The Wall Street Journal takes a lukewarm tone regarding Herta Muller (via The Literary Saloon):
“I am happy to have made Ms. Müller’s acquaintance without being eager to revisit her.”
The final sentence of the WSJ article, written by Richard Woodward, indicates that Muller’s books are likely to stay on the shelves — not exactly a glowing review.
I have to admit that I agree. I’ve slogged through “The Passport” and attempt some of “Nadirs” and it was painful reading. Her sentences are so short, bare, and stark that it takes the greatest of effort to propel oneself through the text. The narrative — if you could call it narrative — is cyclical and doesn’t progress as much as repeat key images and scenes with slight variations (reminds me a bit of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s early work). Dialogue is functional without any kind of adornment — almost surreal in its emotional deadpan. Woodward describes it using painting terminology:
“Moreover, the pointilist impressionism she favors in her novels often blurs character definition and kills any chance for dramatic conclusions.”
The upshot? I’m glad to say that I’ve read her, but I wouldn’t go back for pleasure.
I disagree with Richard Woodward’s fear that the Nobel prize committee will think him a dullard. One, Americans shouldn’t be worrying about what the Nobel Prize committee thinks of our tastes. The push for a less-insular reading selection here in the U.S. doesn’t mean that we have to fawn over every foreign author, or every author crowned by the Swedes. Yes, I do have eclectic and international tastes, and I happen not to prefer Muller. It’s not an indictment, it’s not a trend, it’s just a statement of preference.
