Follow the Snail Trail
Hmm, all I can say with any certainty about this book is that I’m confused, correction, baffled. The author, Boffa, bases his novel on, shall I say, an amusing yet bizarre premise.
Viskovitz is a persona (perhaps not the most apt word) who metamorphosises into different animals, be he a dormouse who has erotic dreams, a sex-obsessed snail, a preying mantis who suffers from premature ejaculation or an ex-police dog who’s renounced his career to convert to Buddhism and a heroin habit. Still following? Each chapter Viskovitz is manifested as a different creature the only constant being his undying love for Ljuba the sexiest, sassiest female he’s ever set eyes upon. This constant transformation allows Boffa to construct each chapter as a self-contained satirical fable – a modern day Aesop who creates a soap opera with all the foibles and vanities of mankind enacted by a cast of animals.
The subject matter of some of the chapters might seem trite and tired and yet with clever twists and the use of animals they somehow seem fresh and novel. The ‘Romeo and Juliet’ forbidden love plot is transposed to the Serengeti. Romeo (or more accurately Visko) this time is incarnated as an old, haggard lion who has long grown tired of the constant monotony of life on the plains of Africa, posing in front of the documentary-makers’ lense. He longs for there to be something more to his life. His stupor is finally broken when he commences a passionate affair with a young nubile gazelle (Ljuba). Once it’s consummated though we watch the painful despair as the pair of lovers realise their relationship is destined to fail. In an unanticipated dénouement worthy of Albert Square though Viskovitz literally finds her good enough to eat…
The frustrations of a sponge’s sex-life, a seven and half inch worm with a tiny penis, a May beetle with an identity crisis who ends up as a Mafia-style hood shovelling shit, and a narcissistic hermaphrodite who ends up having sex with himself – all their stories are explored here. Boffa’s imagination undeniably appears boundless – but well, is it any good?
Something which becomes abundantly clear as you read the book (apart from the fact that the author must have been under the influence of something for long periods of time) is that Boffa knows his biology. In fact at times the narration resembles an over-enthusiastic David Attenborough figure – who earnestly documents the mechanics of snails having sex with themselves and the ins and outs of the female dung beetle’s exo-skeleton. Presumably the Russian author’s degree in biology he did in Rome came in handy. However, this should not discourage the reader (I found adopting the ‘lets skim read this passage its not particularly important to the story’ tactic particularly useful).
This book has at turns baffled me, amused me and yet, ultimately, endeared itself to me largely through the fact that the conceit just about works. I think this is a good book – I’m certain it’s a novel novel, but on reflection, well I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve fallen for some elaborate hoax trying to read more into it than the author intended – that’s certainly plausable.
Downright odd and weird or enchantingly imaginative? on reflection I’m inclined to go with the latter.
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