Life, a Users Manual

I feel like a lot of people posting about this book are clearly extreme lit nerds. I read this book as a high school student and still thought it was breathtaking. For me, I didn't really understand that there was any underlying literary theory behind it - what I liked about it was that, like Moby-Dick, it seems like several times it starts meandering and turning in on itself and you begin to question its relevance and quality, and then in the last few pages it comes together and hits you in the face with exactly how much it means. There's so much there to understand and uncover. If I gave any advice to someone reading this book for the first time, it's to stick it out. It started to get pretty exasperating for me - so long, so many details - but ultimately it's the immersion in a foreign, detailed, and physically constrained environment that allows the book to pack such a wallop. The ending is worth waiting for.

Although this is certainly an experimental novel, it is absolutely readable and fun. The layout is supposed to be taken from chess, with a knight jumping up on some squares which represent the appartments on the building map. Frankly, although ingenious, the scheme is not all that important to me. What truly fascinated me were the stories themselves, the full development of characters, situations, histories and sceneries. In every chapter, Perec gives us an introduction about how the appartment / room looks like. The descriptions may be long sometimes, but they are essential to the whole point of the book: to bring to life real people living in comprehensible, complete surroundings, and to make these easy to visualize. Some of the descriptions, in particular Mme. Moreau's dining room, are simply beautiful and innovative. The book was completed in 1978 and the action of the stories ranges from mid-XIX Century until June 23, 1975. The final chapter, which gives us a photograph of what each inhabitant is doing at that precise moment (8 pm), is also very beautiful and moving. The book projects a humanity so rich and vivid, hard to find in most fiction. The stories intertwine while being totally independent, and the cast of characters is wide-ranging and believable even in the most outrageous ones. The central story, which forms the backbone of the book, is about a rich young man, Bartlebooth, a typically eccentric Englishman who decides to devote his life to a single, useless, morally neutral and highly aesthetical project: along with his faithful servant Smautf, he will visit 500 seaports to paint acquarelles of them, and every 15 days he will send the pictures to Winckler, an artisan also residing in the building. Winckler will make puzzles attaching the paintings to a wood panel and then cutting the pieces, not in the mechanical proceeding common to commercial puzzles, but in an artistic one. Then, after 20 years of wandering the world, Bartlebooth will come back to Paris and dedicate the following 20 years to put the puzzles back together, then sending them back to the place where they were painted, to be chemically cleaned up: destroyed. It would be too long to mention here all the stories that caught my attention, but suffice it to say that they are incredibly different in content and style. Supposedly, the styles mimic those of distinguished writers like Poe, Joyce, Borges, Calvino, Flaubert, Kafka and others. It is truly a fascinating, delightful book and I think that every taste will find some unforgettable stories here.

Perec would properly be regarded as an experimentalist and this novel, like his others, was written under self-imposed constraints. The novel takes as its plan a block of flats in a Parisian suburb, a 10 x 10 grid, over which the narrator must proceed by way of the moves of the Knight in chess, never landing on the same flat twice(this, like other formalities, were allowed to be bent but let's not get too complicated...) with a whole system for information, knowledge and learning to be allocated to each chapter.'So far, so what' might be the natural response to this were it not for the majesty of the finished novel.Read in translation the writing is formal yet intimate and seems to proceed at its own leisurely pace as it moves through the block of flats, through life. Numerous 'Tales' are recounted as the novel progresses, each rich in feeling and poignancy though sometimes disturbing, the key of which, indeed the key to the novel, is 'The Tale of the Man who painted watercolours and had puzzles made out of them'. To go into detail would spoil the effect for other readers but this is about life, about a plan for life and ultimately a metaphor for life. And the making of this book.I have to confess to a love for French literature generally. It seems possible to trace an organic progression and tradition (the blanket phrase that readily comes to mind is 'intellectual pessimism'...)through its history which is then disrupted every once in a while by an individual who rebels against that tradition (Rimbaud) or subverts it (Mallarme or Aragon). Perec, arguably, both is and is not of this tradition. He is however, in the wider tradition of great literature. And seems to recognise this. 'Life...' is crammed with literary puns ( an advertisement in a shop for 'Souvenirs' by Madeleine Proust anyone...) and what Perec refers to as 'unacknowledged quotations'. Which is how the novel manages to begin exactly where 'Ulysses' ends (with the symbolic word 'Yes'...) and how 'The Tale of the Acrobat who did not want to get off his trapeze ever again' manages to have its origins in Kafka's short story 'First Sorrow'. And so on...Perec provides a list of authors used at the end.And an Index of the individual stories. Which is really what you must read this for. For the stories. Because they will excite, depress, frustrate and elate. Because Perec was not kidding with that title. All of life is here. In all of its wonder and sadness. It is not a 'User's Manual' in that it gives pat answers to complex problems, what it does do is far more difficult. And brave. It suggests over and over why life is worth living and how beauty and wonder surround not only the everyday but the tragic too.Yes, it really is that good...

Perec switches dimensions: In an ordinary novel, the main dimension of movement is time - all movement in space and detail are derived from this movement in time. In Perec's "Life, A User's Manual" the main dimensions of movement are space, and not the least - detail. Any movement back or forth in time is merely derived from this primary movement.This peculiar mode of movement gives rise to a peculiar writing style where the writer can not mention an object without at the same time mentioning its details. It is a very contagious writing style, and so while reading this book, something I mainly did on the train to and from work - usually between 7AM and 9AM in the morning and between 4PM and 7PM in the evening on weekdays, except for tuesdays when I would either leave early or arrive late due to work-outs - I found myself digressing in details (moving in the dimension of detail) as I wrote email to friends or participated in other exchanges. It might remind you of Arabian Nights, except that it is the objects and not the people who tell the stories within the stories.A warning for you who wish to read this book: Just as with "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", you will find yourself wondering through the first 100 pages or so if this book is ever going to go anywhere. As opposed to the case of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, you will find it doesn't. But by that time, you won't care that it doesn't. It is a wonderfully self-contained universe that starts and ends with nothing.