Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu

Solenoid revels in language and imagination in a way that speaks directly to me, reminding me, at times, of the unhinged-yet-romantic ramblings of Maldoror (even lifting that book’s most famous line on page 379) combined with the mystic puzzles of Borges. It’s filtered through a kind of existential angst ala Charlie Kaufman and/or David Lynch’s Eraserhead. Just take a look at this bit of writing: “There are millions of diseases of the human body, parasites that devour it from inside and outside, suppurating diseases of the skin, intestinal occlusions, lupus, tetanus, leprosy, cholera, plague. Why should we passively put up with them, why would we pass by, pretending not to see them, until we are impacted, as we certainly will be? Our minds suffer, so will our flesh, our skin, our joints. Sores and pus will cover us, phlegm and sweat will drown us, injustice and tyranny will make us bow down, annihilation and impermanence terrify us.” (143) I love that. If you do too, then you’re going to have a hell of a good time with Solenoid, and I highly recommend it.