Yet-another writer for me to try to read more by. This reminded me most of Flann O'Brien - who's one of my favorite writers & whose bk "The Dalkey Archive" I presume (perhaps incorrectly) to be the source for the name of the press that published "Case Closed" (& many other bks that interest me).

Ouředník is a Czech ex-pat living in France & he's pretty down on Czechs. That's interesting for me given that I only experience Czech culture thru the work of people like Vera Chytilova & Jan Svankmayer - 2 of my favorite filmmakers - &, therefore, have a high opinion of Czech culture. Of course, such creative folks are the exception to the rule in any culture so I reckon the Czechs are as much a mess as any other people in any other country.

Given that I'm writing this 'review' in the 10 minutes before I have to leave to go to a job where I'll be tearing walls down all day, wch I don't feel like doing at all, & given that I'm exhausted right now, perhaps this 'review' is 'best' made by quoting the entirety of "Chapter 24", thereby making this a "spolier" of sorts:

"Readers! Does our story seem rambling? Do you have the feeling that the plot is at a standstill? That, generally speaking, nothing much is going on in the book you now hold in your hands? Do not despair: Either the author's a fool or you are; the odds are even. Others have died and so shall we, we'll die, oy vey, alack, alas! Who on earth knows how on earth it will turn out! Sometimes a person gets tangled up in his own life without realizing it; and the same is true of characters in novels.

"You ask, How will it end? But that, dear readers, we cannot reveal. We began this story with no clear aim or preconceived idea. How will it turn out, we haven't a clue. We're in the same boat as you, or almost, since at this moment, as you read our book, our work is done; the book is out, you bought it, invested part of your earnings in the hope that it would pay off in the form of spiritual dividends. We don't mean to be impolite, we have no intention of committing cheap provocations, and yet, and yet: what do we care? We've assumed the majority of responsibility; now it's up to you to patiently bear your share."

& that's a pretty good taste of the underpinnings of the bk except that it really is more complicated than that AND it really is a mystery & a novel of social observation & a critique of Czechs & a playful thing, etc.. AND it seems to me that the translation is probably pretty good b/c I enjoyed the language. So there. ( )

3.4 stars.

I seem to have inordinate patience with Czech humor and absurdity so I thoroughly enjoyed Case Closed, a book about (I use "about" loosely) a cranky retired man, a police inspector, and some crimes. I thought the book was oddly enjoyable, even if (or maybe because?) I'm not quite sure what I read.

(There's more about Case Closed on my blog, here.) ( )

About two thirds of the way through this fun but mystifying book, Ouředník writes:

"Reader! does our story seem rambling? Do you have the feeling that the plot is at a standstill? That, generally speaking, nothing much is going on in the book you now hold in your hands? Do not despair: Either the author's a fool or you are; the odds are even. Others have died and so shall we, we'll die, oy vey, alack, alas! Who on earth knows how on earth it will turn out? Sometimes a person gets tangled up in his own life without realizing it; and the same is true of characters in novels.

You ask: how will it all end? But that, dear readers, we cannot reveal. We began this story with no clear aim or preconceived idea. How it will turn out, we do not know; whether it will turn out, we haven't a clue. . . . ." p. 90

So what is this book about? On the surface, it is the story of an elderly man who once wrote a book and who lives in what appears to be an apartment building for retired people, a building in which there was a fire that might have been arson, his son who may be somewhat retarded, a cabin they might have owned in the mountains where a crime might have been committed decades ago, and a police detective who is apparently lackadaisically investigating. Chess is somehow involved too, and sex, and some pointed remarks about the Czech and Czech writers.

I read this book almost a week ago, but haven't had time to review it until now, and it's been puzzling me all this time. It seems to be, in some way, about life and death, and I think it tries to mirror the randomness and sometimes meaninglessness of life, and I also think it may be about memory, and how we remember what happened in earlier stages of our life. But really, as Ouředník says above, I haven't a clue.

I did enjoy it, although perhaps not as much as Ouředník's The Opportune Moment, 1855, which I really liked when I read it earlier this year and which inspired me to get this book too. Parts of it are very funny, and Ouředník (and his translator) really have a way with words, as the excerpt I quoted above shows. I really wonder how the translator went about translating all the wordplay; it read very well in English but I do wonder in cases like a line which reads "he couldn't have gotten laid if he'd been an egg," which is very funny in English, but could Czech possibly have the same expression or is this the translator taking a different joke in Czech and finding an English equivalent? I'm not complaining about this because all the wordplay was a lot of fun and so I was impressed by the translation, but I'm just interested in how translation works.

Sur la première page, le diagramme d'une partie d'échec. Suivent quelques chapitres qui semblent mettre en place un roman policier sympathique, avec deux principaux protagonistes : un vieux misanthrope aigri se moquant de ses semblables jeunes ou moins jeunes, et un inspecteur enquêtant sur plusieurs crimes et accidents, dont le suicide qui inaugure le livre. Cela se passe dans un quartier de Prague où le soleil estival infuse la nonchalance, avec maison de retraite et bancs publics, offrant le cadre idéal où se poser pour disputer une bonne partie d'échecs.

Et c'est dans un jeu similaire que le lecteur se laisse entraîner. Car après ces coups d'ouverture ou l'on pensait avancer sur un terrain connu, la partie va se complexifier sacrément.

Les pistes ne manquent pas, des liens apparaissent entre les personnages. Mais tout reste vague et on sent que le propos du livre se trouve au delà de l'énigme policière. L'auteur l'avoue lui-même, et la postface nous conforte dans cette vision, tout en nous donnant quelques hypothèses tout de même. Le rythme de lecture ressemble à celui d'une partie d'échecs : chaque chapitre, court, limpide, drôle, apporte un nouvel éclairage, de nouveaux questionnements sur le roman, comme le fait pour un joueur d'échec chaque coup de son adversaire. Le lecteur essaie de comprendre comment ce qu'il vient de lire s'emboîte dans le reste de la structure, il émet des suppositions sur les possibles développements. C'est son coup. Alors il peut se plonger dans le chapitre suivant, en espérant que ce qu'il a imaginé ne soit pas mis en défaut par l'auteur.

Il me reste l'impression bizarre et agaçante d'être passé à côté de l'histoire, de ne l'avoir pas saisie, tout en sachant que des relectures aboutiront au même résultat et que probablement le but de l'auteur était de justement provoquer ce sentiment. ( )