A book to my tastes: The writing is atmospheric, condensed, and lyrical, with wordplay and literary references; it's sometimes funny; the narrator is unreliable and of great psychological interest; it transfixedmy attention; and there are questions left unanswered.

Rupert is accused of a crime, and the novel comprises statements he makes to the court in three hearings. Much of his account is of his love for Mira, the ideal woman he has lost, but his meanderings into other matters--the city as a repository of memories, the ideal public square, e.g.--are every bit as interesting and every bit as revealing, if less obviously so, of Rupert's personality and of his drive to be now a spectator, now the cynosure.

The word-play begins with the subtitle, is apparent in Mira's name, and continues. There are phrases, just as there are some characters, that recur in varying circumstances throughout the book. And the literary references are used beautifully: Nabokov, Eliot, Algonquin Round Table habitues, classical writers and more are all worked in in, but with a light and usually comic touch, and their very presence tells us something about Rupert.

I skimmed some online reviews after finishing this, and some of them complained that the book was prurient or that it contained deeply upsetting scenes. It's true that a horrible crime is described, but because it's done so at second hand in poetic language the account of it isn't gruelling.

This is a book I'll read again, for several reasons: No doubt I'll find details and references I missed in this reading; oblique references to trial evidence near the end put a different slant on the previous pages; I want to read it even more closely, as Pfeijffer seems so intelligent a writer that I think he's chosen each character, each episode, and each word with very great care; and simply because it's a page-turner that's also great fun. Clever cover design as well.

Pfeijffer wekt vaak de indruk samen het spel te willen spelen 'hoe van niets iets te maken'. Hij mixt maniërisme (alles onecht) met een voorkeur voor het vulgaire/onttakelende, wat bij hem het patina van echtheid heeft. In dit geval onder andere een held die peepshows bezoekt. Ik ben geneigd erin te trappen, wat me verbaast, want het is in zijn soort een bouquetreekssjabloon.

Dit keer vond ik het wat erg gewrongen, de constructie te zichtbaar, het disbelief niet langer op te schorten. Pfeijffer is niet overtuigend waar dan ook om bekommerd. Eerste kandidaat zou zijn geweest: de vreemde wegen van het verlangen. Maar Rupert blijft teveel een pion, de auteur te weinig met hem begaan. ( )

In this novel by Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, we learn immediately that Rupert has been accused of a horrible crime, but we know nothing of the specifics. The novel is structured as a confessional monologue, and Rupert begins his defense for the jury by describing the end of his relationship with Mira, his cherished lover. Emotionally devastated, Rupert wanders the city seeking satisfaction of his desires but finding only memories: “I sought her in vain in the mirrors and found instead the twinkling emptiness of memory and longing.”

Like an expert performer, Rupert maintains a taut suspense by slowly revealing, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously, the important details of his story. His monologue is littered with early, subtle signs of his lunacy, such as his explanation of why he's an expert at all martial arts after only "a couple of lessons": "Those born to the Path see through the principles of every martial art and assimilate them into their soul without having to get bogged down in the details of the particular techniques." Delusional, surely, but also quite humorous. As the monologue progresses, the humor subsides, and Rupert’s delusions become ever more menacing. Rupert constantly plays with the distinctions between performers and audience, exhibitionists and voyeurs. Eventually, like many violent criminals, Rupert views himself as existing outside of his body and its actions; he becomes "the voyeur of his own exhibitionism."

Pfeijffer’s lyrical prose shows heavy influences of Nabokov: “Mira, my sugar-sweet, shimmering Mira, my masochism, my martyrdom, light of my lips, lymph of my cyanic sadness, sea of my swan dive, salt on my howling wounds, wait for me and let me find you.” These lines (so beautifully translated by Michele Hutchinson) reveal the depth of Rupert’s obsession with Mira and hint at the trouble to come.

This masterfully constructed novel culminates in a scene that might be the most powerful description of a crime I’ve ever read. As to be expected with the stories of psychopaths, Rupert is sexually explicit and loaded with the worst kinds of violence. If that’s okay with you, this glimpse into the twisted mind of a criminal will blow you away.

This review also appears on my blog Literary License. ( )