AVA

Consisting mostly of single line paragraphs, all separated by blank lines, this novel is not just one of the simplest, most pleasurable reads (not in little part because of the language of the piece, so often described at musical), but also one of the fullest. I could review it based solely on its handling of death or of travel or of life or of creativity or of appropriation or of meaning or of so on, each filling up paragraphs, but that would spoil the book. It's something to be read, not read about.

Experimental novel. It captures the fleeting qualities of thought and sensation from the point of view of a woman who is trying to celebrate a life well-lived. Definitely a feminist novel in the way that it mentions feminist icons and tries to subvert patriarchal norms. Not intended for a reader who is uninterested in digging deeper.

I approached reading this book obligatorily-- I'm a grad student (studying literature) and it's on my comps list. If I had been reading this for pleasure / were not obliged to see this thing through, I probably would have put it down after the first thirty pages or so. As familiar as I am with the concepts of the nonlinear, the fragmented, the experimental, the literary collage (whatever you want to call it), the beginning of this for me was utterly incomprehensible. It reads like an array of random thoughts spat out by a vague / hazy / initially unknowable narrator who is--understandably--not in her right mind. While I always recognized the inherent power in the concept, in the thought that I was inside a woman's head during the last day of her preempted life, I found myself wishing we were privy to the last month or so and that this final crazy day were only a 10-page addendum at the book's end. As loathe as I am to admit it / as ready as I was to hate this novel (although I am still reluctant to use the "N" word in conjunction with it), meaning does in fact begin to accumulate. In a way, this is like a ridiculous detective story, as you are faced with the sometimes infuriating but ultimately rewarding task of figuring out who the hell this Ava woman is. The conclusion I have come to is that, if this story were told in any other style / any other format, I would really hate her. Ava is capricious, self-destructive, frustrating, selfish, unfaithful, and too cosmopolitan for her own good. She is the kind of existential-dilemma, woe-is-me, why-can't-I-find-true-happiness? character who, under any other circumstances, would be entirely loathsome. But the knowledge of the fact that she is doomed is somehow redemptive; this makes her more sympathetic than she could otherwise ever (for me, at least) be, which I suppose is a prime example of form meeting function. [And I should probably also admit that my mom died of a rare form of blood cancer long before she was ready to say goodbye, so on an emotional / gotcha level, this had me from hello.] It should also be noted, however, that if you are not ridiculously well read, you will often be puzzled by what Ava--a professor of comparative literature--is talking about. Just going from memory, before you begin reading this book you should be familiar with the works of Nabokov, Virginia Woolf, Milan Kundera, Goethe, Gabriel Garcia Lorca, Samuel Beckett, William Blake, Proust, Umberto Ecco, Ezra pound, Hemingway, Faulkner, Helene Cixous, and Primo Levi, just to name a few. Of course you will get the gist even without this contextual understanding, but the depth of what Maso is saying, unfortunately (I think), necessitates a whole other body of prerequisite knowledge. She's obviously talking to those who are in the comp-lit club and excluding those (such as non-grad students) who are not.

Loved it, loved it, loved it. Lyrical, wistful, sad, nostalgic... felt like AVA was me.

nutty

At first, this novel seems incomprehensible and pointless, nothing more than a collection of random phrases and information, but after a while the phrases find echoes, the information finds order, and the ultimate effect is haunting and devastating. (Indeed, I soon found myself incapable of reading more than 20 pages or so at a time because it was emotionally overwhelming, though I've yet to figure out the exact source of this power.) Maso has said elsewhere that this book is, in some ways, related to Virginia Woolf's "The Waves", and I would agree, though in many ways I think Maso's is a more compelling and perhaps even richer book than Woolf's. "Ava" bears a certain relationship to "Mrs. Dalloway" and "To the Lighthouse" as well, for Maso, like Woolf, has subsumed her narrative within the perspective of her protagonist. The story lies between the lines. This book can't be read impatiently, nor can it be skimmed or speed-read or soundbyted, for its effect relies upon accumulation: the accumulation of ideas, events, and even the sound of the words. It requires an active reader, one willing to put forth effort of both thought and feeling. The effort is rewarded a thousandfold.

I fell in love with this book last night and could not put it down! It is written in a unique and original way, and yet, feels more familiar and nostalgic than most novels you meet. You will fall madly in love with her language. This is poetic, mystical and beautiful. If you love language, literature, art, beauty---read it. This is one of my favorite novels ever!

I had the honor of taking a creative writing course under Carole Maso and must say that her prose poetry is both captivating and hypnotizing. Although very passionate and sensual, this story is also very grim. It shows that in the mind and heart, things are ill-defined and often the feelings of love, desire, and passion can also become intermingled with dying and death. So, here I am, having gone from being her writing student to being this writer's fan. I also recommend Ghost Dance if you have a chance.

One Feels in the End the Need for Thousands of Daughters