Gerhard Köpf

I have wasted my life, he could be heard to say, had anyone been listening to him, and his whole half-lived life seemed to him to consist of nothing but little habits.

This buried book was probably bought remaindered at an outlet twenty years ago. It was a younger Jon who was probably excited by the name of the Maestro in the title. There is no recollection of whether Jon attempted to read the book then.

This a weird hangover of an exercise, the author bending one of Borges' paradoxes upon itself. This then becomes a fugue of sorts on invention and failure. The academic protagonist travels to Macao for a conference and in the delirium of Tiananmen Square dredges up memories of filth and misdeed. These sections are more prose poems but consequently sort of degrade the connective tissue of the novel, allowing recurring themes to bob to the surface but with diminished effect. Jon can relate to diminished effect. Is someone reading Jon?… (meer)