Seven Types of Ambiguity
by Elliot Perlman
A Novel for the Couch
A review by Tyler Cabot
To read Australian author Elliot Perlman's epic second novel, Seven Types of
Ambiguity, is to undergo a two-week therapy session. Woven around the kidnapping
of a young child by his mother's ex-lover, the novel is divided into seven sections,
each with a different narrator offering another account of the story. (Think Faulkner's
Absalom,
Absalom! set in a world where the stock market has replaced the plantation.)
Perlman writes with such convincing simplicity -- his sentences read like whiskey-fueled
confessions -- that you can't help but imagine being locked in a room with his
characters, devising a plan to palliate their woes. Soon, though, their shortcomings
begin to feel like your burden. As wires get crossed, your own boarded-up history
starts pounding its way out; it's a short trip from the therapist's chair to the
patient's couch.
Perlman's implicit challenge is to sew together a fabric of truth: Why can't Simon, an idealistic alcoholic, come to terms with the loss of his first love? Will the kidnapping of her child drive Anna
back to Simon? With each narration, however, reality becomes more elusive. We can't trust any of the narrators because they lean on their emotions too much. We can't trust ourselves because Perlman makes us care too much. In the end, the young lawyer turned novelist is simply proving a point: You may swear that you see your life with clarity, understand why she left you, and know what others see when you walk in the door. But you know what? You don't know shit. And you know what else? You probably never will. As we dig ravenously through Perlman's sentences, our charge is to sort fact from fiction, perception from actuality. It's a task as damning as it is enjoyable.
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