{"id":359,"date":"2006-12-26T15:23:56","date_gmt":"2006-12-26T20:23:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=359"},"modified":"2007-08-20T20:19:05","modified_gmt":"2007-08-21T02:19:05","slug":"octavian-nothing-yeah-it-won-the-nba-but-what-you-really-want-to-know-is-what-do-jules-and-eisha-think","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=359","title":{"rendered":"Octavian Nothing: Yeah, it won the NBA, but what you really want to know is… what do Jules and Eisha think?"},"content":{"rendered":"

We promised, and now we deliver: Jules and Eisha will now turn our powerful intellects and rapier wits to discussing the 2006 winner of the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature<\/strong><\/a>, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume One: The Pox Party<\/em><\/strong><\/a>, by M.T. Anderson<\/strong><\/a>.<\/p>\n

Usually we’d begin with a summary of the plot for those who haven’t read it yet, then go on to discuss the merits and pitfalls of the work while trying to avoid spoilers. But I’m going to declare right now: if you haven’t read it, but think you will, you probably shouldn’t read this. I think the more you know about this book in advance, the more damage you do to your experience of reading it. I’ll just tell you this: if you’re the least bit curious or interested, READ IT. Whether you end up liking it or not, whether you agree that it works as young adult literature or not, this book is worth at least an attempt at reading it for yourself. Even if it doesn’t move you, it will definitely make you think.<\/p>\n

Beware, intrepid reader. There be Spoilers beyond these waters. You have been warned.<\/p>\n

eisha:<\/strong> So, in case you couldn’t tell, I like it. I found the concept fascinating, and I thought Anderson’s tendency towards adopting a highly-distinctive literary voice for each of his books was well-served here. I think the criticism that it’s not appealing for a lot of teens is valid – it takes a lot of patience and a pretty sophisticated vocabulary to get through, and the cover is deeply flawed – the depiction of Octavian in the mask is a good idea, but the illustration itself looks like it’s meant for a children’s book. Maybe an engraving that looked like one of the newspaper illustrations of the devices that Bono collected would have been better. But I’m no book designer, and I digress. I think for certain teens, and there may not be many of them, this story will be worth the “obstacles.” What do you think?<\/p>\n

jules:<\/strong> Do I still have a powerful intellect if I was wondering while reading the novel — since there are characters named Bono and Prince — where the soundtrack is? Do I still have a rapier wit if my favorite kid joke is what kind of cheese isn’t yours? Nacho cheese.<\/em> Okay, seriously. Seriously, I’m here, and I’m ready to talk about this novel, which I also really liked. And, yes, we must co-review it, since — as Bono tells Octavian at one point — “{m}iscreants got to hang together.” <\/p>\n

Yes, I can see how for certain teens the book possesses some obstacles, as you put it. And then there’s “A Pox on Pox Party<\/em>“<\/a><\/strong> by Emily Bazelon in Slate<\/a><\/strong> (thanks to Fuse #8<\/a><\/strong> for the link, and I’ve been bothered by Bazelon’s write-up ever since I finished the novel and wonder if some folks just enjoy<\/em> being contrary for the sake of it), in which she writes: <\/p>\n

The intricate and windy 18th-century prose should suffice to ensure that any 12- or 16-year-old who reads this book is a 12- or 16-year-old who really, really wanted to. The adult raves aside, I wonder how many of them there are. Pox Party bears all the worthy marks of a book that makes adults swoon and kids roll their eyes.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Okay, but — to be perfectly frank — this just gets on my nerves<\/em>. Before I perhaps get labelled an out-of-touch snob, let me emphasize that I see what she means. I get that it’s not the Year’s Most Accessible Teen Title. But I also think that way more teens than we give credit to — as in, those who don’t even seek the book out (let’s say, for the sake of example, that it gets assigned to an English course) — will get past this, will really begin to love the book. Why? Because — unlike Ms. Bazelon seems to think (did she read<\/em> the same book? I found several scenes so heartrending, the writing so original, the circumstances so effectively horrifying that I have trouble seeing how Octavian isn’t “vivid and real,” how he “remains disembodied”) — his character is so expertly drawn for us, so humanized on every level, that he becomes real, becomes pitiable, and we begin to care what will happen next. Not to mention a teen’s zippy quick, lightning-speed ability to spot and nail someone for hypocrisy, one of the book’s central themes, serves as another way to draw teen readers in. <\/p>\n

This whole question about whether or not this should be categorized as YA and the what-really<\/em>-is-“YA-Lit”-anyway question is a complex one, and we can direct readers here<\/a><\/strong> and here<\/a><\/strong> to think further on it. I will say that Octavian<\/em> could be, without question, a successful cross-over title — that is, YA and adults. I hope the adult fiction world sees<\/em> this book and won’t disdain it — as some adults, unfortunately, do — as a “teen title.” <\/p>\n

Here are two questions for you, e: Did you find yourself sometimes so wow’ed by the writing (sorry to sound banal about it, but that’s my best verb here to describe how I felt) that you had to just pause and celebrate and ponder and marvel at M.T.’s mind? You know I<\/em> did, ’cause I emailed you about it, all swoony and such over his writing. I mean, have you ever read anything like this? I, personally, think the National Book Award folks chose well (though, as I made clear<\/a><\/strong>, I also really loved Patricia McCormick’s Sold<\/em>). And my second question (ignore the fact that there are two questions above) is: What did you think of the sudden shift in point-of-view (from Octavian to Private Goring)? I found it extremely effective. And let me say that when we suddenly see part of Octavian’s manuscript testimony crossed out in heavy ink right before we get to Goring (right around the death of Octavian’s mother) . . . well, remember that part in “The Sixth Sense” when that I-see-dead-people boy is talking to his mother in the kitchen, she turns around for what seems like a femtosecond, and then when she turns back, all the kitchen cabinet doors are open? I got shivers and goosebumps and gasped like that<\/em> when I turned the page and saw those spooky deletions. <\/p>\n

Tag.<\/p>\n

eisha:<\/strong> LOL – had not made the Prince & Bono connection. Your rapier is way sharper than mine. To answer your questions:<\/p>\n

1. Yes, I was frequently blown away – Mr. Anderson can certainly turn a phrase, and it’s obvious there was a lot of meticulous research and craft at work here – the language is extraordinary. My one quibble with Anderson’s work in general is that sometimes the extreme verbal posturing creates a sort of coldness about his books, a distance between the reader and the narrator that occasionally makes it hard to connect emotionally with the story. I think I’m hearing that complaint from Bazelon in the Slate review<\/a><\/strong> you mentioned, when she says, “The voice of Octavian never broke free of its own metal casing. He remains disembodied\u2014pitiable, no question, but too remote to actually pity.” <\/p>\n

But I actually think the remoteness and lack of emotion in his own parts of the narrative works for Octavian, and makes perfect sense within the context. He was raised by philosophers, as an experiment. The only emotional bond he really formed was with his mother, and she was distant and remote herself. He was trying to be a neutral observer, as he described so memorably in that scene in the first chapter when he describes some of the “experiments” he witnessed: drowning dogs, throwing cats off scaffolds, and beating a mentally-impaired girl “to the point of gagging and swooning” for not being able to learn verb conjugations (THAT was a scene that gave me<\/em> goosebumps)… Growing up under these conditions, and eventually learning that he was himself the subject of one of their experiments in some Revolutionary-era Tuskegee Study<\/strong><\/a>, and therefore just as expendable as one of the caged animals in the lab, the only way he could survive would be to succeed in the experiment, to prove himself intellectually capable of mastering their teachings, essentially becoming like them. So I thought the cold, scientific-observer tone of his accounts was an effective device, which leads me to…<\/p>\n

2. Yes, the scribbled-out passages of his journals were also very effective – it was such a cool way to depict his struggle with his emotions, with his humanity. Very, very cool. I’ll bet anything Anderson actually wrote it all out for real, too, just to scribble it out… he seems like that kind of Mr. Meticulous-Detail Man.<\/p>\n

Okay, my question for you: How much do you think the fact that this is a Caucasian man writing the story of an African American slave impacted the story? Is this a book about the Great White Guilt? Did it bother you at all? I think it bothered me a little – I mean, a good story is a good story, no matter who tells it, and I’m not saying a person from one race or culture doesn’t have the right to try to get inside the mind of a character from another and tell his\/her story. But… how different would this story have been if it had been written by someone else?<\/p>\n

Oh, and my favorite kid joke: “Knock-knock.” “Who’s there?”<\/em> “Interrupting Cow.” “Interru-“<\/em> “MOO!”<\/p>\n

jules:<\/strong> Good one. Oh, what do you pay to get in school? ATTENTION! I told that to just about every person I met for way too long in my formative years. <\/p>\n

Okay, wow. Striking to me what you said about the scribblings in Octavian’s manuscript. I totally assumed that someone else<\/em> did all that deleting, someone who had an ulterior motive for doing so. Hence my I-see-dead-people shivers when I suddenly saw that (you must have thought that was a strange reaction on my part if what you got from it is that Octavian himself deleted those words). It’s a possibility either way, I suppose, unless I’m just being really dense. The way you see it is something that never occurred to me. Gotta dig book discussions. <\/p>\n

Dude, I’m sorry that I can’t add anything enlightening to the discussion of the fact that a Caucasian man wrote this book. Honestly, it never crossed my mind and, therefore, didn’t bother me — that is, the possibility of Great White Guilt, as you put it. Perhaps other readers will have thoughts on this (if they’ve made it this far in our post). I could wax philosophic on it now<\/em>, but I never thought about it while reading, so I wouldn’t have any brilliant epiphanies for you and I’d kinda feel like a phony doing so. Others? Anyone out there reading this and have thoughts on this? <\/p>\n

And, yeah, I know where Bazelon was coming from with the remoteness-of-Octavian comment . . . but there were so many truly heart-breaking and lovely moments (I use “lovely” too much on this site, but at least I try to avoid “charming,” “beautiful,” or “interesting”<\/a><\/strong>) . . . as I was saying, there were some really poignant moments for me, such as when he realized he didn’t know his mother’s first name (was that it? I can’t find the passage in the book, but I believe that was it). I thought Anderson more than made up for Octavian’s necessary remoteness with moments like that. <\/p>\n

And I dig what you’re saying about his writing creating a distance for you as the reader, but I’ve never felt that myself. Instead, I’m so impressed by the meticulous research and then his ability to turn around and write something like:<\/p>\n

My mother was found, later that day, down in the cellar of the main house. She had gone there alone. She had curled herself up tightly, her arms around her kneees, and sat in the complete darkness, blood spangling the silk of her dress like the gloaming stars first bleeding into evening.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Daaaamn. Think I can have him over for coffee, too? Really, I just found one of many dog-eared pages in my copy of this book and chose that one randomly to include; there were many passages like that for me that I thought were so . . . I don’t know
. . . eloquent might be the word I want. <\/p>\n

Even though you felt that distance sometimes (which I can respect, and I know you really liked<\/em> the book, too), wouldn’t you agree that this book is full of some indelible images (even beginning on the first page with the “floating lights in the apple-trees”)? <\/p>\n

eisha:<\/strong> Oh, absolutely. Some utterly gorgeous images like the lights in the apple trees, and some horrific ones like the ravages of smallpox. It’s definitely got that going on.<\/p>\n

And I hadn’t thought of the possibility that his journals had been censored by someone else – I guess that is possible, but somehow the scribbling looks so emotional, and given the subject matter that it conceals, I thought it was Octavian being unable to deal with what he’d seen, unable to just record it as an impartial observer, and just sort of exploding.<\/p>\n

Did you love the Feed<\/em><\/strong><\/a> reference? At the pox party, when Dr. Trefusis says, <\/p>\n

“When I peer into the reaches of the most distant futurity, I fear that even in some unseen epoch when there are colonies on the moon itself, there shall be gatherings like this, where the young, blinded by privilege, shall dance and giggle and compare their poxy legions.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I kind of felt like I should have been upset by it, since it pokes through that fourth wall and intrudes on the story, but I actually thought it was pretty funny. I remember reading somewhere, ages ago (sorry, I looked but couldn’t find it again, or I’d cite it properly) that Feed<\/em> was actually in part a critique on the modern American education system. I wonder if Octavian<\/em> is meant to be, as well – I think there are elements of that, anyway, such as Mr. Sharpe’s technique of giving him boring technical passages in Greek and Latin to transcribe rather than the stories that Dr. Trefusis used, and the philosophers’ emphasis on weighing and measuring and recording such seemingly insignificant details about Octavian, while completely ignoring his basic humanity. If you want to get really metaphorical about it, maybe the daily ceremonial weighing of his feces represents standardized test scores.<\/p>\n

Anyway, I’m about Octavian<\/em>ed out. How ’bout you, J? <\/p>\n

jules:<\/strong> I didn’t know that about Feed<\/em> and the critique’ing. Interesting. And now I see Octavian’s feces-weighing in a whooooole<\/em> new way; that’s a pretty keen observation on your part and makes total sense. <\/p>\n

As for the research Anderson’s put into the book, the linguist-nerd in me wants to know why Goring’s writing — which is typical for that time, I assume — has such intriguing capitalization rules (such as, “Your Heart would melt if you could see this Wretched, Silent Boy,” he writes to his sister). O Fruition, ‘Twas the Spirit of Capitalization in this novel Which hath intrigued me & Moved me. Seriously, I wanna look that up; mayhap I will find out if it’s typical writing of that time? Or ’twas ’cause Goring is of a Certain Class? Hmmm . . . <\/p>\n

I don’t know that I contributed anything thought-provoking in any way, but, yes, I guess we’re done. This post is certainly long enough. Thanks for talkin’ books with me again, e. ‘Twas fun. I look forward to Octavian<\/em>, the blockbuster sequel. Until then . . . <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We promised, and now we deliver: Jules and Eisha will now turn our powerful intellects and rapier wits to discussing the 2006 winner of the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume One: The Pox Party, by M.T. Anderson. Usually we’d begin with a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,22,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-359","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-adult-fiction","category-co-reviews","category-young-adult"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/359","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=359"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/359\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=359"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=359"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=359"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}