Book Review
by Jason Helms
Only RevolutionsBy Mark Z. Danielewski
One of the greatest potential pitfalls awaiting any critically acclaimed new author is the follow-up. Six years ago Mark Danielewski earned himself a place among the greats with his debut "novel," House of Leaves. A dizzying journey through horror and literary theory, House quickly garnered a cult following. Readers reacted to two main facets: heterodox typography and a story strong enough to overcome its own gimmickry. Danielewski's frenzied fans have spent the past few months eagerly discussing his next book, Only Revolutions, on the author's website-www.houseofleaves.com--leaving the less rabid among them to wonder whether it could possibly live up to the buzz.
Readers and re-readers of House of Leaves have no choice but to see for themselves. Pick up a copy of Only Revolutions and a pound or two of coffee-you'll need it. It seems that Danielewski's ideal reader has not only an ideal case of insomnia, but an insomnia induced by House of Leaves. Only Revolutions demands more than an eagerness at new fiction; it demands a love of its author inspired by his previous work.
If, however, your first taste of Danielewski was a mere paragraph ago, I must warn you away. To jump into Only Revolutions without a certain sense of determinacy would be foolhardy, and I would recommend it to none. Only Revolutions is one of the most important books to come out in recent years, but, as with all important books, it is also one of the more difficult. For those undaunted by such adversity, the reward is substantial: Only Revolutions is the joint that smokes you.
The novel interweaves circles and lines, ones and zeroes, leading to the true theme: binaries and technology. While Danielewski calls it, "a very simple story about two kids, perpetually sixteen, who give up everything except each other," Only Revolutions quickly subsumes much more than their story and becomes anything but simple.
Sam-green eyes flecked with gold-and Hailey-gold eyes flecked with green-meet and embark on a cross country road trip through the center of America. Along the way they meet various sundry folk and stop their journey for a not-so-occasional roll in the hay. They love like only sixteen-year-olds can: completely.
All this is well and good, but none of it addresses the strangeness, the absolute singularity, of this novel.
The dust jacket features two eyes, each filling an entire cover. On the first side, a green iris surrounds a pupil in which we find the words, "MARK DANIELEWSKI / ONLY REVOUTIONS / a novel." Flipping the book vertically we see a gold eye featuring the same description. The idea is that one may start at either end, indeed at both ends simultaneously (the "publisher" recommends starting at one side and alternating after every eight pages).
I chose Sam's side. The title page calls the novel, "Mark Danielewski's Only Revolutions, by Sam." Hailey's side describes her as the author. The first page after the copyright page features the epigraph, "You were there," which serves both to set it in opposition to House’s "This is not for you" and to welcome all to the rest of the novel. I was next greeted by a gigantic "S" filling the entire page, reminiscent of Ulysses' initial letter. Then follows,
Contraband!
I can walk away
from anything.
Everyone loves
the Dream but I kill it.
The free verse evokes Walt Whitman, William Carlos Williams, and Wallace Stevens. Just to the left of Sam's first ninety words (yep, ninety), lies a chronological list of world events told in bullet statements starting on November 22, 1863. Just below Sam’s text, filling the bottom third of the page, Hailey is finishing her novel upside down with, that’s right, her final ninety words. Each page has 180 words, the novel has 360 pages, and the numeric allusions to circles have only begun.
Hailey's story begins parallel to November 22, 1963 on Sam's 360th page with,
Grand!
I can walk away
from anything.
Everyone loves
the Dream but I kill it.
A quick visit to the OED reveals the end of the story in the first line-I'm not sure that any other dictionary would have both samsara ("The endless cycle of death and rebirth to which life in the material world is bound") and samarra ("A kind of cassock, painted with flames, etc., worn on the way to execution by persons condemned by the Inquisition to be burnt").
There is a certain rhyming that works its way parallel through each story (e.g. "grand" and "contraband"). Danielewski's rhyming, however, encompasses more than just the aural. Whole ideas are rhymed and slant-rhymed, as the reader is brought into a more complex relationship with text, circles, and binaries. "Free" becomes reflected into "feer." Sam's summersault becomes Hailey's belly-flop.
The story is slow going at first-not only because one has to continuously keep four separate narratives in mind (two stories and two chronologies) as well as the various nexi and plexi made up by comparing any two or more. Sam begins with 19th century slang and Hailey speaks from the sixties, yet they both describe the same (or nearly) sequence of events-each from their own perspective.
The linear narrative (and despite what some reviewers have said, it is linear) is extremely difficult to glean from each character's perspective. But when they are placed in relation to each other, the story arises. Though they often present irreconcilable differences, Danielewski is quick to show us that the key is in connecting not just narratives, but themes. Given just a circular pattern, we are left with mere repetition. Likewise, mere emphasis on binary only stresses difference, not combination. However, throughout the book, the amalgam of narratives rises out of the page with a double-helical certainty-simultaneously circular and opposing.
Alternating between stories was made easier by the addition of two ribbon bookmarks-one green, one gold. As I approached the center, the space on the pages became more and more shared, until at page 180, each character gets exactly one half page. Likewise, Sam's page 180 is right above Hailey's 181 and vice versa. It is at this point that the poetry gains a third (or possibly fourth or fifth) dimension: Sam's story begins reflecting, line by line, Hailey's story going on below it. This mind-blowing paralleling and reflecting continues through the rest of the book.
But alas, I cannot adequately describe this moment. In fact, no one can. The novel cannot be described linearly, and that is one of its greatest assets: it is inherently technological. Danielewski invited readers of his first book to submit, via the internet, historical events which were then added into the marginal chronology, allowing every reader to have a part in the creation of the book. At the same time, its structure is irreproducible online: there are no ribbons on your monitor, nor can it be turned upside down.
Not only is this one of the first major literary events to integrate online discussion into its creation, but it is also one of the first to anticipate its own digital reproduction by making digital reproduction an impossibility. The action of flipping the book every eight pages and of ending exactly where you began are as much a part of the story as the narrative is-possibly more so.
Some might argue that the real story is not the linear narrative at all, but the conversation(s) between narratives, chronologies, reverse narratives, and parallel narratives. Danielewski has betrayed an obsession with binaries—with contradicting the principle of non contradiction, including the previously excluded middle, and turning the principle of identity quite literally on its head.
One of the most intriguing conversations is between the chronologies and the narratives. Sam and Hailey each speak from their own time period within their own lingo: whereas Sam is "orbited by beatniks," Hailey parallels his "Oh yes," with, "Foshizzle zup."
Hovering behind these connections is the story of the United States and the binaries that have made it. As I read the chronology, I became concerned by some approaching events—namely 9-11 and Katrina. How might Danielewski treat these? Is there a tasteful, yet critically responsible way to address such contemporary events in a novel?
My concerns were dismissed as soon as I got there. Having read one-hundred and fifty years of US History in bullet statements full of various goings (Danielewski’s favorite term for death), there is something oddly reassuring about reading "Hurricane Katrina, 1,383 go." I found a kind of spacing here—space between event and narrative, between reader and event—and it is just this kind of space that both distanced me from painful experiences and united me with the grand historical continuum in which we are always situated. This simultaneous expanding and closing of distance may be what the book is really about.
Only Revolutions is the story of Us—Hailey and Sam, America and readers and author united—against Them—violence, death, sex without love, love without sex, and the binaries themselves. At the pinnacle we are given the key: choice itself is the way out of the binary. And though this way out is indescribable in words, it can certainly be experienced. Only Revolutions is that experience.
In just two novels, Mark Danielewski has taught more kids to read than Dr. Seuss. House of Leaves taught us that reading isn’t just for nerds, nothing can be compartmentalized, and difficult books are worth it. Now Only Revolutions has stretched each of these lessons: reading will make you cool (but in a nerdy way), compartments themselves must be done away with, and difficult books never end. Just like a circle.
Book: Only Revolutions
Publisher: Pantheon Press
Website: www.onlyrevoltutions.com
Available at: Wherever fine books are sold
Price: $26.00
Would I recommend it?
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