Da un po' di tempo ho voglia di dedicarmi anche ad autori nuovi: voglio accantonare momentaneamente i soliti nomi strombazzati - a meno di non averli mai affrontati io, in prima persona - e voglio fare un po' la ricercatrice hipster infilandomi nei vicoli più secondari, nei negozietti di periferia dove si trovano le chicche che è quasi una soddisfazione scovare perché torni e dici "e questo te potevi trovarlo, eh, eh? guarda che figata", etc etc.Oddio, dire che Tom Robbins è una conchiglietta di periferia è un po' azzardato, ha una sua fama considerevole negli USA, però io personalmente fino a un mesetto fa manco sapevo chi fosse, e a me basta anche quello. Anche perché dopo tre Jane Austen nello stesso anno di letture ho preferito uno sconosciuto Robbins a lei, con tutto l'affetto possibile. :P Può interessare far presente l'ammirazione della Pivano per Robbins, che lo chiama "il più pericoloso autore al mondo" (ma anche no, oddio, però) e che il signore in questione è conosciuto anche per un romanzo cult degli anni sessanta; Il nuovo sesso: cowgirl, di cui l'amico Gus Van Sant ha fatto una trasposizione cinematografica - citato anche in Pulp Fiction! - Insomma: ha fatto il suo periodo amenamente sotto le luci del pubblico, non è uno sfigatello di una frazione di un paesino in una provincia, per dire.Coscine di pollo mi sembrava un possibile primo tentativo che andasse incontro al mio sesto senso, fra le scelte possibili nella bibliografia in esame. Non so come siano gli altri, ma se sono almeno a questi livelli penso che lo leggerò sempre con molto molto piacere.Considerando già l'incipit:"Era una mattina luminosa e sbrinata all'inizio della primavera, i salici già esibivano le loro infiorescenze, e gli sposi novelli viaggiavano da costa a cosa su un tacchino arrosto."Si capisce che un "oibò, che è" ci sta, davanti a questo inusuale esemplare di romanzo, che di certo non segue le vie più canoniche. E un certo senso di divertimento e insieme perplessità accompagna infatti i primi paragrafi della storia: che cosa sto leggendo?Eh, sto leggendo una bella perla! Non sarò di certo la prima a parlare di quanto sia "strambo" Robbins, o ancora di più, del fatto che probabilmente sia addirittura matto come un cavallo. Ma, ecco, ci sono matti e matti: lui è un eccentrico che si fa assolutamente ascoltare, fa sbattere tanto le ciglia, fa sorridere increduli e alla fine ammalia. L'originalità dell'autore dilaga su tutte le componenti del romanzo. Fa paragoni e similitudini che non mi sarebbero passate per la capa neanche a mettermi d'impegno: "Se il passato è un buffet di quercia le cui zampe debbono essere svitate e i cassetti estratti prima che, così modificato, possa essere appoggiato sul fianco nell'atrio della nostra mente, allora il futuro è un letto ad acqua a tre piazze che difficilmente ha qualche possibilità, soprattutto dovendolo portare in ascensore."E non solo: se ne esce fuori con interrogativi ed elucubrazioni in cui io non sarei mai incappata probabilmente, se non per mano sua. Arzigogolamenti e considerazioni che gli danno un'aria intelligente, un po' da genialoide miracoloso, anche se difficile da rincorrere (ammetto che io certe frasi ancora non le ho capite, ma sarò io la plebea della situazione). Ma non solo a livello stilistico: ad esempio in codesto romanzo abbiamo la spedizione travagliata verso Gerusalemme di..un'erudita e saputella scatola di fagioli, una pudica signora Cucchiaino, un Calzino Sporco molto alla mano, una saggia e regale Conchiglia Strombo e un punto di riferimento per il gregge chiamato Bastone Dipinto. Sì, gli oggetti prendono vita e discorrono in maniera molto simile a quella "umana", e si affiancano in scena a personaggi inconsueti come l'artistaEllen Cherry con il marito Boomer Petway (adorabile, ne voglio uno anch'io!), i genitori Verlin e Patsy, il reverendo foruncoloso Buddy Winkler e così via. Portatori anche loro di caratteristiche bizzarre e battute degne della strana capa del loro autore, ma comunque inseriti in una quotidianità del tutto "reale" per cui in qualche modo la loro originalità trova spazio in un quadro con cui abbiamo a che fare tutti i giorni, motivo per cui alla fine non è per niente difficile empatizzare con loro. Ammetto che ho preferito le parti "umane", mi sono affezionata davvero ai personaggi dipinti da Robbins, tanto che ora mi dispiace un po' lasciarli indietro per altre avventure. Non è esattamente un rapporto che parte bello disteso in quarta, anzi, per entrare negli schemi dell'autore ci vuole un po', si sente anche il rumore di chi ingrana su terreni difficili, per quanto piacevoli. All'inizio la trama è del tutto disordinata, vengono messe in tavola situazioni in media-stress di per sé interessanti ma ancora deconstualizzate, a volte come molti scrittori logorroici Robbins sembra quasi torcersi su se stesso preferendo la propria personalità dirompente ad una chiarezza nella trama e in un incastro efficace. Presenta fin da subito un calderone su cui ci sono carote, cavoli, patate, di tutto e le verdurine galleggiano tutte insieme in una minestra vorticosa. Ma come in tanti altri casi, basta solo prenderci la mano: gli stessi elementi della trama in un divario all'inizio difficoltoso si riuniscono tramite un filo connettore che spunta ed emerge ed emerge, fino a quando ormai si tratta solo di girare la pagina per sapere come andrà avanti. Forse la fetta considerevole di libro che gli fa guadagnare l'etichetta di "romanzo politico" non è stata proprio la mia preferita. Non sempre mi ha catturata, con tutte le sue lezioni improvvisate su Gerusalemme, la religione ebraica, araba, figure bibliche come Jezabel sono state interessanti, per carità, ma forse non appartengono esattamente alla mia principale fascia di interessi. Apprezzabile comunque l'intenzione quasi "chiarificatrice, pacifista" di Robbins che tenta di comprendere la parte avversa nella sua cultura nello scontro in Medio Oriente, ora pacifista non è proprio il termine esatto, ma io ho scorto la volontà di far intendere una volonta di pace e rispetto reciproco nelle proprie diversità, che sembra anche lo stemma del ristorante Isaac & Ishamel (un arabo e un ebreo che collaborano..!), scenario di tutta la seconda parte della storia. Si guadagna anche la definizione di "romanzo un po' filosofico" con questa divisione della storia che non avviene in capitoli, bensì in veli: primo velo, secondo velo, terzo velo fino al settimo. Ho apprezzato davvero il significato che sta dietro a questo ordine, anche se non considero esattamente illuminanti i precetti di Robbins, non perché non sia d'accordo con lui, ma forse perché per me non dice nulla di nuovo e inaspettato che non sapessi già, specie nelle considerazioni finali da parte di Ellen Cherry. Resta il fatto che sono comunque opinioni che condividerei senza esitazione. Sarebbe interessante sapere quale sarebbe stato l'atteggiamento di Robbins se avesse scritto questo libro dopo l'attentato alle torri gemelle: si sarebbe mantenuto ugualmente volenteroso nell'esplorare Gerusalemme, il Medio Oriente? oppure avrebbe risentito anche lui del forte trauma che avvertirono gli statunitensi e questo romanzo sarebbe stato del tutto diverso, se non inesistente?Eh, chissà..
Clever For the Sake of Cleverness (2012)Robbins, Tom (1990). Skinny Legs and All. New York: Bantam.This novel is about Tom Robbins, who wants to show you how clever, funny, and sophisticated he is. With respect to that goal, the book succeeds.However, does he create and motivate interesting characters? No. Does he develop an interesting story? No. Does he elucidate some significant point? No. Does he create a haunting sense of place or time? No. Does he skewer social or political practices with satire or parody? Maybe a little.After reading this book, I felt like I had watched a TV sitcom. I had a few chuckles and guffaws, then I was angry to have just wasted precious hours of my life. Is there anything to learn from this novel? Perhaps only that some people are good at remote associations, and if you think those are funny, this book is for you. I do happen to enjoy nonsequiturs, sequences of unexpected thoughts or images that have absolutely no relation to each other, so there were giggles here for me.For example, how would you complete this simile: “It was empty as …”? I might have said, “…a church at noon,” or “…an ice cream parlor at the North Pole,” or some such. I don’t think, even if I were smoking dope, I could have come up with, “a paraplegic’s dance card.”Funny? Yes, but only because of its extremely low frequency, not because the idea itself is funny. It is clever for the sake of cleverness. Often, Robbins’ comparisons are funny even when they make no sense at all. Consider this description of a sunrise that was “…like a neon fox tongue lapping up the powdered bones of space chickens…” What? Or how about, It was “…a pledge she would stick to like Scotch tape to a Chihuahua.” I chuckled, but this is pointless, goofball humor. The ideas themselves are not funny, only their remoteness and juxtaposition are funny.Once in a while, Robbins hits gold with an apt comparison, like calling the waning daylight of late afternoon “lame duck daylight,” or describing a woman as being “on the dry side of thirty.” My favorite might have been a description of a man’s gaudy, mismatched clothing making a character feel as though she was being “pistol-whipped with a kaleidoscope.” There were enough of these truly creative – not just clever, but artistically creative – sentences to keep me turning the pages.There are two and a half parallel stories in the novel. In one, a young redneck couple makes a pilgrimage to New York city in an airstream trailer that the guy, Boomer, a skilled welder, has converted into a roast turkey. His wife, Ellen Cherry, will strive to make it as an artist in the Big Apple. She doesn’t make it, but ironically, Boomer does, as his trailer/turkey becomes the toast of the avant-garde.In the second story, five inanimate objects are on a pilgrimage from the U.S. to Jerusalem. They are, a can of beans, a dirty sock, a silver dessert spoon, a conch shell and a painted stick. They meditate until they are able to ‘locomote,’ always careful to stay out of the way of curious humans. Some have distinguishable personalities. Can o’ Beans, for example, tends to “fart with curiosity,” whereas Spoon thinks of herself as a Southern lady of taste and breeding. The objects have endless adventures of no consequence. For example, dirty sock gets washed away in a river, but somehow reunited with his colleagues. Conch Shell and Painted Stick get locked in a church basement and have to set a fire to attract humans to open the door. Funny? No. Clever for the sake of cleverness, is what I say.These characters were not developed enough or motivated enough to be interesting. It would be an achievement to portray convincing characters without human bodies, but Robbins falls short. I confess though, I did like Ellen Cherry’s Japanese-made vibrator that spoke in Zen Koans.The final half-story is about a cartoony, television preacher who wants to blow up Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock, to cause World War Three and hasten the Rapture. It’s a thin character with a thin story, but Robbins uses it in the last quarter of the book to create a theme of apocalypse and the End Times, satirically symbolized by a Super Bowl game.Throughout, Robbins attempts to comment on middle-east politics. Ellen Cherry works at an Israeli-Arab restaurant across from the U.N., giving the author ample scope for commentary on middle-east politics and for lame Yiddish and Arabic accents and comments that are supposed to be funny. More deadly however, are Robbins’ heavy-handed lectures about the history and politics of religion and on Israel in particular, all of which, in the ultimate scene, morphs into a half-baked philosophical commentary about human self-delusion in general. Never has a novel ended with a more resounding thud.There are some creative structural elements in the writing that are interesting, such as surprising changes in voice and point of view. But sometimes, even these veer off into weird, reckless, and seemingly arbitrary changes of tense, voice, and mood. Again, I put those surprises down, not to thoughtful innovation, but to cleverness for the sake of cleverness.There’s no denying Tom Robbins has his fans. His books are widely praised and wildly popular, so somebody likes them. I found this one mildly amusing, but ultimately disappointing for lack of substance and sustained entertainment value.
What do You think about Skinny Legs And All (2002)?
This read a lot like an unfocused, ADD-addled Kurt Vonnegut novel. But the fact that it reminded me of Vonnegut in any way means it's worth a read, if nothing else. The wacky, over-strung cast of characters includes a talking stick, a talking can of beans, and a talking sock. Oh, there are people there too. Kind of.Robbins' prose is evocative, full of similes and ripe description that sometimes means something. Everything kept happening and little of it meant much to me. The revelations come out in high-school philosophy stylings. All that said, it's not a bad book. I enjoyed parts of it. It just doesn't read as composed as it feels like it should be/thinks it is. I guess both the prose and the jokes came off as too "look how clever I am". And while sometimes the prose was, I wasn't really floored by any of it.
—Adam
Compared with the usual high standards that I have come to expect from Tom Robbins, this book was a tad disappointing.There are those books which grab you by the seat of the pants from the first page and don’t let go until you turn that final page, such as John Grisham’s The Testament. There are those books which start off nice and slow, pouring in the literary concrete in the first half to pave the way for the dazzling kapow punch that usually comes in the second half. And there are those books so wondrous, so inexpressibly marvelous, that their words are a tapestry, a web in which we become willingly entangled, such as Joyce’s Ulysses.This book, if I had to categorize Skinny Legs and All, would fall into the second category. It certainly gets off to a sluggish start, to the point where about 150 pages into the novel I was thinking what is Robbins doing, where is he taking us here? The thing is, that almost inevitable kapow knockout punch never comes in the second half of the novel. Not exactly. The novel definitely gets better the deeper you go but Robbins seemed to be more intent on showcasing his word wizardry and literary pyrotechnics through his, trying-to-be-glib humour, which often falls short. There are a few passages which are downright funny but Robbins’ constant efforts at trying to be funny, and oft to the detriment of his storytelling mission, come across as a little too try-hard and desperate. However, having said that, the novel does have its redeeming aspects too, nevertheless. Robbins’ indictment of organized religion as a whole, with a particular focus on the Israel-Palestinian issue, an issue which has continued to escalate even further since Robbins penned this book in the early 90s (when Arafat was still alive) still remains a flash point and key issue which must be resolved if humans are to have any hope of being at peace with each other one day. And finally (and most importantly), this book is a celebration of art and artists and Robbins’ take on the importance of art in the world, as a redeeming possibility, really hit home with me (was going to use that cheesy hackneyed phrase ‘struck a deep chord’ yuk better not to…..) and he is absolutely spot-on here. His calls for artists to live their art rather than suffer it should be heard by any young artist trying to find his footfall in this big, blue world. In summary, I would recommend this book if you are a diehard Robbins fan but if you are new to his work, certainly DO NOT start here. If you are looking for something amusing to read, check out Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates (hilarious in parts) or if you are looking for something both funny and intellectually stimulating, check out Jitterbug Perfume which I think is Robbins’ masterpiece. Thank you once again to Larry for lending me a copy of this book from his wonderful Tom Robbins’ shelf.
—Mat
I’m very ambivalent about this book. Skinny Legs and All is a dense, intricate spiral of a story with funny characters but serious messages. However, Tom Robbins’ style grates on me a little bit. There’s nothing egregious about it, but maybe I’m just getting less patient with purpler prose as I approach the ripe old age of 26. In any event, I appreciate and respect this book, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted to.Skinny Legs and All follows Ellen Cherry Charles, a small-town Virginian woman, as she grows older and wiser in New York City. Owing to her crazy fundamentalist uncle and estranged art-nouveau husband, not to mention her employment at a restaurant owned by an Arab and a Jew, Ellen finds herself adjacent to all sorts of events related to the tension in the Middle East between Israel and Palestine.It’s also about a Dirty Sock, Can of Beans, and Dessert Spoon who join up with an ancient Painted Stick and Conch Shell to make their way to Jerusalem and await the coming of the Third Temple.There’s a great deal of allusion here, Biblical and otherwise, and it’s easy to get lost down the rabbithole. The plot doesn’t move forwards so much as spiral around and around the drain. The main focus seems to be on Ellen’s struggle to redefine herself after separating from Boomer. She was supposed to be the artist, the hip and trendy participant in New York’s cultural scenes. Then Boomer, the welder who couldn’t see the point in art, suddenly finds himself caught in the maelstrom, while Ellen watches from the sidelines and finds her own inspiration and direction drying up.Meanwhile, the anthropomorphized household articles are on a quest of their own, in a sideplot that is so bizarre I can’t do it justice. Ultimately I’m not sure it ever really comes to fruition—it’s fun, I guess, but it never held my attention for too long. I feel like Robbins is just having fun riffing off these characters he created, while also playing around in the sandbox of Middle Eastern history and mythology. And if that’s what he wanted to do, fair enough.As far as the commentary on the Middle East goes: this novel predates September 11, 2001. I couldn’t help but fixate on this fact and wonder how it would be different if Robbins had written it ten years later. There is an atmosphere of optimism even amidst all the strange and sometimes upsetting things that happen, as if Robbins believes that humanity might possibly just manage to muddle through this all. The Middle East is an appropriate focal point for exploring our species’ foibles because of how it is the birthplace both of Abrahamic religions and so much strife in the contemporary world—how can a place named for peace be the centre of so much conflict? This contradiction proves to drive the most interesting moments of the book.Yet for all its intensive soul-searching and intriguing commentary on religion, Skinny Legs and All strikes me as ultimately a disappointing and empty book. It’s nearly five-hundred pages of rumination on why humans band together with common beliefs and then proceed to be massive dicks to the rest of humanity. And none of what Robbins says about religion is really all that original or thoughtful—he says it very well, of course, but if you’ve read any critiques of or apologies for organized religion, you’re already going to be familiar with these themes.What redeems the book, if anything, is Ellen. I enjoyed reading about her, sympathizing with her, and even being annoyed with her sometimes. Robbins gives Ellen sexual agency in a way that many male authors fail to do with their women characters—Ellen has a healthy internal and external sex life. The sexuality of women and the way our society and religions police it is one of the pillars of Robbins’ critique of organized religion, of course—hence the allusions to Jezebel and Salome and the veil dance that comprises the entire structure of the narrative. Whereas I wasn’t that impressed by the overall commentary on religions, I did appreciate this facet.This is the third in a trio of books lent to me by a friend ( Gould’s Book of Fish and Sweet and Vicious being the other two). I think I enjoyed the ride that was Sweet and Vicious most, but Skinny Legs and All is probably the best book of the three. Although it took too long to read for what little reward I got from it, I can still appreciate. For me this book is an example of how literature is like art—sometimes you know something is important, even though it doesn’t really speak to you on an emotional level. It’s intellectually satisfying, even though viscerally you’re left wanting something else, something different. This won’t be everyone’s reaction, of course, and I’m sure there are plenty of Robbins fans out there who love this book to pieces. I’m just not one of them.
—Ben Babcock
