Mantissa

Ohhh, John. I knew you had self-deprecating, but I didn't know you had self-parody. (Like, in the good way). AND this is brilliant, and whimsical and doesnt try to be the last word on anything like even a little bit. It's even kinda hot. And it reminded me that great reading is essential, after the writing department book list knocked me into find-the-good-in-mediocrity land. Life is too short, ladies and gents.

Each novel by John Fowles is a sparkling new experiment, and in Mantissa he comes very close to the magical effect of his earlier novel The magus in a wholly novel and original way. The novel may be a startling in it's sexual explicitness. First published in 1982 (this is the first edition) it is so exuberantly like the 1970s.

The idea is good and the book is a clever metafictional send-up of metafiction. However, I couldn't get past the sexist and offensive language (raping was mentioned at least four or five times in a gratuitous, offhand, and even positive manner). I couldn't tell whether the, frankly, misogynistic tone was satirical or not. I'm sort of willing to give Fowles the benefit of the doubt, but certain parts of this book dealing with gender (which is the whole thing, essentially) just read as outdated and clueless.

“Mantissa”, is a meta-fictional curiosity that makes for an interesting read. I enjoyed the symbolic room which brought the reader into the fictional writer's brain. There he conversed, warred and made love with his fictional female character in ping pong fashion. One minute he had the upper hand, the next moment she did; back and forth it proceeded until, in the end, they both fell helplessly into each other’s arms. Her character changed repeatedly, from a Goth boi to a demur, sensitive young girl. In the end, it could be said that the fictional male writer was at war with his inner male and female self. For the most part it was a fun, if not neurotic read. However, the author, John Fowles, carried his concept to an extreme; he show more pushed it a few chapters too far with excruciating redundancy. Thus, by the last chapter, I had lost all interest and had no desire to finish the book. A few chapters less, rounded out, in Fowles own fashion, would have made for wonderful novel, beginning to end. show less

What an unusual experience! Feel like listening in on the interaction between the modern day incarnation of an ancient muse and the author of erotic literature? This is the book for you. At first I was a bit put off, but then I became totally engaged with the bizarre plot. The muse is a shapeshifter who challenges, engages and inspires the author. Fascinating piece of writing!

Not sure how I feel about this one. Was it just the *character* who seemed like a misogynist? Was it all just satire? Hmm...

I liked this book very much when I read it in 1983?