Book Review – Hallucinating Foucault

Book Review – Hallucinating Foucault

Title – Hallucinating Foucault

Genre – Literary Fiction

Author – Patricia Duncker

Published 1996

Rating 10/10

*       *       *

Wow! Just – wow!

I first read this novel about twenty years ago. I was impressed, yes, and some images stayed with me, but I remember feeling uncomfortable and slightly bemused.

In retrospect, I can see why that was; for all sorts of reasons I lacked the emotional generosity to respond authentically to a challenging love story – for, at its heart, ‘Hallucinating Foucault’ is a love story.

It’s a simple, linear narrative, the quest of a young scholar to find and free Paul Michel, the writer whose works have enthralled him.

Or is it?

The quest story lies nestled in a story of old passions; the passion of a man for his first love; the passion of an artist for his art; the passionate need of a writer for his ideal reader. By the time we reach the last page we can see a monumental structure, solid as concrete, against which the hapless scholar has been mercilessly broken. We can make out seductive whispers, just below the threshold of audibility, blaming Fate and denying human responsibility, even as they admit human agency.

We never learn the name of the scholar. It is as though he exists only in relation to Paul Michel. And yet, we care. I cared passionately for him. I shuddered with trepidation as the inevitable denouement approached. I wept at his destruction.

Few books have moved me like this one. Few books have given me such delight by the sheer quality of their writing.

Read this novel for its superlative writing. Read this novel for its insights into human love and life. But, above all, read this novel for pleasure; it’s a delight.

I saw the earth move

When I look out of my dining room window on a misty, drizzly day, I see in the foreground a half dozen houses that are part of the estate on which I live. Beyond them, an old viaduct looms magnificently among the even older trees of Long Timber Wood. Tiny cloudlets form and dissolve above the valley of the River Erme, which brawls down from ancient Dartmoor into the village of Ivybridge. It is a sight of sombre beauty even on a grey winter’s day.
Saturday, by contrast, was clear and bright. I sat at breakfast enjoying a soft-boiled egg and a cup of freshly ground coffee, and I gazed at the frost on the roof of one of the houses. My attention was caught by the hard-edged shadow that the building next to mine cast in the light of the new-risen sun. The shadow contrasted sharply with the bright white of the frost and made an acute angle across the roof.
And then I realised that I could see the shadow move. Its edge was travelling just fast enough for the motion to be perceptible. It was moving because the sun was rising. The sun was rising because the earth was rotating. I was – literally – watching the spinning of the earth about its axis!

Thank you for visiting my blog!

If you enjoyed what you have read, please “Like” and “Share”. If you are new to the site, please feel free to browse earlier posts.

If you would like to be sure of reading future posts, please “Follow” me, and then you will receive email notification of every post (I try to post at least twice a week).