(Original Review, 1981-05-15)
If you like your novels simple and
straightforward, don’t read “Hopscotch”.
If you have an allergy to extended brainy
digressions and convoluted debates, you better avoid “Hopscotch”.
If you abhor puns, double entendre and
wordplay, I most seriously advise you to stay clear of “Hopscotch”.
If you can’t stand literary, philosophical,
musical and artistic references cramming your narrative, I sincerely prompt you
to veer off taking “Hopscotch” from the bookseller’s shelf.
If you like your narrative to be free of phrases,
expressions and vocabulary from languages you don’t know and don't care for,
maybe “Hopscotch” is not a book for you.
Plot is definitely not what matters most in “Hopscotch”,
but I’ll give you the gist of it anyway. Horacio Oliveira is an Argentine expat
living in Paris and sharing rooms with girlfriend la Maga. They belong to a
multinational group of young people who like spending soirées together
discussing books and ideas while listening to jazz. One day Oliveira makes the
acquaintance of obscure writer Morelli and then read some of his unpublished
essays. Change of scenery: Oliveira returns to Buenos Aires where he meets
former best buddie Manú Traveler and his wife Talita. He lives at close
quarters and all three work together in a circus before accepting new jobs in a
lunatic asylum.
That’s it; and yet so much more than that. As a
novel “Hopscotch” seems most difficult to describe and categorise, its main
interest lying in the adventurous linguistic tricks in which Cortázar famously
excels. In a literary style clearly reminiscent of the French surrealists, he
piles allusion upon allusion, citation upon citation to a point an honest soul
might find openly extraneous. The references to authors, artists and musicians
are so overwhelming one would suspect Cortázar of spending his days skimming
aimlessly across Wikipedia entries and lists had he written this novel last
month. As it is, in the early 60s internet didn’t exist, and in any case the
Argentine clearly knows what he’s talking about (although, in all honesty, he
could be a bit less garrulous as regards his cultural tastes and influences,
especially when so evidently outweighing their relevance to the narrative).
“Hopscotch” is famous for its unusual
structure. Divided in 155 chapters of unequal length and split in three
different parts, the reader is invited to take the novel following two
different methods: either obeying the customary process of progressing from
chapter I until the novel’s last page, or engaging in a ‘Table of Directions’
provided by the author and which displays a different order for the reader to
follow. Those who choose the first are not required to go beyond chapter 56,
the last part being comprised of ‘expendable’ material not wholly essential to
the understanding of the novel (so implies Cortázar); the ones who prefer to
follow the Table will jump from chapter to chapter along the book thus getting
a more complete vision of the writer’s intention (or that’s what he says).
I suspect Cortázar of using these instructions
in order to play with us. His theory relies on the fact that most readers are
only interested in the classic plot and will therefore be thankful for being
spared the third section of the novel where much relatively unrelated material
- mostly theoretical - is hotch-potched. On the other hand, not only the first
two sections are also filled with philosophical digressions but the last one
includes chapters that provide snippets of the story after the events described
in chapter 56. If the reader is really interested in knowing what happened he
will do well to read some of this not-so-expendable material. Besides
information accessory to the plot, this last part includes a number of pieces
titled ‘Morelliana’ which expose Morelli’s literary conceptions that together
form a kind of theory of the novel not uninteresting to get acquainted with.
There are two more features worth mentioning
about “Hopscotch.” First, Cortázar’s novel is extremely humorous and can only
be fully appreciated if taken on its playful grounds - the whole book can be
interpreted as one big joke, though one of the chapters sounds clearly more
serious in tone. Second, the Argentine’s interest in avant-garde literature and
experimental narrative techniques inspires some of the most unorthodox moments
in the novel: a whole chapter where two different accounts are overlapped and
can only be individually understood if read every two lines in turn; a chapter
where an obituary notice is transcribed according to an alternative spelling
system where phonemes are ascribed an uniform phonetic realisation; glíglico, a
language composed of imaginary vocabulary of amorous terms devised by la Maga
and Oliveira. And many other ingenious concoctions.
To sum up, “Hopscotch” is not an easy read. One
may even say you’ll only read everything if you’re curious enough about
Cortázar’s techniques and don’t mind about brainy discussions and the many nods
to high-culture. Jovial playfulness surely seems to be a prerequisite. But most
of all, don’t worry if you don’t understand everything; Cortázar clearly wants
to play with you and not everything he exposes in such a convoluted way is
expected to be interpreted as more than an aesthetic incursion into the
fabulous world of literature and art.
On the other hand, and to be honest, I sensed
Rayuela's point was somewhere else, and I don't think I was wrong. If you ask
me I think the male portraits are only sketches: they all sound alike to me,
maybe with the exception of Ferraguto who doesn't sound like anything. But the
women are something else; la Maga, Talita, even the few bits with Pola seem
remarkably done. They're the only interesting people in the novel. The men are
too boring, and bland, and chatty. The beauty of it is that Cortázar doesn't
even say if he jumped/fell at all (but he was really surprised when Rayuela was
called pessimistic and Oliveira - suicidal). He doesn't explain what happened
to la Maga, by the way, not even in the expendable chapters. When it comes to
female characters Cuca Ferraguto is my absolute favourite: charming,
intelligent, oh wait…
NB: “Hopscotch” is sometimes quoted as one of
the literary sources which inspired the Fighting Fantasy adventure books.
