The Eleven Thousand Rods by Guillaume Apollinaire was the first book I read in 2017. What a doozy of a book! Reading surrealist literature is like playing Russian Roulette. Some times your going to get fascinatingly weird books like Rene Daumal's A Night of Serious Drinking or Andre Breton's classic Nadja. Other times your going to get disgustingly weird books like this or Georges Bataille's Story of the Eye.
There is something admittedly admirable about Apollinaire's craftsmanship in this book. It is obviously well written. But, it isn't a fun read. It's not quite as gross as Bataille's Story of the Eye. But, I think that is only because it is so over the top and because Apollinaire obviously has a sense of humor. If there was any humor in the Story of the Eye I completely failed to see it. I wouldn't recommend this book to anyone I didn't wish to scar. (That is not some error of omission in that last word. I didn't accidentally leave off an 'e'.)
I won't quote much of this book here because I'm a bit embarrassed to admit to having read it. But, as a testament to the craftsmanship in Apollinaire's work and as a nod to his sense of humor (which is funny, but again embarrassing to admit I find it funny), I will note one thing. After engaging in a bit of murder and worse Mony (the main character) slips off the train. "The double murder not he Orient Express supplied the papers with news for six months. The murderers were not found and the crime was attributed to Jack the Ripper, whose back's broad enough" (Apollinaire, 53). I laughed an audible laugh at this line. There are a lot of little asides like this in this twisted novella. I'd write more about it; but, I must go shower...
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