The Absurdly Real

The Absurdly Real Kristin Dykstra My Life in CIA Harry Mathews Dalkey Archive Press http://www.dalkeyarchive.com 203 pages; paper, $13.95 The book review conventionally tells readers what kind ofgenre to expect: a mystery, a biography, a cookbook. Harry Mathews's latest offering, My Life in CIA, has set reviewers up for some fun with that job. The book is described by its publisher as an "Autobiographical Novel," and early attempts by reviewers to refigure the book's genre have ranged widely, a tribute to Mathews's complex product as well as to his prior publishing history. He is the only American memberofOulipo (Ouvroirde Littérature Potentielle, orWorkshop forPotential Literature). Founded in the sixties in France, the group specialized in the creation of rules for (often mathematically inspired) writing. Application ofthose rules ledto famously challenging, absurd, and exciting creative texts, such as Georges Perec's novel, La Disparation (1969), composed entirely without the letter "e." In My Life in CIA, Mathews parodies himself, thus transforming into a challenging, absurd, and groovy character. The premise: living in Paris in the early seventies and with no outwardly discernible source ofincome, Mathews learns that members ofhis social circles suspecthimofbeing aCIAoperative. His denials only fuel more cold war gossip. On the advice oftwo amused Chilean leftist friends, Mathews finally accepts the role already given to him, in the feeble hope that a theatrical performance of CIA-ness will convince his acquaintances that he couldn't possibly be the real thing. "l Mathews delivers aparody of intelligence" with a serious purpose. Mathews tells us up front that he glories in confusing the reader: "For me, what mattered was. . .the process ofminking, something that often led to confusion —in my opinion, avery productive state ofmind." That's probably why My Life can be called all of the following: a memoir, a creative nonfiction, a relatively straightforward story—forMathews anyway—embedded withOulipian literary exercises, a document ofUS expatriate culture set in the Watergate era, a goofy riff on cold warespionage fantasies. Confused yet? Gerald Howard adds another: "Mathews has resuscitated that sadly neglected genre, the put-on." Howard and others have also begun the enjoyable process ofidentifying pieces ofthe novel's armature . For example, in the surname oftantric temptress Marie Quintelpreaux, Howard uncovers areference to COINTELPRO. The stylization ofthe language itself begs additional uncovering of the thought processes behind it. Many scenes read as the felicitous results of Oulipian-inspired language procedures such as "definitional literature," a term for the replacement of words with dictionary definitions that sound suggestively odd. Dialogue featuring contorted "Eastern bloc spy" English appears to result from some such substitution process: Lastly! Dear H. Mathews!...I use many times to subjecting mentalwise to transSiberian traveling plans. I necessary tell you Plishkin no more arrest to house, he is integrational absolute with ulterior organs . . .Little charming flat! Is your fuck-place? In a more openly Oulipian vein, Mathews creates a fake travel agency, then adopts the character ofa travel advisor to lecture dyslexic travelers about taking only transportation with palindromic scheduling (e.g., departure times of 12:21, 04:40, etc.). Best ofall, he incorporates the locations of sensitive Soviet nuclear centers into this itinerary for eavesdropping spies—with great success. Mathews's comic scenes are likely to appeal to fans of the weird, whether familiar with Oulipo or not. Consider the ominous throwing of the poetry gauntlet. Dumped unceremoniously out of a carpet into an unknown building, Mathews ends up among the guests at a dinner party for right-wing extremists. Suspicious ofhis claims to be a writer, they orderhim to create apoem on the spot and dictate its terms: the work must address swastikas, jonquils, haddock, gardenias, and more. Mathews delivers. To dispel any lingering doubts ofhis literary • mastery, he performs this poem with punctuation from a dance called "The Squat" and seduces a female guest at the same time. For an author described as the Fred Astaire of experimental writing, Mathews has chosen a most ungraceful showcase forhis talents: "Squatsquatsquat squat squat squat squat squat Il Squat." Given the novel's marked quotient of absurdity, reviewers have posed numerous questions: Can we believe Mathews at all? How should we...