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Is
there a perfect one-sentence novel? Candidates might be Vanessa
Place's Dies: A Sentence or Thomas Bernhard's On The
Mountain. Then there is my own When Stein Eriksen Ran
Over My Skis. These last two achieve their one-sentence status
by withholding the period, mine for three pages,
Bernhard's for 120. But there is, to my knowledge, no collection
of one-sentence, or one-line, novels. Perhaps the closest thing
to it is an anthology of very short tales edited by Jorge Borges
and Bioy Casares, Cuentos Breves y Extraordinarios [Brief
and Extraordinary Tales, 1955].
My own choice
for the perfect one-sentence novel (if such can exist)
is Augusto Monterroso's Dinosaur: Cuando despertó,
el dinosaurio todavía estaba allí. [When h/s
awoke, the dinosaur was still there]. The novel has
been praised by such writers as Italo Calvino and Umberto Eco
for its economical beauty and mystery. It is widely studied in
Italy and South America and the Italian writer, Italo Calvino,
took it the standard by which all other one-sentence tales should
be measured (Six Memos For The Next Millenium).
Dinosaur has what I want to call here pregnant brevity.
This means, on the whole, that it gives birth to multiple meanings.
First, we are not sure who woke up. It could be a he,
a she, an it or the dinosaur itself.
Secondly, we can't pin down what kind of waking it
is. It could be from sleep, from a daydream, from fainting on
seeing the dinosaur or from a drunken stupor--in which case the
dinosaur might be a hangover. Moreover, these meanings
are all stable under different kinds of syntactical transformations
and word substitutions. For example, instead of Cuando
despertó, el dinosaurio todavía estaba allí,
the original version, we can write Allí despertó,
cuando el dinosaurio todavía estaba, Cuando
se despertó, el dinosaurio seguia allí, or
Cuando se despertó el dinosaurio, todavía
estaba allí. Umberto Eco's Italian translation,
Quando si sveglió, il dinosauro era ancora lí,
also preserves the original meaning.
Furthermore,
the meaning of the novel can be enriched by tracing
the history of some of its words. Todavía,
for example, is a compound of two Latin based words, totus
[all or every] and via [way]. Similarly with estaba.
It comes from the early Latin, sto (or sta),
with the general meaning of stand. With these associations
in mind, we can then propose a rougher, but perhaps richer, meaning:
the dinosaur was everywhere [in every way] standing there.
But, it seems
fair to say, novels--especially one-sentence ones--mean
more than what they say to just one reader. Or, to
put the matter another way, what would you have to imagine for
this particular novel to be true in all situations?
So, in conclusion, I would like to pose the question: what does
the dinosaur truly represent for you?
Email
the author
with your thoughts
on this or any other matter about to the 'dinosaur,' to Gene
Washington
Contribute
to public debate
on this or any
other matter about the 'dinosaur,' by emailing Harbinger.
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