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A review by tommysyk
Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas by Daniel James
5.0
I spent all day thinking what to rate this book, and arrived at the conclusion that any lower would be a disservice to the sheer paranoia and awe I felt while reading it. Perhaps, one of the most underrated works of the last few years. I'm a sucker for anything non-linear and doused in references to David Lynch, but this really is an astonishingly tight book. You'd think it's anti-climactic and that it backpedals whenever it's about to make a splash, but when you really think about it, it's all the stronger for it. To maintain this level of tension throughout 400 pages without resorting to genre clichés is a skillful art in itself - in fact, the entire point is to avoid the clichés altogether. The book spells it out for you - this is a metaphysical detective story, more preoccupied with the roles of the writer and the reader than the mystery itself. Human consciousness is, in itself, the mystery. And this reads as both an exercise in fiction and an essay in art history and philosophy.
Well, allow me to blabber aimlessly for a bit, and be wary of any potential surprise-ruining discourse. Daniel James, the protagonist, is progressively characterized by solipsistic views. The truth, of the world, of others, and of himself, is entirely defined by what he makes out of what surrounds him. Maas, on the other hand, exists only in what others perceive of him. As I kept turning the pages and plunging myself deeper into the philosophical ideas of the book, I began to ponder - if life is art and art is alive in all those who experience it, perpetually changing and allowing ourselves to mold and be molded by what passes through us, then if there's any truth at all in the universe, it's that we as humans will never know ourselves quite as well as we think we do. For some of us, artists and their devotees alike, it can only end in madness. And yet, somehow, in a really pretentious, obnoxious way... that's kinda beautiful.
Well, allow me to blabber aimlessly for a bit, and be wary of any potential surprise-ruining discourse. Daniel James, the protagonist, is progressively characterized by solipsistic views. The truth, of the world, of others, and of himself, is entirely defined by what he makes out of what surrounds him. Maas, on the other hand, exists only in what others perceive of him. As I kept turning the pages and plunging myself deeper into the philosophical ideas of the book, I began to ponder - if life is art and art is alive in all those who experience it, perpetually changing and allowing ourselves to mold and be molded by what passes through us, then if there's any truth at all in the universe, it's that we as humans will never know ourselves quite as well as we think we do. For some of us, artists and their devotees alike, it can only end in madness. And yet, somehow, in a really pretentious, obnoxious way... that's kinda beautiful.