Please note that this review does not currently reflect my feeling about this book. For the full skinny, please visit A Second Look. -- sg
Nick Bantock's The Forgetting Room:
A Few Thoughts
Of the gifts I got for this holiday season, 1997, two of them are inexorably tied to each other in my mind. They are really nothing alike and have very little in common, except that one helped me to see what I believe the other to be missing.
On Christmas morning I tore the wrapping paper away to reveal the very excellent and beautifully rendered computer video game Riven (for more information on this game, you can start at the publisher's website (http://www.redorb.com)). I also received a copy of Nick Bantock's latest release, The Forgetting Room. My excitement level was high, getting two things that I had wanted very badly, but Riven won out and I almost immediately ran to my computer to install it.
Wow. With my housemate along for the journey, we immersed ourselves totally in the mythical island world of Riven. Our eyes were dazzled, our brains were exercised. There were clues to gather, puzzles to solve, mysteries to unlock, journals to discover and read, to further you along the course of the game. Two exhausting days later, we finished the game together (two minds, in this case, were better than one). In the end, we were not disappointed.
You may be able to guess where I'm going with this.
Last night, I turned on my tabletop fountain, turned the reading light on, curled under the covers, and read The Forgetting Room. While an entertaining jaunt, a most intriguing concept, and a fascinating story, this book just lacked that something extra, that magic that the Griffin and Sabine trilogy has. And after playing more than 18 hours in total of Riven, it finally came to me what that missing 'something' was.
In Riven, while reading Atrus', Catherine's, and Gehn's journals, I was struck with the same kind of wide-eyed awe that pulled me to the trilogy. Apparently written on parchment (or at least some kind of old or handmade paper), with sketches in the margins, I felt an emotional attachment to them and their thoughts because I felt like I was reading the actual journals. It was interactive, much in the same way that the Griffin and Sabine trilogy was interactive. Interactivity and personalization were, after reading the trilogy and The Egyptian Jukebox, things I have come to subconsciously expect from Mr. Bantock's books. The marriage of art and story, if you will.
The Forgetting Room is presented as a journal of Armon Hurt's journey to Ronda, Spain, to claim the inheritance left to him by his grandfather. What we are told we are holding in our hands is a bound journal of his nine days in Ronda — "an edition of one." Turning the page, we find a map, and then the page following that, we find... printed type? With little drawings professionally set in the margins?
This is where I believe the figurative ball is dropped. A very large part of my subconscious was hoping to turn the page and find something actually closer to a journal; to read Armon's handwriting; look at his art (perhaps photos of his triptych in progress apparently taped into the pages); in effect, to witness his spiritual renaissance — especially the latter, since he is writing this after the fact, I would hardly expect him to sit down and typeset his memoirs of what must have been the most important nine days in his life. It is revealed that Armon is a bookbinder by trade and so naturally it is easy to believe that an edition of one might be bound in such a fashion. I just find it hard to believe that a man who has just been profoundly touched by the duende would continue to do things same-old, same-old.
Stay with me here. Imagine turning to the first page of the journal
("Until I was eleven years old..."), and, instead of seeing what is
actually in the book, seeing something like this:
Get the point? This is a case in which the presentation could have had a profound effect on the way I viewed this book, and on the way in which the story took a hold of my imagination. Granted, writing out the entire book by hand might have doubled the number of pages of the book, but it's already priced comparably to hardback books that are upwards of 400-500 pages (this book is 106 pages long). It would have also turned Armon's journal into something precious, immersing the reader into the life and feelings of a man whose very existence is turned upside down in nine days.
We Pause For This Word of Defense...
Imagine my surprise when I learned that Mr. Bantock himself was looking to contact me regarding some factual errors on the index page. I was flattered, not to mention utterly floored (and a teensy bit terrified :) ). Included in his email to me was this, regarding my criticism of the presentation of this book. (Reprinted with permission.)
Your critisism about the thing not being hand written was valid. I'd like to have done exactly as you suggested, but it was my first work with a new publisher and they were very keen to secure overseas sales. And a handwritten book causes terrible problems when it comes to translation and page design. It's no longer a matter of simply changing the black plate. The integration of words and images in the books I do has a horrific knock on effect when it comes to layout.
Point taken. Realistically and practically, the process I describe would wreak havoc on the printing process. Time for me to pull my head down out of the clouds! :)
Okay, now back to the rest of the review... which I will probably revise when I get the chance to re-read the book.
Back to the story. His grandfather's studio, The Forgetting Room (which, I was reminded by my housemate to be the literal translation of the French word oubliette), is turned into a giant puzzle by clues left to him in a package by his grandfather. Imagine my disappointment when I didn't get any real fighting chance to solve the puzzle myself! I know, I know, it's probably because of the recent Riven playing, but I couldn't help resenting being little more than an observer when faced with a puzzle as fascinating as the one Armon's grandfather leaves him.
Don't get me wrong. I didn't dislike it, and I will probably read it again to catch the nuances of the story. Perhaps all of that exposure to the Riven total experience has made me a little particular. Perhaps I was spoiled by the presentation of the trilogy books and by The Egyptian Jukebox. I don't know. I do know that I especially liked the Spanish/Moorish influence in the art, and was very pleasantly reminded of a talk of Mr. Bantock's that I went to in October of 1996, because he spoke at that time of the section pertaining to the woman in the cafe. This book also offers an insight into the process by which Mr. Bantock paints. I think that fascinated me more than just about anything else.
In the grand scheme of things, I'd rate this book above The Venetian's Wife, but not in the same league as the G&S trilogy.
(Excerpt taken from The Forgetting Room by Nick Bantock, the lawful copyright holder. Used without permission for the purpose of review.)
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