Andrew Kaufman (1) (1968–)

Rebecca Reynolds and Lewis Taylor are in the back seat of a limousine on the way to her sister’s funeral (Lewis’s wife, Lisa), when they are almost T-boned by a white Honda Civic driven by a green woman with gills. Three pages in to the story we experience one of those little paradigm shifts in reality which tells the discerning reader that we’ve just left the planet as we know it.

Equally quickly, we learn that Rebecca transmits every emotion she feels to everyone around her so when show more she feels fear, guilt, anger, etc., this is projected into everyone in a radius relative to the strength of the emotion she feels. She has learned to conceal her feelings in everyday objects which she stores in locker #207 at the E.Z. Storage facility. Bereft by the loss of her little sister and with nothing at hand to channel her feelings into, she gives Lewis the full blast of her anger, grief, and intense hatred of him in the backseat of the limo - so much so that Lewis flees the car and starts flying aimlessly across the country, in great need of personal repair.

Aberystwyth, the green-gilled one, is attempting to drive to Winnipeg to save her mother’s soul. She is one of the race of Aquatics called the Hildafgod (I can’t reproduce the letters as Kaufman wrote them), who live in cities deep in the ocean’s canyons, a race which discovered they could breathe underwater when the Great Flood covered the earth with water. God, apparently, preferred water to things like mountains or fjords. They live much as we do, even evolving a theology with its moral dos and don’ts which, while different in its specifics, is similar in its aspects of control over its adherents.

Kaufman gives us doses of Aquatic spirituality and religion, over-achieving rainmakers, Rebecca’s ex-husband who builds a sailboat on the prairies, great sweeping questions about souls and owning our emotions, God in the guise of a bicycle courier but none of it seems silly. It seems, rather, possessed of tremendous sweetness without being the least bit treacly. It is, in the end, a story about recognising what’s important and keeping that close to your heart. show less

Andrew Kaufman is one of my favourite authors. He is able to take a concept and explore it in quirky, surreal ways, yet bring us back always to story about everyday people with ordinary issues that we all struggle with.

In the Tiny Wife, Mr. Kaufman starts with a robbery that was "not without consequences. The consequences were the point of the robbery." The Thief demands from each of the 13 people in the bank he is robbing the the item they are currently holding which has the greatest show more sentimental value for them. Not money.

And from there, Mr. Kaufman takes us on a journey of tattoos coming to life, spouses turning in snowmen and the narrator's wife who is shrinking daily until she fits in his pocket. And implicitly, he takes us through a journey of love, acceptance and dealing with our past. show less

Charlie Waterfield is broken. His marriage to Linda is over, though he still holds out hope. His current relationship with Wanda is a blessing, though he holds out no hope for it. And his life itself is pointless, which is hardly the point. In such a state, it may not be surprising to learn, shortly after his forty-third birthday, that Charlie is about to be transported to Metaphoria, have his heart ripped out and replaced by a time bomb, and be set the task of answering the question, show more “What is the purpose of the human heart?,” in order to achieve his epiphany and be restored before the bomb goes off. He’s got 24hrs.

It will take you less than 24hrs to read this slight allegorical novella. As Charlie bounces from one scrape to the next in Metaphoria, things are never what they seem. But when are they ever? Charlie’s quest takes him to strange and, yes, metaphorical places in Metaphoria, including The Library of Blank Books, and The Prison of Optional Incarceration Necessary to Terminate or Lower Excessive Shame and Self-Reproach (i.e. P.O.I.N.T.L.E.S.S. — now do you see where this is going?). His encounters turn out to be beneficial, for others. Most of the people he meets end up having epiphanies of their own and poofing back into “real” existence. Charlie, not so much. There’s something he just isn’t figuring out. Will he resolve his existential crisis before his existence flatlines? Only time will tell.

Kaufman’s writing is characteristically light and incisive. Here he seems to be aiming for a cross between Paul Auster and Jasper Fforde, with a dash of Kafka. On its own terms, it probably succeeds. Maybe.

Gently recommended. show less

Kaufman has a true taste for the metaphorical. The pages of his Bible are suffused with totems, and religions, and floods, and sudden blindness. What it all means is entirely up to the reader, and there will doubtless be a few who find The Waterproof Bible not to their liking. The tale is just barely linear, and most of the outlandish events that occur are left unexplained. I would argue that when the trek is this much damned fun, it doesn't matter if you're left a little bewildered at show more journey's end. Why should you be any better off than Kaufman's characters? Part of life is to enjoy the mysteries, to embrace the unexplainable, and the one's who can't accept that not all is knowable are the ones who lead lives of utter misery. As Margaret thinks of the dangers of living by a rigid dogma, such beliefs remind her"of the Christians she knew who were scared of their genitals, or the scientists who could accept only a rational explanation as the right one."

Read the rest of the review here. show less