By Chantai P. Meadows
French author Martin Page’s latest offering, "The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection," is disappointing. This, his second novel to receive an English translation following the success of the critically acclaimed "How I Became Stupid," is a sophomore slump embodied.
Although full of intelligent and inventive writing, "The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection," lacks one fundamental element — an interesting story arc that entices readers.
"The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection" follows Virgil, a socially awkward yet self-absorbed loner who is thrown into a journey of self-discovery after a stranger coldly dumps him on his answering machine. The novel’s premise is interesting enough to warrant a thumb-through, but after a few chapters, the slow-moving plot becomes dreadfully tedious. Each chapter, ever so sluggishly guides readers from one scene to the next with no deliberate intention to entertain.
Along the way, readers are invited into the dull world of Virgil that, coincidentally, is filled with out of the ordinary elements that rarely translate into stimulating plot.
Virgil is a peculiar fellow who is obsessed with maintaining the stability provided by his orderly routine. Despite his greatest efforts, his life is marked by curiosities that are more conducive to a life of spontaneity and excitement. Everything in Virgil’s life contradicts his fixation with normalcy: his residence in a whorehouse, his lesbian best friend, his thriving career in advertising and his remarkable sense of style. Even so, Page manages to fit all of these factors neatly into Virgil’s boring world, making them seem just as inconsequential and dreary as Virgil himself.
The only thing encouraging readers to tread on is the sheer possibility that Virgil and the illusive woman on the machine, Clara, will meet.
Beyond a very mild change in Virgil’s personal outlook, nothing happens. That’s right, nearly 200 pages of prose: no action. It was like reading a suspenseful murder mystery sans suspense. It was without climax and a resolution that felt more like a literary surrender (on behalf of the author) than a deliberate ending to a story.
The only thing "The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection" did deliver was mystery. I’m still wondering who Clara is and why she broke up with Virgil in the first place.
Then again, perhaps the novel doesn’t aim to entertain, but instead to provoke thought and self-reflection among readers. In which case, it is successful. Virgil’s character, though terribly boring, is everyman. Beneath his self-assured shell of confidence is an individual who questions virtually everything he does. He is confused, unsure and in constant conflict with his self-perception and the guise he shows the world.
Virgil’s journey reflects a universal experience that everyone endures. In his efforts to find Clara, he evaluates his childhood, relationships, goals and identity. Ultimately, he finds himself, so to speak. In that case, I suppose the discreet pleasures of rejection are the hard lessons experience teaches us.
Perhaps this novel’s real meaning got lost in translation along with the brilliance that made Page’s first book a critical and commercial success.
"The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection" is like a bad episode of "Seinfeld" in novel form. Instead of witty banter between quirky characters facilitated by the humor of everyday life, there’s slow moving, intimate, self-evaluation that’s neither humorous nor entertaining. It’s just plain boring.
"The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection" Review
Martin Page
Penguin Books 2010
182 pages
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