Of all the new writers I
have read this year, the one that sticks out the most is Daniel Kehlmann. His
novel Fame reminded me a lot of an early Auster book, like The New York Trilogy
or Moon Palace. It had that same kind of intellectual mystery at the heart of
its story that you may or may not have gotten an answer to by the end of the
book. It was a very cool read and I put Kehlmann high on my list when I
rearranged what I was going to be reading this year. So, going in reverse, his
second novel to be published in English, Me and Kaminski, for the most part
very good and much in the same category of Fame, with less metaphysical
implications. The narrator, Sebastian Zollner, a failed art crtici looking to
make a quick buck by writing a biography of obscure artist Manuel Kaminski
right at the time he is supposed to die, comes to represent the worst kind
intellectual: one who decries cheating, stealing, and producing what they see
as terrible work, but never applies that same rule to himself in both his
professional and personal life. He is quite the scoundrel, and when he finally
sets foot in the life and family of Kaminski, we are definitely not on his
side. But Kaminski himself has other plans, and he turns out to be very sneaky
in teaching Zollner a much-needed lesson. The last half of the book is kind of
like a road novel with a few slip-ups, such as a trip to one art gallery that I
was not interested in, but it ends quite swell with a knife like twist in the
life of Zollner that adds a bit of clarity to his situation. A little dry for
an art novice like myself, but a pleasure to read nonetheless.
Rating: 4/5
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