BYOBU

An abstract, experimental novel about nothing in particular.

Uruguayan writer Vitale’s first novel to be translated into English is, in many ways, a novel of abstractions. There is a main character—of sorts—named Byobu, and the novel (such as it is) consists of his thoughts (such as they are). It is frequently difficult to derive linear, straightforward meaning from these thoughts. “Openness too can dissolve,” Vitale writes, “in the outrage of extroverting every boundary.” Squint and you’ll almost understand what she means. But because almost every passage runs along that same abstract register, it can be difficult to maintain the stamina—not to mention the desire—to even play along. The word byōbu apparently means a “wind wall,” or folding screen, in Japanese. But again, it’s hard to say precisely what that detail signifies. Aside from that name, you learn nothing about this character. Without any clues—neither plot, nor character, nor transparent language—to guide you, reading this book can sometimes feel like trying to read a language you can’t comprehend. Sounds certainly emerge—but what do they mean? Occasionally there are moments of slightly greater clarity, as when Vitale writes, “Charity only allows for an increase in what others have allocated you at the very moment it is about to evaporate.” If only Vitale had extended an ounce of that charity to her readers. A little would have gone a long way.

Bypassing every fictional convention, Vitale delivers a novel about which it is difficult to think—or feel—much of anything.