Laurent Binet's The 7th Function of Language: A Review

Laurent Binet. The 7th Function of Language (Londres: Harvill Secker, 2017). 390 pages. Translated from the French by Sam Taylor.

Should I say I was lucky to study and read Roland Barthes at university? I believe so. I remember enjoying his Mythologies and wondering about what other product-signs we should be demythologising and deconstructing, yet at the time, most nights I would go out and I sort of ended up being interested in, well, different things.

Sort of a myth himself now, isn't he? Young Roland Barthes, Photograph by Fragolaleone

Barthes died in an accident in the streets of Paris. He was knocked down by a laundry van in late February 1980, and passed away a month later. I certainly found his work inspirational, and we could well ask ourselves what, were he still alive, he would be making of contemporary signs such as the bitten-off apple of the software and hardware giant or the M-shaped arches of the multinational you-want-fries-with-your-burger? company that has been clogging the arteries of millions of people all over the world for years.

Binet takes the fact of Barthes’ accident and makes it into a fictional murder. But why would a semiotician be murdered? Because he had with him the only copy of a text authored by Russian linguist Roman Jakobson. Allegedly, this text would identify the seventh function of language, which would be a magical performative function giving its possessor the power to make people do things. Something every politician might kill for, of course.

In a parody of detective novels, thrillers and similar, Binet constructs a big metafictional joke. The policeman in charge of the investigation into Barthes’ death, Bayard, starts by interviewing Foucault about semiotics and semiology. He understands fuck-all, obviously, so he tries to read Barthes and others, which angers him even more, and so he will seek the aid of a lecturer on semiotics: enter Simon Herzog, who impresses Bayard by revealing his background and most of his personality traits by simply looking at him and his clothes.

What happens next (and the above is just the beginning of this bizarre, hilarious and crazy fiction) is a long story. The unlikely duo are partnered in the pursuit of the mysterious document in a journey that takes them from Paris to Bologna, where they witness political vendettas, are allowed entrance to a secret Logos Club in which orators and debaters engage in rhetorical duels, with the loser getting a finger chopped off when defeated, and miraculously escape the bombing of the railway station.

They next travel to a big conference at Cornell University, in Ithaca, NY. Their stay is punctuated by various strange episodes, amongst them the death of Jacques Derrida, savagely killed by dogs while a girl named Cordelia was giving him a blowjob.

No, Derrida did not die here. Binet chooses to kill him at Cornell, but only in fiction. Photograph by Laurenvhs.

The final part takes them to Venice. More Logos Club challenges, more chopped fingers (and other body parts, too!) street skirmishes and kidnappings. Outlandish events and conversations are too numerous to recap; characters come and go without rhyme or reason. And after winning his oratorial challenge at the Club, Simon is made to pay a huge price.

With The 7^th Function of Language, Binet enjoys himself a lot, and if you are game to take a refreshingly quick dip into the theory of semiotics, linguistics and metafiction, this is a novel that will make you laugh out loud. The list of real people Binet makes irreverent use of is inexhaustible: from Umberto Eco to Julia Kristeva, from Michel Foucault to Noam Chomsky, from Bjorn Borg to Vitas Gerulaitis. Presidents such as Giscard d’Estaing and Mitterrand, prime ministers such as Laurent Fabius, and a noticeably young Afro-American politician named Barack Obama.

There is comedy, there is Hollywood-style action, car chases, sex, hot steamy baths where old men and young gigolos meet. There are also puns, play on words and names, a constant game played between fact and fiction in which Binet deliberately shows his hand by using the first person, a bold interference in the narrative that not always pays dividends.

The volcano crater of Pozzuoli near Naples is where Simon exacts his revenge. What a scenic spot to finish the novel! Photograph by I. Shevtsov.

The 7^th Function of Language is a delicious parody, yet to me it felt more like fanciful, delightfully absurd and exhilarating entertainment than a thriller. The plot is far more sophisticated than any bestseller might ever dream of; yet underlying the playful, the profane, and the mocking the novel does offer aplenty there is also a deeply felt homage to the sciences of language and a clever invention from historical materials. And I’d bet my little finger that Barthes would have given Binet his tick of approval.

Reseña: Rain, de Mary M. Talbot y Bryan Talbot

Mary M. Talbot and Bryan Talbot. Rain (Londres: Jonathan Cape, 2019). 157 páginas.

Las primeras cuatro páginas de este relato gráfico nos trasladan a la selva amazónica en la primera década del siglo XIX, citando a Alexander von Humboldt, quien ya observaba entonces que las consecuencias de la deforestación estaban alterando el sistema climático y el régimen de lluvias, a la vez que provocaba la erosión del terreno y graves inundaciones en torno a los ríos. Más de dos siglos después, el problema no solamente se ha agravado. Como señalaba Scranton en We’re Doomed. Now What?, hemos excedido los márgenes de explotación racional y sostenible de los recursos que alberga el planeta. Lo que nos sobrevenga de ahora en adelante es una incógnita.

Si von Humboldt pudiese ahora en 2020 hablar...

Mitch y Cath son las dos protagonistas de esta novela gráfica. La primera vive en el norte de Inglaterra, en un pueblo de Yorkshire, y su vida gira en torno a ideales medioambientalistas como la comida orgánica, y participa en grupos de protección de los páramos locales. Cath, por su parte, vive en Londres y desconoce en gran medida algunos de los temas que preocupan a su pareja.

Un paseo por los campos de las hermanas Brontë.

Buena parte de la historia se centra en los activistas locales y en sus acciones de vigilancia y protección de la fauna y flora. Los cambios producidos en el páramo y su entorno por un empresario y terrateniente local con el fin de sacar las máximas ganancias posibles de la masacre anual de urogallos son uno de los hilos narrativos. También lo es la participación de Mitch y Cath en protestas contra el fracking y las decisiones políticas del gobierno de Su Majestad.

Las protestas son necesarias, sí; pero en las urnas, ¿por qué se sigue votando a quienes no tienen voluntad de buscar soluciones urgentes?

La pega principal que se le puede poner al libro es que, pese a sus excelentes intenciones e ineludible mensaje, la historia personal de las dos mujeres no termina de cuajar dentro de su estructura total. Porque, de pasajes meramente didácticos, o incluso técnicos, sobre los efectos nocivos de pesticidas o de las repercusiones de prácticas contrarias al sentido común y al medio ambiente, pasamos a escenas domésticas sin mucha lógica narrativa. Que el libro tiene un ánimo pedagógico es innegable. Lograr que el mensaje llegue al lector de manera creíble a través de retazos de la historia de la relación personal de dos mujeres no es sin embargo tan fácil ni efectivo.

Son dibujos detallados, muy expresivos. El contraste entre páginas en tonos grises o simplemente en blanco y negro y páginas repletas de colorido sirve para remarcar decididamente la belleza de lo natural frente a lo urbano. A veces el paso del tiempo se representa por medio de una planta o un paisaje, como queriendo recalcar que aunque no lo percibamos en el día a día, la flora nos recuerda que las estaciones avanzan una tras otra.

Merry Christmas? I don't think so....

El relato de Mitch y Cath alcanza su punto culminante con la riada que impacta al pueblo. Este episodio está efectivamente basado en hechos reales: las inundaciones de los días de Navidad y San Esteban en 2015 que tantos daños causaron en el norte de Inglaterra y Escocia. Rain es un valioso intento de concienciar al lector de la terrible realidad a la que estamos abocados, sea por las lluvias torrenciales, sea por incendios forestales como los que padecimos en esta parte del mundo donde vivo. Pese a sus buenas intenciones, sin embargo, como novela gráfica no acaba de funcionar.

Xavier Bosch's Nosaltres dos: A Review

Xavier Bosch, Nosaltres dos (Barcelona: Columna, 2017). 566 pages.

What to make of the many people we meet throughout our lifetime? Some stay close for years, even decades; others remain close for shorter periods of time, while others simply vanish as quickly as they became part of your inner circle, albeit briefly. Yet as you approach the twilight years, it should be a good idea to look back (not in anger, though) and assess.

But the question remains: is it really that good an idea? Who knows? This is a matter which is probably easier to deal with in fiction than in real life, don’t you think?

‘The two of us’: the title alludes to are Kim and Laura, who meet at university when they have to complete a joint assignment on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It is the 1980s, but theirs is a friendship that grows through the months and years, and grows stronger, too.

“In the late afternoon sun, the lake was a millpond. A bluish calm mirror reflecting every reddish hue of the day that was hiding behind the mountains. Slowly, the night was shadowing the road to Mieres, the Estunes, the Rocacorba summit or Xicu Cabanyes’ Forest of Erotic Sculptures. Perhaps Kim would have liked to see the gigantic cocks at Can Ginebreda? But it was getting dark, and without any daylight the temperature at the Russian fishing house was coming down severely. Laura noticed she was getting a split lip. A while before Kim had wrapped around his neck, as if not meaning to, the blue scarf Laura had taken off so she could zip her leather jacket. But neither of them was in a hurry. Due to the last bits of light, where the water became darker, they thought they could glimpse drops of mercury.” (p. 57, my translation) Photograph by JosepBC.

Kim is the third son of a Barcelona hotel owner, something of an upper-middle class dynasty, the Rafels. His life has been more or less decided for him: complete a degree, join the management team at the hotel and enjoy the perks of belonging to the wealthy. Laura is from Banyoles, her family is not as well-off as Kim’s, but what she lacks in privilege she makes up for with her efforts, intelligence and perseverance.

The Russian-looking fishing house on Lake Banyoles. Photograph by Enfo.

One way or another, life always hits us with heavy blows. In Kim’s case, he wakes up hungover on the day he was supposed to accompany Alex, his eldest brother, to Ibiza in the family boat. Roger, son number two, takes his place. On the way to the island, the boat rams into a half-submerged shipping container. They both perish.

After graduating, Kim and Laura find their own ways. Laura meets a much older English academic, falls for his charm and chooses the peace he irradiates. She goes to live with him England. Soon she specialises in conference interpreting and builds a reputation. After three years or so, she receives a big bunch of flowers from Eric, a much younger man, the manager of a rock band, who has offered her a full-time position. Not much later, she moves in with him.

During those years, Kim has remained in Barcelona, has married Miriam. He still has his fun, plays tennis with his mates and drives his sports car around. He has stayed in touch with Laura via email or the occasional phone call. When she finds out Eric has AIDS and realises she’s been living through a daily Russian roulette with him and the band, she asks Kim for help. The two friends meet in London. Laura decides to return to Barcelona, but Miriam notices there could be something other than friendship. Eventually, and thanks to some not completely explained intervention from Kim, Laura is offered a job in Australia.

“Lakes give cities some respite. The peace of the Serpentine was being shattered only by the clatter of cutlery and trays, the polite rustle of those who were queuing while waiting for the second course – hot stew, grilled steak or some fish unbeknownst to Kim – and the feeble voice of the tanned cashier. No sooner had the rain stopped than two young men from the cleaning services company, easily identifiable because of their green overalls, started drying up the stone benches and tables. Sun-seeking people, both tourists and locals, came out to drink their coffees by the water. The ducks quacked incessantly, perhaps disoriented by the sudden change in the weather. Kim threw away the umbrella, which had already served its purpose, grabbed the apple pie his sweet-toothed father liked so much and, grabbing his suitcase with his other hand went outside to eat it. To take in the cool November air and wait for Laura. Whatever the problem she might have, he was very much looking forward to seeing her. Whatever it was that was the matter with her, and he was hoping it was nothing too serious, he was kind of anxious to meet her again… He felt someone standing behind him was grabbing him by the shoulder.” (p. 297) The Serpentine at Hyde Park. Photograph by Tristan Surtel. 

The story then jumps back to 2016, where the book starts with the party to celebrate that Kim turns 50. Laura has been invited, too. She flies all the way back for the occasion. Kim and Miriam are already divorced. What will happen when the two friends see each other again, after so many years?

Nosaltres dos mostly entertains. There is nothing more to the story than the personal: Bosch does not contextualise the plot or his characters in terms of socio-political issues. If anything, it is just the hotel business and its ups and downs before and after Barcelona becoming the host city for the Olympic Games in 1992. And that’s about it. The language is informal, the plot has few uncalled-for twists and the gross interference from the Rome-based side of the Rafels family adds some mystery and spice to what is, largely speaking, a romance.

In my view, Bosch relies on adopting Kim’s narrative point of view much too heavily. While there may be some depth to his character, this is not the case with Laura. Her side of the story hardly ever comes across as fully convincing.

While this is a piece of fiction, there is however one factual error that I found quite amusing, given that I have lived in Canberra for over a decade. There has never been a Faculty of Translation and Interpreting at the University of Canberra. As a matter of fact, UC no longer  hosts a School of Languages. The Spanish Language Department, for which I was a tutor for one rather forgettable year, was wrecked by its inept managers and other scandalous matters, which are absolutely irrelevant here.

A novel about friendship, love and the passage of time. They say time heals all wounds, and I completely disagree. The proverb is hardly accurate. It is however true that time does not kill off true friendships. Ever.