Memory and Light in Fosse's 'The Other Name' (Septology I-II) (2019)

'Art Happens.'

Fosse referred to this Heidegger maxim when considering his writing process of Septology, the mammoth 15,000 page work of which 'The Other Name' is the first instalment.

I started reading The Other Name in a Pret waiting for a friend. I knew nothing about it except that it was a Fitzcarraldo. Those plain blue paperbacks that tell you nothing about the world between its covers besides it's title and author. My eyes ran over the first few lines. There was a brief moment of surprise. By the first page turn, I found myself compulsively following the endless sentence spilling across the page. There was no space to breathe. Like stumbling on quicksand, I slowly and inevitably sunk deeper into Asle's trance-like, seamless inner dialogue. I left the glaring Pret lighting and disappeared into the gentle glimmer of a Norwegian winter.

The Other Name unspools across two days in the lives of two 'Asle's, two versions of the same man. Asle A, an old painter, widower, and cynical Catholic. Asle B, an old painter, bachelor, and chronic drunk. Asle A lives in a small town, Dylgja, Asle B lives in another town a long drive away, Bjørgvin.The novel takes place between the two towns, and in the memory and consciousness of the two Asles. People, place, and time converge in the flow of Fosse's quiet prose. Memories are lived concurrently with the present. Inner turmoil is blended with routine worries. Consciousness converges and diverges. Identity coalesces and then drifts apart. All these impossible transitions happen seamlessly, the point of rupture skilfully hidden from the reader.

This may sound completely alienating and obscure. But there is something intensely familiar in Asle's internal ramblings. It reflects the texture of our daily consciousness. Musings on art, light, and religion meld with our everyday preoccupations of keeping warm, of resting well, of not offending the neighbour. There is a universality in the memories that float to the surface on long drives; the way we slip back into our childhood before we sleep; what we want for breakfast; the worn coats and bags that are the constant of our days; the snap decisions that determine our lives.

It's difficult to explain the sorcery of Fosse's prose. The only starting point is the form itself. Asle's stream of consciousness is one that is cyclical and metamorphosing. There is a gentle pulsing to the text. Phrases repeat until we are lulled into a meditative state. The repetitions imbue the lines with a cadenced rhythm where the words themselves seem to dig for something buried, something essential. This free-flow teases out the threads of conscious lives until you, the reader, are in a directionless whirlpool with nothing to anchor you but the next word on the page.

At times, it's exhilarating. At others, it's excruciating. To read The Other Name is to dive into a fluid world constructed through layers of thought, memory and philosophy. On trying to describe it to customers and colleagues, I could only say this: it's an experience. A colleague perfectly encapsulated the reading experience when he quipped: "I loved it....but I also hated it."

Fosse's Japanese translator has said that Fosse's work brings to mind Rothko's quiet and nebulous paintings. Asle ruminates on the place of light in his works. He pursues this light as he paints. Fosse's writing also seems to be grasping towards some higher illumination. Persevering through his pages, we are with him on that journey.

Reading The Other Name is to be pulled towards a deep meditation on life's essentials: art, light, and faith. It's also an exploration into the haphazardness of fate, the fickleness of being, and living, and loving, and having. All this is gently swept up and unravelled in these first volumes of Septology. I can only expect that those to come onto English shelves will be a continuation of Fosse's galloping genius.