a low profile, thinking that this might be a plot by the police to flush him out of hiding, but then he gradually becomes fascinated with one of the tourists, a woman called Faustine, and discovers that something seems to have gone seriously wrong with either the way he perceives the world, or the way in which everyone else does.
There turns out to be a very ingenious solution to the mystery, and we are bombarded with references to H.G. Wells, Faust, Robinson Crusoe, and much profound speculation about the relationship between human individuality, memory, and perception, but none of it ever really grabbed me very profoundly - it's all just clever philosophical juggling, really, and it seems to take itself far too seriously. As one of the other LT reviewers says, it might have been much more interesting if it had been a five-page story by Borges rather than a 90-page novella in which we have time to become irritated with the lack of any real interaction between characters.
There.
Definitely worth reading, science fiction fans. Don't be put off by fear of the worst and most indulgent of magic realism*. This is a creepy, fascinating book. The reader will be way ahead of the narrator pretty quickly but
*Not that magic realism is bad, just that bad anything is bad and bad magic realism (ie SFF for non-SFF readers) is quite tedious.
The reason it might be unfair is that one cannot read Bioy Casares without
The Invention of the Morel is a series of diary entries by a man who fled to an uninhabited island that has an abandoned museum, pool and chapel. He begins to see a set of people that look real but none of them can see him. And he sees other slightly off things, like two suns and two moons. It all feels surreal but it is tied together neatly with an explanation, and a final romantic twist.
Overall I thought the standout piece of this story was the plot, as the writing was solid but not remarkable and there is only one character to speak of, really. His situation prevents much concrete characterization. An introduction written by Borges is always a welcome addition to a story.
On the other hand I found the narrative to be incoherent at times and the writing
If I had to sum this piece up in one word I think I’d rate it as “intriguing.”
The impact of Casares concise and precise writing style is evident throughout the book. Slowly you begin to realize that each sentence is important to the construction of the whole, references some theme and is essential to the understanding of the Island, the story, and the characters who inhabit this world.
Jorge Luis Borges wrote in the prologue, "To classify it [the novel] as perfect is neither an imprecision nor a hyperbole." Mexican Nobel Prize winner in Literature Octavio Paz echoed Borges when he said, "The Invention of Morel may be described, without exaggeration, as a perfect novel."
The reason it might be unfair is that one cannot read Bioy Casares without
The Invention of the Morel is a series of diary entries by a man who fled to an uninhabited island that has an abandoned museum, pool and chapel. He begins to see a set of people that look real but none of them can see him. And he sees other slightly off things, like two suns and two moons. It all feels surreal but it is tied together neatly with an explanation, and a final romantic twist.
Therefore, I read this really quickly so that I could return it to the bookshop and swap out for something else. However, I quite enjoyed it. I think Bioy Casares has some interesting ideas even if I don't really like his style. Reading this in English probably helped as it made it easier for me to understand and therefore quicker.
I groaned about the main character's attitude to women, but I can sort of overlook it due to the age of the book.
Anyway, it's a short read with an interesting idea. Could be good for a book group. I think it's best to read without knowing anything about it.
The blind date blurb said "I fit neatly together like a dreamy and beautiful jigsaw puzzle" and I got it from Mary Martin bookshop in Melbourne, Australia.