There is nothing more charming and frustrating in literature than an unreliable narrator. Even the title of this book (Beryl de Zoete’s translation) is “Confessions..”, as opposed to “Conscience” — which is it? The two words have very different meanings. The book itself is an overly detailed account kept by Zeno for his psychoanalyst, who ultimately failed him as Zeno did not find his remedy, and that the psychoanalyst published the book out of revenge. So in this case, I think that “Confessions” is not as accurate as “Conscience”.
But when one opens the floodgates of the past, then we can regard this as a confession. Zeno leads a respectable life as an idler living off his family’s inheritance and an occasional dabble in investment. He plays violin badly, and struggles to quit smoking puffing away on perpetual last cigarettes. He makes bad decisions that bite him in the ass later. He cheats on his wife. He is fucking ordinary. And this is why I think Confessions of Zeno is an amazing text.
The book is divided into sections of his life and does not necessarily follow a linear path. Events can interweave within these subjects — his smoking, the death of his father, his marriage, his affair, his business. It is a mock psychoanalytic text so it does not read like a story, but a constant train of thought, and with every observation there is a reaction and the thoughts of some action. It can be an intense read at times.
This is the beauty of the book — because I am as flawed as Zeno. He had always wanted to do something and to say something but always hesitate, only to be interrupted or hiding in his own shell of comfort. He speaks half truths often to protect himself, but often to turn things to his advantage. At times he warps the truth to give himself the illusion of control.
Zeno is not a person to love. I think there is a heavy minority who read the book and loathed him. But really, who has not made a rash decision, and said something loose of the tongue to make everything go to shit? I can laugh at Zeno and his awkwardness, but really I am laughing at myself. Beneath the façade of respectability there are dozens of motives, not all of them good, within odds of each other.
Besides all that, the book is beautifully written, and beautifully translated. I frequently underline passages in the book anytime it provokes my thought. Here’s one, threw in offhandedly within a paragraph:
I toyed with the good resolution while continuing to do nothing about it.
Confessions of Zeno is an overthinker’s delight, and thus it is not for everyone. It is for someone who is aware of his/her flaws and is prepared to laugh at them. But in no way it is a comfortable read, which is all the more reason to pick it up.
