The Bathroom

Jean-Philippe Toussaint's fidelity to The Bathroom is shaky and tenuous. I strolled into the book thinking that he (nameless Parisian man) was going to spend the entire novella in the bathroom. He spent like two minutes in it. However, I did enjoy the part where he threw the dart at Edmondsson's forehead, his girlfriend/wife, and the Polish artists deskinning of the squids. His mediation on immobility was a fascination and later a fixation (for me), using Mondrian artwork, on rain, and most conspicuously, the bathroom. Also, the deterioration of the relationship between Edmondsson and the nameless Parisian man was an engaging read. Most interestingly its minimalistic/monochromatic/deadpan depiction. I wonder though if Toussaint (probably a saint of the most obscure, Parisian sense or a type of pastry) had isolated his protagonist in the bathroom the entire time would I have rated the novel a 5? Instead of a four.

In this first person monologue, the protagonist tells us about his thoughts, his surroundings, and the other people around him. Each situation reveals his humor suggesting that this is a comedy. We gradually discover that the scenarios, in retrospect, lack credibility, that something unreal or surreal is going on, but almost always whimsically, not Kafkaesque. Until one day there is a climactic event after which we know we have been duped, that perhaps none of it was real, that it may all have been the meanderings of a troubled mind. Still, we cannot be sure. Intriguing is the simple, unembellished prose, perhaps in the manner of our own mental perambulations. Is this why it is appealing?

A very good novel. Short, entertaining. French humour is maybe rare, but here the main character is excellent; deciding to live in his bathroom, trying to prevent time from passing.I keep asking myself if he succeeds?