Invitation

Claude Simon's style can be described most briefly as mostly commas. While this hints at the challenge, it fails to reveal the rewards. Wend your way through this field of phrases and you'll soon notice that each contains a pearl of beautifully crafted thought. Let the images patter past you like a rain of notes from Phillip Glass and the vision of a horribly broken, flawed, terrifying system of lies, lies, lies, forms before you. As the limousine-load of dignitaries is dragged blearily through a series of limping staged functions by a crowd of strenuously posturing diplomats who have never heard of their guests but seem vaguely aware of their importance, behind the droning, endless speeches you can hear the mechanism of evil chattering insanely to itself. Behind the softly turning leaves you can see bland, vainglorious promenades blithely slathered across the bleak, silent steppes. It is the literary counterpart of Shostakovich's fifth symphony.