November 17, 2011

Review: ‘How The Days Of Love & Diptheria’ by Robert Kloss

-Edward Mullany
"How The Days Of Love & Diptheria" by Robert Kloss (Mud Luscious Press/Nephew Series, 2011)

Who or what is the antagonist in Robert Kloss’s novella, How The Days Of Love & Diptheria?

Or is there an antagonist to speak of?

The book is written in the second person; it is about “you”, a vague yet powerful individual or force that seems intent on bringing the apocalypse. I say “seems” because it’s possible that the violence that comprises this “apocalypse” is merely a consequence of a different mission, one that involves the pursuit of a nameless boy whose parents “you” have already slain. Across the countryside, and through the years, this boy hides and persists, desperate at first, terrified of “your black masks and long teeth”, living under the soil as “your horses thundered the hillsides”.  Later, by his wits, and through a little violence of his own, the boy returns to civilization (which has already been decimated by that diptheria of the title); he lives among people, falls in love, procreates, only to see his son killed in an onrush of light and noise that he and his wife somehow survive. An explanation or motive for any of this isn’t given.  Animals fall from the sky.

This is the plot of the book as best I can describe it. It is a beautiful and original piece of writing, though strange and contradictory. We are told that this is the story “of what you did and what the boy intended to do…the story of how the boy followed you and yours.” But while we are witness to the first part - what you did - we never quite see the second part - where the boy follows you. Or, though we do see him follow you, we see that he lacks urgency, so that he appears to not be following you. He becomes distracted. Love happens to him. He moves from place to place in a way that might be aimless. And toward the end, when he thinks to himself, “I should have killed them,” it seems that he means “you”, though he never appeared to have a chance to kill you.

But the contradictions, if that is what they are, are less a problem than a part of the story’s structure. The very first paragraph includes the caveat, “Few stories so conflicted as who was found and how they were found,” and goes on to describe the opposing ways the parents may have been slain. This is followed by one of the story’s central images - a house that burns without being consumed. Evoking the story of Moses, who hears the voice of Yahweh rising from a bush that “was alight, yet did not burn”, the episode lends the story a prophetic or holy tenor. We recognize that the world of the story is not a world we entirely know. Things can happen that ‘can’t’ happen. And because the house in question had belonged to the boy’s parents, we are now prepared to witness the events of the boy’s life in similar terms, as paradoxical.

 

Yet what eludes me still is who or what is the source of destruction in the story. It is a question I don’t think can be fully answered. And I don’t want it to be fully answered, because it’s the mystery the story depends on. We can say the antagonist is “you”, but why isn’t it the boy?  The boy only seems to be the protagonist because the narrative follows him. There’s no clear moral high ground that he inhabits.  Having been orphaned himself, he murders another boy early in the story, and takes that boy’s place in a family that isn’t his own.  His vengeance isn’t wreaked so much as wasted.  

And what further can we say about “you” anyway? At times you are characterized as a man or men on horseback - as in, “Now you appeared on the horizon, a dim line of seven figures, vibrating against an open chasm.” At other times you are associated with a flash that is nuclear in its savagery - an “impossible roar” that accompanies “light of a thousand, thousand candles.” Your face is never seen. You are one and you are many. Are you mortal? Are you the divine, or an aspect of the divine?  

A quality of apocalyptic art is that it is cautionary. The beauty of that quality is that it’s ambiguous; it doesn’t lay blame in any specific way. It says, rather, “This is what your world may become”, and it allows us to conjecture as to why.

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“How The Days Of Love & Diptheria” published by Mud Luscious Press/Nephew, 2011 (50 pages, $10) 

The first painting above is “Burning House with Clapboards” (2007) by Lois Dodd. The second painting is “Saturn Devouring His Son” (ca. 1819) by Francisco Goya.

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