While the reader roots for the two protagonist narrators in "The Elegance of the Hedgehog," we quickly lose our identification with them as their voices descend into clichéd observations and negativity. These are the muzzled voices of females: an alienated teenager and an underestimated matron, both intelligent and well read, and at least according to their own claims, both concerned about the big issues of life: art and its capacity to heal, authenticity of character as opposed to maintaining appearances and power, and the importance of intellectuality and reasoning. Unfortunately, the observations of both women, cloaked in philosophy-speak, are only somewhat convincing. Instead of viewing either woman as totally sympathetic, we see in each of them the very faults both deplore and, unfortunately, also the pseudo-intellectualism of some Francophiles. Arrogance lies on the surface of this book, as palpably as a stale bon-bon. That said, we still feel for the two women, both silenced by the society that has a tendency to muzzle certain voices.
That is not to suggest that the book is without merit. In fact, the idea of the two outcasts experiencing a true meeting of the minds - across social barriers, age differences, and privilege -- is palatable to readers railing against the injustice of women denied their voice for whatever reason. We all understand that it is the province of the young to think they know everything, especially teenagers, so at first we accept the supercilious observations of the wealthy Paloma, whose life amidst a self-absorbed, neurotic family arouses our pity. Her parents do not communicate, her mother driven by the need to keep up appearances and her anal-retentive sister by the need to be inordinately clean to avoid the "chaos" of her life otherwise. The father as well as the mother and sister do not communicate but instead keep communication at bay, pursuing shallow, meaningless lives. Paloma's mother has been depressed ever since she can remember, her father a silent, unengaged presence, her sister antagonistic and critical, smug about her own insignificant achievements. Because of her sense that the world is absurd and meaningless, Paloma has decided to end her life in a year. This she considers an act of courage and authenticity, two traits she sees missing in her family's life and those of the people surrounding her in an expensive Parisian apartment building that, as far as Paloma is concerned, further isolates the families from the mainstream of French life where meaningful communication most likely exists, if one had the motivation to pursue it.
The book might be an appropriate guide to teens who are experiencing the familiar adolescent angst. As such it would help validate the sense of human isolation and lack of authenticity teens feel at that age. However, as an adult book, the plot, the intellectual observations, and the characterization suggest a simplistic approach many of us cannot buy. The way to navigate the world is not this straightforward and uncomplicated; people are not predictable. Older women who have endured injustice and loss or even something as ordinary as rejection of any kind cannot accept the cavalierly flung platitudes of both Paloma and Renee. Life is nuanced, full of pitfalls, and there simply are not any easy answers. That Renee ends up with the man of her dreams, who does sound perfect in all ways, is hard to accept for those of us who've experienced the world of hard knocks. Then before that dream can be actualized, she is run over by a truck, leaving once again the impression that life is absurd, as Paloma labeled it in the first place.
The idea that Japanese culture is superior to Western culture is arguably correct in terms of art and the sense that nature imbues life with significance and grandeur as well as the idea of the unity of all things manifested in much of Oriental thought. That the man Ozu Kakuro is capable of validating Paloma and Renee speaks to his ability to communicate and to his generosity of spirit. His love for his grand daughter and his appreciation of the great writers such as Tolstoy, his immersion in the Tolstoyan ideal of the equality of all men speak to his magnanimity, but again, he is more a type or an ideal, rather than a real human being of shaded personality traits. He embodies the idea that culture, authenticity and humanity define the extraordinary human being, not an elite education or money, but doesn't everyone understand that, especially those of us living in a meritocracy? Aren't the characters that flow through our lives on a daily basis more original and more honestly drawn than any of the characters in this book? In the same vein, Renee is associated with all kinds of people, and one does acknowledge what seems to be her acceptance of herself and others and her willingness to see in Paloma something beyond her teen arrogance and reclusiveness.
The most interesting part of the book is Renee's courtship and the self-deprecating reveries of her childhood, marriage and current life alone. She is critical of the old order that confines her to limited social opportunity, but in the end she transcends the barriers of culture, formal education, credentials, and beauty to stand beside one of the true global aristocrats, a self-made, creative entrepreneur who sees beyond appearances to the core of one's personhood, presumably due to his own superior education. Unfortunately, this whole concept smacks of kitchen fiction, not literary fiction. The scenario, the ideas, the characters and their plights are way too predictable. In fact, it is sometimes hard to differentiate the two voices of the protagonists since both the teen and the matron have similar issues and use similar language to describe their plights. Both sound pretentious. The sometimes intrusive philosophizing has been said better by the likes of Satre, Camus, Epicurus. The ideas flaunted by each woman, as if for the first time, are derivative; but lingering over all the philosophical observations passed off as truths of life, is the sense of a judgmental, critical, condescending attitude on the part of both females. Each of them has quite the ego, for sure. Both possess a simplistic hauteur that is off-putting and, unfortunately, not particularly illuminating.
This condescending smugness is particularly evident in Paloma's attitude toward her depressive mother and her socially ambitious sister. Paloma notes that her mother is too wrapped up in her cats, yet Ozu's and Renee's love of animals is applauded. She sees her sister's cleanliness as the result of her fear of pursuing her true identity or recognizing a destiny any different from that of her bourgeois family. Yet we see no overtures on Paloma's part to bridge the gap of understanding the two sisters share. She regards her father as wrapped up in his own concerns, too preoccupied to extend himself to anyone, much less her, much like her valium groggy mother, struggling to keep her demons at bay for most of Paloma's life. "Ozu is a genius who can rescue me from biological destiny," Paloma observes, yet even after she has been validated by Renee and Ozu Kakuro, she does not confer on anyone in her family the affirmation she has enjoyed and which has freed her from her suicidal intentions.
Tea is used as a symbol for human conviviality, much like it is in "The Reluctant Fundamentalist," but the usage is far from convincing, as is Renee's languishing before the television, the repository of pop culture. Paloma refers to the television remote as "a secular rosary" while she drinks Ozu's jasmine tea, Barbery clearly juxtaposing the two symbols, one for human connection, the other reflecting the opiate of the brainwashed masses for those who don't grasp the superiority of Japanese culture, for instance, or don't value the therapeutic qualities of music. Most people are automatons, compulsively acting out their neuroses before dying. Oh, really?
The significance of the title is Paloma's observation that the concierge Renee possesses a rare authenticity that is reminiscent of the hedgehog in its all knowing, intelligent design, much as claims the renowned physicist, in his epithet, "The Elegant Universe," referring to that truly defined, finely attuned, precisely functioning entity that baffles both physicist and novelist in its unfathomability. The hedgehog, like the universe itself, is like all creations - miraculous and masterfully evolved as to function, even if not form, as in the case of Renee's self-proclaimed physical ugliness. In this sense Renee is in the eyes of Paloma beyond ego and neurosis, truly actualized. She is evolved in part by her grasp of art in all its grandeur.
Contrasted to Renee, is Paloma, who cannot appreciate the idea of living in an imperfect world. Well, the obvious response to her concern is that only a person who could not stand imperfection would withdraw or commit suicide because the world is far from perfect. Perception is reality, the book reminds us, yet it is only after being affirmed by Renee and Kakuro that Paloma is able to accept the imperfection of the world. And yet she does not reach out to her own family and others; she continues to expect their perfection, as she deems they expect such of her, even if they don't notice her and really don't know her.
There is nothing wrong with the themes here. People do need art. People need nature to remind them how magnificent life truly is. People need affirmation and acceptance by the human community. People need to read and think and make intelligent decisions. People need mentors beyond their families. Mostly people need to release their egos and accept the binding tie of humanity itself, symbolized by Ozu Kakuro and Renee. People seeking after social or economic success or the perpetuation thereof are doomed to depression and a life populated by automatons. This is the lot of modernity, Barbery infers - an emotionless life. Thus does Paloma in gaining affirmation reject suicide as "destiny" and pursue beauty as her vocation. Her message for her dead friend Renee is: "Because from now on, for you, I'll be searching for those moments of always within never. Beauty in this world."
One can't deny the message, even if the medium is lacking. Perhaps this is a book all of us matrons should insist our petulant, judgmental, despairing teens read to gain a perspective on the significance of seeking out people whose beauty is more than skin deep and whose knowledge is grounded in art and literature and music, all gifts we experience as a result of being part of the human community. The arts do indeed help us to appreciate the beauty of an imperfect world and as such direct our eyes to the hills so we can ponder the unanswerable questions without giving up and without surrendering to cynicism. Barbery does remind us that the search is worth it. At least then, when we die, we do so with hopeful trepidation, not despair. The book is a series of diatribes but for a worthy purpose. They give voice to the often silenced complaints of the invisible among us: Those without the proper credentials -- the female; the self-made, not entitled; the ugly and the aged; the too young and the poor. Barbery wants us to realize how communication of all kinds results in solidarity, whether it be through music, through literature, through visual arts and the most basic of all, human conversation with words and eye contact and the time it takes to listen and validate.
Marjorie Meyerle
Colorado Writer
Author: Bread of Shame
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