I could live without Tom Robbins, I suppose. His writing does not change my life. But I guess I can’t think of a good reason to live without him. I have the most fun with his novels, like that good friend everyone has: the one you only see once a year or so, but when you do, you think, wow, I like this person. When I read Robbins, I might put his book down again and again to start something else, but I always come back to him and remember why I enjoy him. Who couldn’t enjoy a guy with fun phrases like “…and someone flung a loaf of Wonder Bread across the room and bounced it off his penis.”
He’s odd, but Villa Incognito, like his other novels, has a quirky wisdom to it. When I read something that I find profound, I’m immediately embarrassed. It’s as if Robbins adds these ideas to his book just to make fun of anyone who might find them profound. “You big dummy,” I think to myself, “he’s making fun of you.” Despite knowing that he’s fucking with me, I still found some ideas in Villa Incognito that made me think.
Here’s one: “The true believer can believe in a political system, in a religious doctrine, or in some social movement that contains elements of the two, but the true believer cannot truly believe in life…any expression of beauty, and any recognition of genius or individual excellence…has been severely condemned and even outlawed by one cadre of true believers or another in modern times.” I agree. When one subscribes to a doctrine or system completely, one chooses to disregard the colorful choices in life. Black and white is probably an easier way to live, but you’ll never reach excellence without color.
Here’s another: “She merely learned once and for all that while sex without love could have its thrills and satisfactions, sex without soul was like salad without dressing—a bowl of roughage fit for cattle and goats.” Huh, no, that one wasn’t profound, but I think I could’ve used that lesson ten years ago…
One element to this book that was unusual for me. This is the first book I’ve read that refers to the events of September 11, 2001, without actually focusing on those events. It was odd, really. Anytime something is written about that day, the entire article or story is about the day. But with this book, the day itself is a side note. Robbins is not disrespectful of the importance of September 11 (although my first impression was that he would be), and his characters are affected by the tragedies, but it’s not the point of the novel. Or even the point of that particular part of the novel.
If you like Robbins, you’ll like this book. If you don’t like him, then it won’t change your mind. If you’ve never read him, I think I’d start with Still Life With Woodpecker. It was my first Robbins novel and I think it got me off on the right foot with him.