i've well acquainted with the pantheon of tom robbins (except for wild ducks flying backward- saving that for a rainy day), but i have to count myself among the many who consider this a favorite of the bunch. well written, fast, and full of shamanic/monastic greatness. i would even say a tour de force if that wasn't the shittiest, most hackneyed phrase in book reviewdom.

Perhaps the author was going for an amusing ode to James Joyce, whom he so often references. What follows is even more obscure and unreadable. Had the story been shrunk to about 20 pages, there would have been some hope for it. As it was, it took itself entirely too seriously for something so unpleasantly useless, offensive, and dull.

Probably my favorite Tom Robbins novel, one of the few with a male protagonist (some of his books focus on female leads, and a few have couples, but the narration generally focuses on the woman). Switters, the nymphet-chasing secret agent and self described "acquired taste," finds himself confined to a wheelchair. A shaman's curse (the price of a psychedelic revelation) condemns him to death if his feet ever touch the ground. He starts the novel in love with his underage step sister, working for the CIA, and fully ambulatory. His adventures take him around the world and through theological intrigue, but the main feature of this book is really Switters as a character. The plot, although clever and fun to follow, is mostly a way of putting him in various situations where he can discourse on the meaning of life, language, and pleasure. A friend of mine who also loves this author told me that Switters seemed to her to be the Tom Robbin's character who is the most like Tom Robbins, and this seems intuitively true. For one thing, the content of Switters' monologues, both inner and outer, echo themes that resonate throughout his other novels, and seem in this novel to be gathered in one voice. Also, the form of Switters' speeches echoes the author's style of wording and imagery. The greatest joy of reading Tom Robbins is the way he plays with language as something oral, something that we hear with our ears and make with our mouths. He does things with writing that can only be done in writing, but he never lets the reader forget that language is something sensual, and he invokes the sounds of words, the music of sentences, and even descriptions that vividly sexualize the mechanics of a character (female or male, but usually female) actually pronouncing a certain word.
Except for Nabokov, who Robbins seems to be pretty obviously paying homage to (and perhaps lovingly mocking) with parallels and allusions to "Lolita," no other novelist I've read has captured the sensuality of language on this level. Languages, accents, and even speech impediments seem to be elevated to the highest objects of aesthetic appreciation in Robbins novels. Robbins can write a conversation, or a thought about a conversation, or even a thought about a word with as much guilty, indulgent enjoyment and libidinal gravity as anyone else can write a sex scene. An employee at an independent bookstore (Liftbridge books, Brockport NY, highly recommended) that Robbins is one of a few specific authors who they regularly argue over putting in "fiction" or "literature," and his work does have the same guilty-pleasure value of trashy novels, and always seems to end happily. Despite that, as someone who appreciates language as something that is at once abstract and intimately connected to us as bodies, I find great intellectual value in his work.

"Namířila si to přímo k menšímu a staršímu ze dvou počítačů a za několik minut vytáhla z Macintoshe Performy 6115 text. "Tak dobře, tenhle je ze třicátého září. Ehm. Stojí tu, cituji: 'Toužím pozdravit tvoji deltu, jako kohout zdraví úsvit nového dne." "A sakra."

"Americká zahraniční politika odpor vzbuzuje. Vybízí k terorismu. Potom pravil: Terorismus je jediná myslitelná logická odpověď na amaerickou zahraniční politiku, stejně jako je pouliční kriminalita jedinou myslitelnou logickou odpovědí na americkou drogovou politiku."

"Kdysi v Bangkoku mi došlo, že pokud s tím zkurveným Jamesem Joycem nepřestaneš, vleze ti to jednoho dne na mozek - a to se právě teď stalo."

"Kdo je Anna?"
"Jeho patnáctiletá dcera."
Swittersovi poskočil ohryzek v hrdle jako jojo na pouti. Dobrý Bože! pomyslel si. Proč mě Bobby nevaroval?

Jestliže jsem se za ty roky, co jsem se chystal na Toma Robbinse, rozhodl definitivně přečíst jednu jeho knihu, byla to vždycky tahle, už kvůli názvu a definici hlavního hrdiny, coby chodicího chaosu, kterým je Switters. Nicméně se mi ji nedařilo sehnat, teprve až dotisk z roku 2015 mi ji přihrál a dnes jsem uzavřel trojici knih, co v jednom bodě jsem chtěl a nemohl je sehnat (Trainspotting, Vyhoďme ho z kola ven nebo Cesta na konec noci/Cesta do hlubin noci, už si nepamatuju). Čekal jsem, že se do 'Invalidů' pustím jako divý, ale já i nazvdory zábavné složce neměl náladu se prokousávat tak dlouhou knihou a nejdřív ji pořád odkládal, abych se pak prokousal třetinou a knihu zase odložil, než jsem se k ní vrátil teď, abych ji konečně dokončil. Říkám to vše jen protože je to opravdu dlouhá doba, od momentu, kdy jsem tohle chtěl přečíst, do dneška, kdy se tak stalo. Mezitím se mi ale podařilo Robbinse skutečně objevit a to tak, že jsem narazil na jeho snad nejpoetičtější 'Zátiší s Datlem', abych objevil jeho ulítlou filozofující stránku a absurdní hriny, kdy každý je svým způsobem v něčem zcela extrémní, ve Swittersově případě jde o jeho anarchii v myšlení, bezprostřednost, s jakou nic neřeší (o to víc jako agent CIA) a perverzitu na desítky způsobů, počínaje koníčkem shromažďování výrazů pro ženské pohlaví, zálibu v lolitkách, především své neteři Suzy, tak i fakt, že se zamiluje do staré Dominy, sestry z jednoho kláštera, aby, jak je psáno v závěru:

"Musí existovat způsob, jak je mít obě, přemýšlel. Domino i Suzy. Strávil celou noc vymýšlením jednoho rozkošného a neproveditelného plánu za druhým a odmítal přijmout, že by ho osud mohl donutit vybrat si buď jednu, nebo druhou. Miloval je obě. Toužil po obou. Bylo to přirozené. Byl to Switters."

"Kovbojové s oblibou prohlašují: Pokud to není rozbitý, nespravuj to. Switters si říkal: Rozbitý to je odjakživa a nikdy to nespravíme. Na druhou stranu neexistuje nic, co by se dalo rozbít, tak co si to představujeme, že spravujeme?"

Ιδιαίτερο, όπως κάθε βιβλίο του Ρόμπινς. Αστείο, ενδιαφέρον, λίγη φιλοσοφία από δω, λίγη περιπέτεια από κει... το σίγουρο είναι ότι μ' έχει πείσει να διαβάσω όλα του τα βιβλία!

Questo libro non è noioso.
Il protagonista sprizza cinismo e ironia da tutti i pori, le vicende che gli accadono sono quanto di più assurdo si possa immaginare, ci sono riflessioni filosofiche, la storia è interessante.
Però.

Però, malgrado tutto questo, non mi ha preso.
Mi è piaciuto, si, ma non mi ha catturato. Non mi ha spinto a mettere da parte altre attività a favore della lettura. Non fino quasi alla fine.
E infatti per leggerlo ho impiegato tantissimo, si può dire che sia il mio metro di misura.

Può essere che non fossi nelle giuste condizioni climatiche per questa lettura, cominciandolo a bocconi di 50 pagine al giorno. O può darsi che proprio la storia non mi abbia preso per niente, malgrado sia scritta bene e sia piacevole.
Resta il fatto che comunque per quanto mi riguarda si prende una sufficienza e basta, purtroppo.

Il libro parla di un agente della CIA, un galoppino.
Irriverente, sarcastico, fiero linguista e accanito oppositore di tutto ciò che solitamente la CIA rappresenta, con un’insana passione per le ragazze giovanissime (che gli è valsa molti problemi con l’ambasciata Americana, i Thailandia). Con un amico, agente CIA anche lui, pure peggiore in questo senso.
Con una sorta di missione, in quanto angelo neutrale della CIA: per quanto possibile, cercare di bilanciare le cose mettendo i bastoni tra le ruote dei cattivi in giro per il mondo.

Questo agente, per un normalissimo incarico -liberare nella foresta amazzonica il vecchi pappagallo della vitalissima nonna hacker- si ritrova a tu per tu con uno sciamano indigeno dalla testa a forma di piramide, condivide con lui droghe e riti, e in cambio della consapevolezza così acquisita riceve un formidabile tabù: se i suoi piedi toccheranno terra, lui morirà. Dopo aver visto una persona morire davanti ai suoi occhi per quel tabù, lo prende molto seriamente… e si ritrova su una sedia a rotelle, confidando che le donne amano i feroci invalidi di ritorno dai paesi caldi.

Licenziato dalla CIA, senza un lavoro o una fonte di reddito, passa molto tempo a cercare di capire cosa fare della sua vita (sopratutto dopo il rifiuto ricevuto dalla sorellastra sedicenne, inorridita dello scoprire che non era realmente invalido) e accetta di lavorare per un ex-agente CIA ribelle, un mito della controcultura CIA.

E così finisce in medio oriente, tra curdi e beduini, fino ad arrivare a un misterioso convento di suore di clausura in guerra col Vaticano e custodi di un formidabile segreto. Un convento di clausura dove trova fin troppe coincidenze con la sua vita e le sue avventure recenti, troppe per non essere un segno del destino…

Ripeto: molto interessante e piacevole, ben scritto, scorrevole.
Ma non mi ha preso, purtroppo.

3.5

"Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates" by Tom Robbins is a novel that defies convention. Switters, our protagonist, is a CIA agent with a penchant for contrarian philosophies and an appetite for unconventional adventures. Robbins' narrative takes us through a kaleidoscopic journey of bizarre situations and philosophical debates. Switters' curse, which confines him to a wheelchair whenever he's in a temperate climate, adds an extra layer of absurdity to his escapades. This book is a whirlwind of humor, satire, and a deep dive into the absurdities of life.

Pros