Classics Review: Nightwood is a long lament for a lost love. A love triangle leads to suffering (as they do) for all concerned. Nora was in love with Robin who left her for (that cow) Jenny and now they've gone off to America: "Robin was an amputation that Nora could not renounce." Commentary on everyone and everything is provided in lengthy Joycean monologues by Dr. Matthew-Mighty-grain-of-salt-Dante-O'Connor, who is not a doctor but is both man and woman. Although the story is set in Paris in the Twenties, everyone is miserable, grotesque, and hopeless, at least as seen through this cry of anguish from the grieving, in denial, and so very sad Nora (which was also Joyce's wife's name): "In death Robin would belong to her." This tragedy, however, is cloaked in the guise of a sometimes impenetrable, modernist tour de force worthy of Woolf or Joyce. It's not plot or logic driven; the plot could be condensed to about 45 pages or so. Mostly Nightwood is a book to dive into and try to stay afloat. Let it operate on a less conscious or rational level. Fortunately it's a short book which makes this possible. I'm not sure it would be a feasible reading experience if this book went on for 500 pages. The novel generally and the monologues of the Doctor particularly contain ornate, rococo-meets-Gothic language that reminded me of the enameled prose of Anaïs Nin. Also that of Joyce, Woolf, Beckett, and Tom Stoppard in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Notable company. Fans of Nightwood include William Burroughs, Dylan Thomas, and of course T.S. Eliot (who wrote the Introduction for this edition). Although hailed as an early masterpiece of lesbian literature, it makes the life of lesbians sound miserable and desperate, although no characters in the book have a good time of it. In Barnes' view human existence is suffering. Or perhaps her experience was none too happy; in later years she adamantly refused to be labeled a lesbian. The story centers on Robin, of whom we learn little (we never get her point of view), the lover of a number of women and men. The reader never learns why she is so irresistible, only that she seems a blank slate on which various characters project themselves. "She always lets her pets die. She is so fond of them, and then she neglects them, the way that animals neglect themselves." On the other hand, there's the peripheral character of the Doctor who serves as the Greek chorus and of whom we know too much. Periodically he gives out with both humor and wisdom: "The only people who really know anything about medical science are the nurses, and they never tell; they'd get slapped if they did." The reader is inundated with his point of view which gives Barnes the opportunity to spread her Joycean wings. An odd, one of a kind novel, a tragedy of obsession, and really the whole of her reputation. At one point Barnes, in the voice of the Doctor states what is at the center of Nightwood: "You are always writing to Robin. Nothing will curb it. You've made her a legend." Later the Doctor says, "So love, when it has gone, taking time with it, leaves a memory of its weight." Nora replies, "She is myself. What am I to do?" [4★]
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