This is the book that sent me on the trail of books I'm still following now. From this to The One Inside by Sam Shepard to Monsieur Pain by Bolaño and now 2666 by Bolaño as well. There's a common thread between these stories, they're all mysteries with no answers, and all quite surreal.
It's hard to tell how much of Year of the Monkey is true and how much is fiction, as it drifts between reality and dream with little indication. I found it best to let myself be carried, and then the mystery became the focus. It's not a conventional mystery because there are no individuals involved. Instead, Smith is investigating a mystery of worldwide occurences, of climate disasters happening everywhere, to the election of Donald Trump, to the death of a friend and disablement of another, and a number of small bizarre moments in Smith's life. The culprit of these events is not even a human, as is revealed in the end, though she does give it a name.
There's very little pressure with this book, it seems like it was written with ease, a stream of events, and is easy to read, too. There's no pressure to stay on top of it, no pressure to investigate the clues because Smith is the investigator and this book is just a series of findings. It feels like there is no more she can say beyond what she's said, but the mystery is still bigger than what is written. I think that may be the essence of any ambiguous or abstract art. A good artist isn't witholding. If we can't understand fully what they're saying, it's because it can't be clearly explained.
It's hard to tell how much of Year of the Monkey is true and how much is fiction, as it drifts between reality and dream with little indication. I found it best to let myself be carried, and then the mystery became the focus. It's not a conventional mystery because there are no individuals involved. Instead, Smith is investigating a mystery of worldwide occurences, of climate disasters happening everywhere, to the election of Donald Trump, to the death of a friend and disablement of another, and a number of small bizarre moments in Smith's life. The culprit of these events is not even a human, as is revealed in the end, though she does give it a name.
There's very little pressure with this book, it seems like it was written with ease, a stream of events, and is easy to read, too. There's no pressure to stay on top of it, no pressure to investigate the clues because Smith is the investigator and this book is just a series of findings. It feels like there is no more she can say beyond what she's said, but the mystery is still bigger than what is written. I think that may be the essence of any ambiguous or abstract art. A good artist isn't witholding. If we can't understand fully what they're saying, it's because it can't be clearly explained.
