Shrike by Quentin S. Crisp is a rather odd book, and I think it would be best described as a work of surrealistic introspection. Brett, disheartened by a recent breakup, feeling lost in life, is spending a month in Japan, where he hopes to finally get his life in order. Here, under the comforting companionship and motherly hospitality of his friend, the widow Kunisada, he can relax, let his thoughts flow, and leisurely ponder his troubles. Within this bubble of detached cogitation, the narrative meanders between Brett’s dull existence, his comfortable familiarity with exotic Japan, and his occasionally surreal imagination.

Let’s be upfront about this: most readers are unlikely to enjoy Shrike. As its first paragraph warns, this is a story in which nothing happens. Instead, we have lengthy discussions of Brett’s thoughts on romance, of Japanese literature, and of such trivia as Brett’s reading material or the types of plants in a garden; these invariably felt to me like digressions, except that there’s no main thrust to the story to be digressed from. In lieu of plot twists, the story’s milestones are the occurrences of new ideas or concepts—some coming from Brett’s comparisons of Japanese life and literature to their Western counterparts, and others springing by free association from symbols and significance he perceives around him. I think that to the readers who find resonance in Shrike will find it lulling them into a dreamlike atmosphere—dwelling endlessly on minutiae and on lingering regrets, with moments of symbolism which is striking but opaque, and with many dreamlike realizations of something which suddenly seems obvious and sensible, and yet when looked back upon or when considered more deeply, they seem silly and irrational. But readers who have more difficulty sliding into such atmosphere and voice (a group which includes this reviewer) will be constantly wondering what the point is, is this going anywhere, what is supposed to hold their attention, why they are supposed to be interested in these interminable ramblings, and is it really possible that they’ve just read another and yet still nothing has happened?

Though Shrike is a novella that will probably feel inaccessible to the common reader, I didn’t feel any sense of pretension. Crisp makes it clear he doesn’t expect Shrike to be popular nor precisely profound, from the opening “nothing happens” caveat, to the discussions of the Japanese I-novel:

“I’m not sure the I-novel would really appeal to people from other cultures. Do you know what its essence is?… You know, nothing really happens in the I-novel. Really nothing at all. It’s just a description of daily life with no movement and nothing like the tension or future-direction focus of a plot. But it’s something that we Japanese find very reassuring. You know, we’re a very domestic people. When we read the I-novel it’s as if we’re checking everything is there.” Relaxing naturally into his explanation, and becoming it, the curator now spontaneously grabbed at various objects on the desk before him in the manner of someone making sure of their presence: “Oh, the teapot’s here. Oh, the rice cooker is here. The pen is here. The table is here. Oh, the writing paper is here.’ Etcetera. It’s reassuring for us to be surrounded by these familiar things. And all we have is this day filled with these things. If we multiply this day a few thousand times, that’s our whole life.”

It’s just a very specific taste and style, which some people will get and others won’t. If anything, I think it’s a shame the beginning doesn’t seem to call more openly to those who are Crisp’s natural audience, who might not get far enough through the tamer opening to find the novella’s later strengths. At any rate, this is certainly a very different style of storytelling than what I’m used to seeing, and if the pool of readers who might appreciate the blending of Japanese and English literature is a tad small, perhaps the pool of those who would find this surreal introspection something new and novel is somewhat larger.

Publisher: PS Publishing (2009)
Price: £10.00 [$15.00]
Hardcover: 114 pages
ISBN: 978-1906301378