"The peculiar striations that define someone's personality are too numerous to know, no matter how close the observer. A person we think we know can suddenly become someone else when previously hidden strands of his character are called to the fore by circumstance."
The problem with a book that has ‘ambiguity’ in its name (or worse, that claims ambiguity as a theme) is that it can get away with anything. “But you’re not supposed to get it. It’s ambiguous. Like in the title. Pay attention, dumb ass.” This makes Elliot Perlman’s Seven Types of Ambiguity problematic, because as interesting and creative as it can be, it can also lose itself in its own gimmick.
The plot of the book is simple. One day, a man (Simon) picks up an ex girlfriend (Anna)’s son (Sam) from school without her permission, gives him a glass of chocolate milk, and gets arrested. From that starting point Perlman creates a six-hundred page unconventional mystery. Not that we’re ever wondering ‘who done it’ as the story progresses. Instead, we have to speculate on how characters react, how situations unfold, and what motivates the people moving the story forward. This is complicated by the division of the book into seven sections, each with a unique narrator who illuminates the developing story of the novel in unexpected ways. We often backtrack through the story, frequently take unexpected turns, and sometimes enter an entirely new structure of text, all the while making our way through the series of consequences that come about for a multitude of people when a man makes a stupid decision out of desperation.
It’s a very unique and entertaining read, and I liked it for that reason. It’s the internal struggle I’m having over whether or not I want to consider this book a literary achievement that’s causing me problems. (Yes. I know that I’m pretentious, and now you do too. Let’s accept this fact and move on as a group, please?)
See, Seven Types of Ambiguity is well done, but sort of half-baked. The blatant reference to Empson’s Seven Types of Ambiguity (aside from the title, it’s also called out in the text itself. Frequently.) is explored minimally at best, Perlman not dedicating enough time to it for it to become any sort of nifty feature in the book. Yes, you can see how it’s influencing the choice in narrators as we change perspectives, but it’s not really adding anything meaningful to the reader. Which is similar to the structure of the book as a whole. I love structural oddities in novels, but they usually are building to something, have some structural ‘ohhh!’ moment that makes them particularly impressive. I’ve been trying to find that in Seven Types of Ambiguity, but I must admit that I’m at a loss. Dialogue, letters, journals, undefined narrative… There are differences, but there is no overall pattern to these differences, and as such they seem lazy rather than meaningful. Add to that the very small variation in voice from one character to another, and I’m left wanting a bit more intention behind these things.*
* And please don’t mistake me – just because the change of voice from perspective to perspective isn’t all that impressive, doesn’t mean that I don’t admire Perlman’s ability to commit completely with a viewpoint. I found myself believing entirely each of the seven readings the book offers, and it takes no small amount of skill to pull that off while still allowing for depth and intrigue for each perspective. I would just also like some narrative variation to go along with my fickle convictions…
Which is when we all get to point, laugh, and say “It’s ambiguous, dumb ass,” which is totally fair! Even I don’t require a straight and narrow interpretation or ‘purpose’ of every novel I read. Ambiguity is fun, but only when it’s done skillfully and with intention. As is, Seven Types of Ambiguity sort of gets stuck in the notion of its clever idea without following it through to completion. It doesn’t mean that the book is bad, or even that it isn’t good and damn entertaining. It just means that when you’re going to start being a bit of a show-off with cool structure gimmicks and referencing some major critical theory, you’re going to have to do a bit more than point at it with enthusiasm if you want us to be impressed by it. As is, I am impressed by the layered story Perlman produced, along with the brilliant ability to make a plot engaging and complicated without space ships, shoot-outs, or bodice ripping. (Even if any of these things would have made the story better, obviously.)
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