When Jorge Luis Borges writes the prologue (sic)[1] for a book and concludes by saying, “To classify it as perfect is neither an imprecision nor a hyperbole,” one is dissuaded from criticizing the text. So, in the future, with these such books, I will be sure to read any front-matter material last (introductions, forwards, even authors’ prefaces), because all that context—in this case, about Casares’s upbringing, his apprenticeship with Borges, and the acclaim of this novella at the time of its publication—is an obstacle to developing my own interpretation and opinion. That said, when I try to free myself of these front-matter-inherited biases, I find The Invention of Morel[2] to be a masterful work of “reasoned imagination.”[3]
This is the exact kind of fiction, of the genre and the quality, of the length and density, that I hope to produce in my lifetime. And I suspect that if/when I read this book again, now knowing the nature of its central mystery, I would notice Casares’s mastery in even greater portion.
What is this book about? A delusional narrator stranded alone on an island that’s mysteriously outfitted with a museum and a pool. Although it may seem like the book is playing with the fallibility of perception, the genius of this story is that it is, in fact, playing with the fallibility of reality.
This book is also about the vital energy the male derives from a connection—no matter how illusory or immaterial—to a female, which is to say that a man in hellish desperation is only one female-encounter away from paradisal bliss, even if that bliss is only in his mind and his body goes on decaying. The narrator’s relationship to Faustine[4] is a perfect allegory of male grasping, how one’s attitude can so quickly change from indifferent observation to delusional devotion to female-as-savior, male’s life-force, his sole reason for persisting.
This was my last chance with Faustine—my last chance to tell her of my love, my life. But I did nothing. It did not seem right, somehow. True, women naturally welcom any sort of tribute. But in this case it would have been better to let the situation develop naturally (p. 60).
I have one main critique, which is a small problem of pacing. I read the first quarter in one sitting and the final half in two sittings, but the middle dragged. I put it down for two or three days after reaching page 42 (of 103).
Morel and Faustine and the other “visitors” are introduced on the first page of the novella, but Morel’s invention isn’t revealed until page 65. And, by the nature of the reasoned imagination genre, there is no way to guess Morel’s invention in detail; it is the one part of the story that is contrived, the conceit that spawns the dream. So, there was this gap, this lull in the narrative, where I felt I had already uncovered all that I could and was just waiting for the expositional reveal of Morel’s invention.
On page 42, the narrator has his first blatant interaction with Faustine, shouting at her and Morel. And at that point, I felt I could definitively answer the question that had served as the narrative engine up to that point: are these visitors the narrator’s hallucinations or some other type of projection? (I also felt certain that the narrator is indeed on a real island in the real world, not in some hell or purgatory.) If that interaction between the narrator and Faustine had been delayed or had been written more ambiguously (as all his other interactions with her had), then the reveal could have been saved until a little later, when the narrator confronts Faustine for the final time. That seems to be the intended “Ah-ha!” moment, since it is right before Morel’s big reveal of his invention. And, to be clear, after that big reveal, I couldn’t put the book down; I ripped through it right to the end. There was just that minor hiccup where, for me, the “Ah-ha!” moment[5] came too early.
Despite my critique of that pacing detail, the scope of this novella is perfect, meaning that the breadth of this book’s story suits the width of its spine. It’s the kind of book you feel all the while is overpaying you for your time and money; it’s so dense with meaning and intrigue and humor and evocative images and thought-provoking themes. Information is so economically revealed, and always tied to character rather than being pure exposition. There’s a lot of movement and action and a lot of time that passes, but it all happens across few pages using few words. Casares’s sparse style helps. He trusts his reader to fill in gaps and to accept the conditions as given. I respect and feel respected by his style, and the discontinuous jumps in time and space do double-duty by reinforcing the dreamlike quality of the story.
And that’s yet another virtue of this book that perfectly aligns with my interests and my aspirations in fiction: the evocation and invocation of dreams. Reading this book, with its nonlinearity and unjustifiable events, feels like dreaming, yet it resolves almost into reality, where almost every impossibility is accounted for by the nature and effects of Morel’s invention. I get the feeling that Casares’s entire goal (outside of telling a wonderful story) was to prompt his reader to ask, as often as possible, whether the narrator is dreaming, maybe in the hopes that the reader would ask that of himself—Am I dreaming—and, thus, live more lucidly, with a looser grip on reality.
Reverse Outline of The Invention of Morel (SPOILERS!)
Using my framework for the seven inflection-points of narrative
ACT ONE: OUT OF THE LIGHT
- Disturbance: The narrator first spots Faustine, who is just a gypsy to him.
- Departure: He comes up from his hiding place in the swampland to get closer to her, which incites his obsession.
ACT TWO: INTO THE DARK
- Trials: Tormented by Faustine and Morel, the narrator tries to communicate with a garden, then by shouting at them.
- Ordeal: He jumps out in front of Faustine and confesses his love for her, to which she neither reacts nor replies.
- Revelation: Morel reveals his invention, and the narrator learns the nature of the island.
ACT THREE: INTO THE LIGHT
- Resurrection: The narrator gets trapped inside the basement and escapes with the knowledge of how to record himself.
- Fruition: He studies the eternal week and choreographs his own part in it; records himself and joins the others in entirety, before dying.
This “prologue” would more aptly be called a “forward.” ⤴
- ⤴
The translator’s introduction to this book did teach me that reasoned imagination and magic realism are subtly different genres. Reasoned imagination uses logic/science to explain the world’s abnormalities, though they may be physically impossible; whereas magic realism presents the surrealistic nature of the world as a given and makes no effort to explain it. ⤴
Crucially, his relationship is not with Faustine. ⤴
In narrative-analysis terms, this is the second-act break, or the beginning of the third act, and I felt this break happen before it actually did. ⤴