Review (H:02.02.2026)
The use of Latin is wonderful. I have just finished reading a biography of Arthur Rimbaud. One of its many revelations is that he mastered Latin at a very early age and did a brisk trade completing homework assignments for his classmates. Fraudo, deception, relates to reception, as in radio, but in this case there is no transmission, except to the A EYE.
Your description of "La Citta Remota" puts me in mind of the Huysmans novel, Au Rebours (a title translated into English as Against Nature). The difference is that the character of Des Esseintes is very much in charge of his situation, controlling every detail of his artificial world. The scene outside his window may be fake but it is created following his detailed instructions (and at great expense). Nevertheless this story provides an interesting parallel and precursor to yours.
Similarly, the “kanka-kodoku” reminds me of Ozu films which address the subject of loneliness. This is the old fashioned modernist idea of alienation. The old world has disappeared and we do not understand the new.
Another (un)reality is emerging. Currently on exhibition at Western Front is “Image Syncers” by Nina Davies, about human bodies imitating the movements of video game characters. This has long been a feature of hiphop dancing. It evolves again with AI, people faking the fakes.
Abduction and imprisonment, this reminds me of Navalny, someone I think about everyday. Others could be Gramsci, or Mandela. He got lucky, perhaps the last great leader of a popular revolution. And now even Cuba seems about to fall. And Canada . . .
Chapter 2. : The white noise of distant city traffic is replaced by the soft purring of the keyboard. I am enjoying this cinematic novel. Is it a new form?
The wanderer who waits. Most wanderers move. This one stays still.
This gate is only for you. It’s true, everyone now receives their own personalized feed. We think we are are all watching the same show, as in the days of television, but the shared experience is something of the past. Last night, in the rain, walking along one of Vancouver’s upscale shipping streets, I noticed that most businesses are closed, shops empty, boarded up. The death of shopping. The death of experience.
Indeed, the correspondence of Kafka with Felice is an early example of the online affair. But perhaps there were many others, where the actual meeting between people was a disaster. Communication only works at a distance.
Chapter 3. Hedge (fund): Your book is what they call a "gold mone of ideas.”
The sound of the telephone, which could become oppressive, stops, providing a sense of relief. When it returns it is already an old friend, somehow comforting rather than an irritation. Then it becomes music. With its nostalgic ring, the telephone seems to be a call from the past. Does someone want to talk with me? Who could it be? Perhaps a voice from beyond the grave. But no one answers the telephone anymore.
Physical movement is reduced to hands, like in your performance of AM radio.
But the body is conservative, refuses to change. We are all now guinea pigs, objects not subjects, samples, variables,... Even the food is fake.
Cynicism in negative motivation, a kind of theatre or performance art. Skepticism is stark. Pyrrho again. Nothing solid remained. “All that is solid melts into air” (Marx). Or the wonderful Elizabeth poet Thomas Marvell, 'Annihilating all that's made. To a green thought in a green shade.”