The Blazing World: A Novel

I loved <i> The Blazing World </i> so much because it is both unabashedly erudite (footnotes and a title cribbed from Margaret Cavendish!), stylistically ambitious, and all without sacrificing rich, complex characters, especially Harriet "Harry" Burden, who is coping with tremendous rage and grief at the state of women in the art world in general and the state of her own undervalued brilliance in particular. Hustvedt's writing was a complete revelation to me, particularly her glorious descriptions of Harry's mixed-medium, gender-twisting work and the quirks of her life as the widow of a pre-eminent art dealer, Felix Lord. In the at times dizzying spiral of this collage of "testimonies" that include statements from critics, friends, collaborators, Harry's children and her own writings, we chart the course of Burden's fiery, Whitmaniacal intellectual journey and her rapacious ambitions to be considered a great artist, while Hustvedt manages to name-check herself as a "minor essayist and novelist" and Kierkegaard, Milton, Judith Butler, neuroscience of perception, Emily Dickinson, and numerous other theories of mind and identity that fashion an utterly compelling and deeply moving depiction of the ethics, desire, fame, and American culture at large that reinvigorates my own enduring interest in the interplay of gender theory and the literary and visual arts. It has been a long while since I've been so thoroughly inspired by feminist prose (from a review in <i> Slate </i>!) that I bought a novel without hesitation in hardcover. Hustvedt is not a new voice in fiction, but she is new to me, and I am eager to read her other works and discover what I've been missing. I don't think I've been this excited about a contemporary (non-Irish) novelist since reading Margaret Atwood in 7th grade.

This is a novel that defies all conventions about novel writing. Its format is quite literally like no other novel ever written (that I know of), which is why I bought it and read it. I love it when someone has the courage to break down all the rules. It's wonderful to find yourself in unknown, undiscovered territory. Very refreshing.The novel is different in both form and structure. To begin with, it presents itself like non-fiction. It pretends to be the work of an "editor" who has put together a biography/portrait of a recently deceased contempory artist, Harriet Burden. The (fictitious) editor uses, as is always done in this kind of work, testimonials from art critics, family and friends and extracts from the artist's personal diary.This format enables the author to tell Harriet Burden's story from various points of views. I was struck by the novelist's remarkable ability to change "voice" and convincingly draw a highly sensitive portrait, as Harriet is differently perceived by the people who knew her.From the start, you are told that she has recently shaken the New York art scene, putting on highly successful shows using male artists as "screens" or pseudonyms for her work. She has used three artists, two unknowns and one well-known, for this bizarre project that she has called "maskings" - a project intended to "prove" that one's perception of the art one sees is governed by one's knowledge of the artist. In particular, she wants to show that art made by a man sells better than art made by a woman; that there is a diffuse gender bias in the art world. Harriet Burden's art had never attained prominence when it was shown under her own name but now it suddenly achieves success simply because it is seen by the public as the work of a man.Harriet Burden's plans go awry when Rune, the third artist who is a celebrity in his own right, refuses to reveal that she is the author of the show. He takes on all the critical acclaim, leaving her in the dirt. She smarts from the injustice and as a reader, you smart along with her - which shows how effective the author's writing is.No spoilers and I won't give out more of the plot, except to say that the story is practically known from the start. That's another peculiarity of this novel: there is next to no suspense. You know from the first page that Harriet is dead and you know very soon what happens to the man who betrayed her (the third artist in her "maskings" project).So why do you keep reading? Because of the superb writing of course, and because of something else too. Questions are asked that you never thought of asking. The book is filled with gems - insights into life and art and the human condition. The sort of thing that gives you arresting moments of self-revelation and a deeper understanding of the world around you. To give you an idea: - "...it is not what is said that makes us who we are. More often, it is what remains unspoken" (this came up in connection with Harriet's upbringing and difficult relationship with her father); - "It is my time, and I will not let them take it away from me. The Greeks knew that the mask in the theater was not a disguise but a means of revelation. And now that I have started, I can feel the winds behind me...(Harriet, commenting on her "maskings" project); - "Mostly, the art business has been about men. And when it has been about women, it has often been about correcting past oversights. It is interesting that not all, but many women were celebrated only when their days as desirable sexual objects had passed." - "Human beings are the only animals who kill for ideas." - "Celebrity is life in the third person."Is there anything wrong with this novel?Yes, for anyone looking for suspense. There is none. There is even a slowdown in the middle of the book when it becomes a little too "academic". There's a little too much about art, perception and gender. To a large extent - you're warned! - this is a feminist book. Harriet Burden makes a lot of allusions to philosophers in her diaries, allusions that would get lost or misunderstood without (very academic) footnotes. So you find yourself reading the footnotes. Actually, there's a certain, perverse pleasure in reading them but at times, it does become heavy-going. And perhaps, while the footnotes make sense in a book that pretends to be non-fiction, they certainly detract from the pleasure of reading the book as a novel - in principle, a form that never has any footnotes (unless it's a classic for school use). Hence the 4 stars though I had set out to give it five.My conclusion? It is well worth reading and I highly recommend it. But it really isn't a novel as such - more an intellectual joy ride. Many of the same questions that animate "The Blazing World" recur in Hustvedt's essays, notably in "Living, Thinking, Looking": How do we see, remember, and feel? How do we interact with other people? What does it mean to sleep, dream, and speak? What is "the self"?

Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. I am heartbroken at the ending and in love with this book. It is raw and deeply emotional on the one hand and urbane and intellectual on the other. I want more books like this. I read it slowly just so that I could savor it a little longer. Hustvedt blends PhD-level theoretical analysis with an engrossing tale populated by wonderfully and grotesquely human characters. I identified with Harriet, with her lumpy old lady body, churning emotions, her constant grasping for more, and a brain too canny for her own good. I loved to hate that insufferable moron Oswald Case. I adored Rachel Briefman and Phineas Q. Eldridge and Bruno. I came to appreciate the central importance of the characters who seemed simple and marginal but who were really essential to the lived reality of the main characters all along - the Kirstens and Sweet Autumns of the world, and the Maisies suspended indefinitely between the ordinary and the artistic. Most of the book had an eerie, ominous vibe as the novel meandered towards Rune's peculiar death - but towards the end, the story veered suddenly into the gnawing brutality of Harriet's all-too-recognizable end. I sobbed through the final chapters. Earlier, I laughed. I raged. I analyzed. I was moved, emotionally and intellectually. This book and its characters will stay with me for a very long time. I believe it is the best book I have ever read, to date. It is perfect for readers like me, and a book like this only comes around very rarely. Of course, if you're not into contemporary critical theory, maybe you won't like this book very much. But for me, a PhD student in political theory who still harbors a full-hearted reader of fiction inside me, this book fit just right.

Loved this. There are so many aspect I I can relate to as almost 50 year old woman and visual artist. I do not have kids, but did not paint for three years, and live in a remote area- so there are many ways to make your art life difficult – as if it would be other wise so easy, which this book so perfectly depicts.SPOILER/QUOTES ALERT!About the art world: a character of the critic comments: 'If there's one thing that doesn't fly in the art world, it's an excess of sincerity. 'Character of Rosemary Lerner:' It is interesting that not all, but many women were celebrated only when their days as desirable sexual objects had passed.'(as artists)'The thing that is truly wanted must always be missing. Art dealers have to be magicians of hunger.''..but I doubt anyone can actually separate talent from reputation when it comes down to it.''Art is not allowed to arrive spontaneously unauthored.'And I am sure there have been many many women thinking about a male alter ego. The first time it came in my mind was in the 90's when I was an art student, in a party with older artists, and an old fart shook the hand of my friend, male, but gay, but not mine, because he thought that I was apparently only a girlfriend...Harriet: 'It is so dull, so familiar, so unjust being treated as a woman first, always as a woman. I rebel. Why womanliness first? Why this trait first?'Sorry, digressing. I feel for Harry, I get her. The constant fight because people do not get you could be intelligent, creative, because you are a woman. How DO we perceive? The almost ( but only almost) charicature writings of the male critics and gallerists about the 'situation' were a tragicomedy. But the book is not just setting up opposites of masculine and feminine. There is the mystery of creation, the blending of personalities, the subconscious needs, the traumas that affect everybody. Then there is the thought about the accuracy of memories, which I can also relate to - I mix my memories and tv-series already! With maturation, some 'dear' memories become unimportant or vague stamps of childish moments in one's life. And some other, like a smell of a forest after rain, become dear.I like this every character gets a voice– form. I liked the description of the urge to create, and the importance of validation. Harry was obsessed to get it 'from all' which, understandable, was also hubris. As was Rune's whole career. What part is a need for exhibitionism, and what an creative act? Where do you draw the line with some artists?There were funny moments as well, Bruno's parts, the crystal girl. And the dying scene was great!I underlined a lot of things:'All thoughts of revenge are born of the pain of helplessness.''Human beings are the only animals who kill for ideas.'About Singularity: 'A Zeus dream that avoids the organic body altogether. Brand-new creatures burst forth from men's heads. Presto! The mother and her evil vagina disappears.'Life is multifaceted. Harry had her children, love, creativity, talent, wit, and a few good friends. I really came to like her character. She had even brutal ambition, but not enough compared to the beast of the art world. I recommend.

Brillant, passionnant alors que les thèmes abordés sont complexes. Personnage de H.B inoubliableSiri Hustvedt est une très grande auteure américaine contemporaine

This is an angry book. Mainly about, as far as I could tell, a spiteful, hostile, aging (I think unattractive -- it was hard to get this straight) woman, her obsessive self-pity and her silly acts of revenge. Why should I care? I certainly didn't like her. Beyond the vitriol, I honestly couldn't make sense of what it was all about and why any of it mattered. And it's a long book. The nasty, backstabbing art world of New York? Actually, this sounds like it could be an interesting premise, but it wasn't, in fact, at all. Are all the hundreds of esoteric artistic references and names in the book supposed to impress or educate? I found them really tiresome. I should add that "What I Loved" is on my list of favourite books, and I ordered this one as soon as I heard it was out. In other words, I really wanted to like it. Unfortunately, this angry book made me so angry for wasting my time that I had to toss it.

All'inizio si rimane perplessi, in una sorta di sospensione tra la realtà di un saggio e la fantasia dì un romanzo. Poi, via via che si avanza, si apprezza la genialità della trama. Affascinante spaccato sul mondo dell'arte contemporanea...

This is an astonishing work. Inspired, inspiring, perceptive, maddening, ludic, knowing, funny and sexy, all wrapped up in a great narrative. Oh, Harry! I wept at your sorrows and was upstanding and cheering for your triumphs - of which there were many, many, many.Although I've very much enjoyed Siri Hustvedt's other work, to me, this is the masterpiece. It's all just come together a lot better - which is strange in that the manuscript is made up of so many different kinds of texts. Anyone who has ever kept a notebook (or dozens at the same time) will love Harriet Burden's own notebooks, and the literary ventriloquism on display with the other voices in the novel is bravura stuff.Elsewhere, people have mentioned that there are a lot of references (and there are) but for my money, they are delivered so expertly they never intruded (although I read a Kindle version, and had I realised there would be so many, I would have preferred the ease of an actual book to flick through). The references all contribute to the verisimilitude of the academic voices, and it never hurts to be gently reminded that it's never too late to take another look at Kierkegaard and Husserl.The language is sublime. Sublime, I tell you. My Kindle highlighting feature just could not keep up. So rich, inventive, evocative, playful, and wise. I can't think of where I've ever seen lexicon as leitmotif, or the cumulative effect of synonyms used with such virtuosity. Oh, wait, it's just hit me. It was in Joyce's 'Portrait of an Artist'. But actually, Hustvedt's 'Portrait' is infinitely more readable. This is the 'Portrait' for the 21st Century, and without wishing to deploy spoilers, the less said about the young man, the better for now.The art world is not new territory for Hustvedt, and although I would never have believed it before I read this, it turns out that in 'What I Loved' (which I also loved) she was just warming up. She excels at creating the art-works on the page, and I came away from each of Harry's gallery openings feeling I knew the shows inside and out. At one point the inimitable Louise Bourgeois is name checked, and it struck me that the pervading feelings I experienced while reading the novel were very much akin to those I'd felt the first time I heard about 'Precious Liquids' for Dokumente, or while seeing the Bourgeois retrospective a few years ago at Tate Modern. Or indeed, Judy Chicago's 'The Dinner Party' or Niki de St Phalle's 'Tirs' or 'Hon', or her exuberant Nana's, which Harry's works seemed to be inviting us to re-rejoice in.In sum, I loved it, and I'll be looking out for a paper copy for my next read.