Adam Ehrlich Sachs

It's a heavy burden indeed for any author to have his stories called Kafkaesque, but these stories fairly ooze the concept. The stories are bound together by a slightly rickety concept of being assembled as therapy for a young catatonic who is being treated in a Vienna sanatorium during the WWI period. The stories are best when they are concise; the longer ones tend to drift, as they combine multiple narrators who appear, begin their stories, and then turn to reading from a manuscript or moving back and forth between tenses. Gradually, linkages appear in the stories' characters and settings, and the whole is brought together, sort of, at the end. This assemblage of talking birds who claim to be great writers, Grim Reapers who can't do their jobs properly because of a half-dead hospital functionary who knows their methodology and interferes with it, as well as the convoluted syntax, initialisms for people and places, and spookily mundane settings will surely resonate with fans of the great Kafka.… (more)

In 1666, nineteen-year-old Gottfried Leibniz, not yet famous for inventing calculus, visits an unnamed astronomer who, alone in the scientific universe, has predicted a solar eclipse that will darken Europe for four seconds.

Since the astronomer is rumored to have the longest telescope in the world, yet also to be blind, Leibniz wants to know whether the eclipse will really happen, and the man is for real. If he’s for real, and he’s blind, how can he observe the heavens, longest telescope or no? Or does he actually see, and is he sane? Or does he see, and is he insane? Does the truth or falsity of the eclipse affect any of these judgments? The possible combinations are many; you get the picture.

Now, when I tell you that Leibniz doesn’t directly narrate the story — an unnamed scholar/philosopher/scientist does, based on Leibniz’s account — you might think this tale is drier than a dust ball, a real snore, even in its slim length. Yet The Organs of Sense is seriously gripping and very funny at the same time. Start this book, and amazingly, like Leibniz, you’ll want to know, have to know, whether the eclipse will happen, how the astronomer lost his sight, and what Leibniz (and his interpreter) make of all that they relate.

A thinner premise could not be imagined, and yet on that Occam’s razor, much gets sliced apart, perhaps never to appear whole again in reputable print. Many philosophical themes reside in these pages, among which: how does a person “know” anything; which deserves to triumph, emotion or reason; what exactly constitutes insanity; what does blood mean variously to a commoner and a prince; and what’s the purpose of art.

But all this philosophy has a screw loose. The language and the reasoning both parody the discipline as well as apply it, and the best word to describe the whole effect is madcap. You could open the novel practically anywhere to see what I mean.

It’s all much ado about nothing, and yet, there’s meat here. There is also a historical context. Many of the scenes the astronomer recounts to Leibniz take place at the Prague castle of Emperor Rudolf, who indeed behaves as if he’s out of his mind, and involve his intelligent but highly stressed children. Rudolph has figured in fiction before, as with The Fifth Servant and, more recently, Wolf on a String, but here, he’s dissected, minutely, with Kafkaesque humor, as are his family and their various conspiracies.

The Organs of Sense thus makes a witty tale that goes around the bend and meets itself coming and going. Sometimes the prose repeats, but seldom, if ever, does it tire the reader; Sachs is making a point about long-winded philosophers who seek precision until it becomes meaningless. But in that search also lies several truths, one of which is that human life is largely absurd.… (more)

The Organs of Sense from Adam Ehrlich Sachs surprised me a bit by just how much it actually made me think beyond the humor and the (sometimes misappropriated) philosophy. And it did this without being a difficult or convoluted read.

This novel is definitely one of those that will turn some people off. Just ignore the ones who make it sound like the book is flawed, that just means they didn't get it. The ones who point out why they didn't like it (as compared to making it sound like it was all about the book itself and not the dynamic of reader and book) are the ones you might want to pay attention to. Yes, there is repetition, but not a lot and not beyond what is needed to make a point. Maybe repeating a form of "said so and so to so and so as reported by so and so." Some concepts are repeated as well, but usually to illustrate that they can be understood differently depending on context and/or desired outcome. If someone just saw repetition as repetition, they simply didn't follow the story or the thinking very well.

If you like to read a bit of an absurdist take on philosophical thought taken to some unusual extremes, this will appeal to you. Thinking, or over-thinking, in the abstract about very real phenomena such as family relationships, sanity/insanity, sensitive/insensitive, and so many other things. If you pause and think about why a section made you chuckle you'll likely (hopefully?) find yourself thinking about what might be a realistic explanation for whatever the situation or idea was. This is actually a sneaky way to generate some "philosophical" thinking.

I highly recommend this but at the same time I don't know how to categorize who might or might not enjoy it. I read the description and was immediately interested in reading it. I'm not sure what it appealed to in my case so I can't say very well what it might appeal to in yours.

Reviewed from a copy made available through Goodreads First Reads.… (more)