Blow-Up: And Other Stories

The gist of each story in Julio Cortazar's collection of 15 superb, short stories, Blow-Up and Other Stories, published in 1967, may be succinctly expressed in a single sentence or a simple phrase, as follows:"Axolotl" --- The most dangerous creature from the ocean isn't a lionfish, an octopus, or a non-aggressive, striped sea krait."House Taken Over" --- More scary, supernatural, paranormal activity, the government or some pesky neighbors moving in."The Distances" --- They go on a honeymoon in Hungary, but she has a secret agenda."The Idol of the Cyclades" --- They dig up a cursed archeological artifact."Letter to a Lady in Paris" --- Raising rabbits is simple and easy."A Yellow Flower" --- Contemporary thoughts on reincarnation."Continuity of Parks" --- Perhaps the most baffling story in the collection holds the key to solving the mystery in another one."The Night Face Up" --- Commuting to work on a motorcycle, he winds up in the hospital, chased by Aztec warriors."Bestiary" --- A little girl spends her summer vacation in Argentina with a family of zoologist caretakers."The Gates of Heaven" --- Best friends reminisce about ballroom dancing and catch "Saturday Night Fever.""Blow-Up" --- An amateur photographer captures a scene in the park with his trusty 35mm SLR that might have made the cover of "Time" magazine."End of the Game" --- A game of Charades for youths with big dreams."At Your Service" --- Unusual temporary employment opportunities."The Pursuer" --- A biographer-critic and a famous musician come to terms."Secret Weapons" --- A love story with a twist of lemon and a bitter remorse. These stories remind me of a simpler time in my life and my youth, when music and photography captured the best moments of my college years. A song, an image. They bring back loads of memories. I remember having lived in a three story, red brick fraternity house one summer and spent every nickel I had on a new component stereo. The components included a loud, four-channel, 60 watts per channel, Pioneer integrated amplifier with a built-in frequency equalizer; a good quality 33 rpm-LP album turntable, with a steady, solid aluminum platter, an anti-skate device, and a Shure diamond-tipped cartridge; and four large, walnut-enclosed, two-way Altec Lansing speakers, each one having a mid-range bass and a tweeter. The other students in the building used to drop by bringing records to test out on the sound machine. Some even brought their musical instruments to accompany the recorded music. Those were fun times. The best of times. Wanted to borrow a camera, go out and take some pictures. Basic camera outfit: 35mm single lens reflex, 50mm lens with polarizing filter, extra 50-160mm telephoto lens, tripod. "Quiet on the set. Sound, camera, action. Roll 'em." We shall see what develops. During those years, the 1970's, I often enjoyed going out and watching foreign movies. I happened to catch one with the title "Blow-Up." Recreation Services would play films in the Student Union cafeteria on week-ends, and several of us would go see them once in a while. Interesting stuff, but life goes on. We move on and grow up so fast. Go our separate ways. "Well I laid around and played around in this old town of mine. Summer's come and gone. I must be movin' on. Movin' on. Movin' on," and so on, according to Hank Snow's song lyrics. "Abilene. Abilene. Prettiest town that I'd ever seen was Abilene. Abilene. My Abilene. Prettiest girl that I'd ever seen was Abilene, my Abilene," according to the song lyrics recorded by George Hamilton IV. I digress. Eventually, the movies went from VHS tapes and players to DVD disks and digital devices, for home viewing. Years ago, I purchased "Blow-Up" on DVD, but never got around to watching the movie. Now, what seems like 40 years later, and I just pulled the disk out of a drawer in the garage, unviewed, the cellophane package never even opened, this morning and put it by the television set. Having finished reading the "Blow-Up" stories in e-book reader format, I planned on watching the movie version later today. A plethora of ideas already spring to mind about how the book must have made an impact and had a profound influence on the film producers, director, and actors. Possibly, on the audience, as well. What if you can create a fictional archetype character in your film from combining the traits, personalities, tendencies, and predilections exhibited and shared by the narrator and leading characters in the story book of one of your favorite authors; Julio Cortazar, for example, and incorporate them into the film of the same exact title, or at least a similar one? You begin to sense how the stories interrelate among themselves and can then influence the film in so many subtle ways. You think it would be a wonderful exercise to cultivate your imagination. What kind of larger than life character would you have created? Perhaps he is a complicated, or conflicted character, who appears disjunctive, disconnected, on the outside looking in, or on the inside looking outward, but never totally, intimately involved with his subject; always chasing pipe dreams, forever seeking escape, but never achieving full release from his bonds. He is not a contented individual, someone seated naturally beside the fireplace, where the home fires are warmly burning, delivering in the joyous holidays with family and close friends bearing gifts, decorations, and sweets. No, this is not the hallmark of his success story. He is the type who would annihilate his very own existence, if he thought he could get at the kernel of truth. But when he finally arrives at the truth, he discovers a deeper meaning. All he sees is lies and deception up to that point. He does not live in a happy place, at least not in the book of short stories envisioning his own private purgatory. You might not want him for a friend either, once you've seen how he behaves in the film. He doesn't have many friends. He doesn't need them. He doesn't want to get close to anyone. He doesn't want anyone to get close to him. He's a loner. He immerses himself in his work. He can't "see the forest for the trees." He is more of a nihilist, than one approaching from a narcissistic point of view. He should have put things into proper perspective. He makes people angry. He must have been a difficult child, but neither particularly artistically, nor autistically inclined. He never really wanted to grow into maturity. He always did things his way. Went off on a tangent. That's the cold, hard, calculated assessment of the situation as I see it unfolding. Plus, he has destructive tendencies. And yet, he wants to stay aloof and remain unaffected by the changing circumstances surrounding him and an increasingly constricting environment in which he suddenly finds himself. To summarize, "he is a rock," like in the "Simon and Garfunkel" song. He's a prince among the populace. Preparation is the key, I think. I've read the "Blow-Up" stories and found that the author's writing is fluid and dynamic enough to make it harrowingly interesting. It captures the imagination. It flows spontaneously, like a rapidly flowing river cascading down the mountainside over large, rounded smooth, granite rocks. I'd like to think that I can relate to a little of what he was trying to write about, but I am not too sure about that. The plot is too vague and leaves me in the dark. Watching the DVD version is next on the antique bucket list, to see how they compare and contrast, and how much of the re-run I can remember. I saw the movie yesterday afternoon and recollected some of the scenes quite well, and many of the details that were fuzzy in my mind, are now much clearer. I see how the book might have once inspired the film, but they are really two entirely different stories, with different principal characters and locations. One is an obviously highly educated professional in foreign service, and an amateur photographer on the side, but competent and talented, a good Samaritan. The other is an experienced professional fashion photographer, who would rather go on an undercover assignment as a hard-hitting photo-journalist, exposing social injustice. The "birds" don't do that much for him anymore. He is focused. The other is somewhat disillusioned. Both get more than they bargain for, when a shady deal takes on a more sinister tone. R. Royce strikes up the band. He had been eavesdropping on the neighbors for the past three days, alternating between a pair of high-powered, low-light hunting binoculars and a celestial telescope. He could tell they were up to no good. They were about to make their move, judging by the fact that they put their guns on the table by the sofa, and loaded them. They were not to be trifled with in their present state of mind. Not a good time to stroll over, introduce himself, and borrow a cup of sugar. He sensed danger. They put on their hats, jackets and overcoats, and appeared ready to depart. His telephone began to ring, and Royce answered it right away. His longtime friend and business associate was calling for a progress report. He was awaiting further instructions. "They're getting ready to move," said Royce. Two vehicles, both four doors. One is a tan Mercury Marquis. The other is a gray Chevy Impala. I texted you the plate numbers. "We're on the way," replied Cornelius Korn, his cohort. Alexis Sue Shell was in the cherry-red Mustang with him. They began tailing the Mercury. "We'll follow the Impala," said Royce. Raquel Remington was with him in their car, a green Dodge Charger. She was ready to pounce. Royce was not so sure of himself. They proceeded south on Harry Hines Boulevard and ended up at the rail-yard, keeping back at a safe distance. What were the perpetrators up to? They wondered. It would be illegal, whatever it was, they surmised. Turns out, they were after a brand spanking new, gleaming, shiny red firetruck. Apparently one of the rural area Volunteer Fire Departments had been in serious need of a new hose and ladder truck for quite some time and didn't have the resources necessary to just go out and purchase one, not even a used one. They can be quite expensive, at around $850,000 a pop. So, Billy Bob, Bubba, Ted, and Fred stepped up to the plate and decided to find them a firetruck on their own and sell it to the volunteers really cheap. Seemed to make sense at the time. They collected the keys and documents from the rail foreman, and drove the firetruck away, without much fanfare or any complications. Dallas Firemen were expected to collect the vehicle that very afternoon. The thieves just needed to present a certified check for the shipping charges and collect their new truck. It was a piece of cake. Royce followed the firetruck and the Impala shot-gun vehicle. Korn continued to shadow the Mercury. Bob returned the Mercury to their house in the city without incident. Bubba and Fred drove the firetruck, and Ted drove the Mercury in a westerly direction across town and out into Denton County at a leisurely pace, which didn't necessitate a hot pursuit on the part of Royce and Raquel. It didn't take a whiz kid to figure out where the Possum Kingdom boys were going with this. Bubba and Ted collected a nylon duffel bag containing bundles of cash from the Volunteers who shall forever remain anonymous, and they immediately left the area in the Impala, the deal completed to the satisfaction of both parties. The reward wasn't much for recovering the stolen firetruck, but it was significant enough for a sizable down-payment on a good preowned one. The volunteer fire department in rural Montague County appreciated the kind gesture on the part of Cornelius Korn. "How come we made so much money on a deal that went sour so fast?" inquired Royce, when Korn handed over a couple of bundles of cash to each of them. "Bowie managed to re-possess Alvord's firetruck, when their gas-wells came in unexpectedly," Korn explained. "With the newly generated tax revenues they represent, both communities were able to purchase new firetrucks. We happened to be in a position to offer them the second firetruck at a discount." "It pays to be in the right place at the right time," said Alexis Sue. "I know where we can get a good deal on a new road-grader," said Raquel. "Some of the streets around here have pot-holes and need repaving."

This book was my first experience with reading Cortazar. From the first story on, the excitement of encountering a new (to me) brilliant writer went through me like an electric shock. The book injected an excitement and alertness into what otherwise might have been a sluggish weekend.I have found, however, that explaining the basis of this excitement to others is not easy. It comes down to the difficulty of explaining what it is that makes great writers truly great -- an elusive insight.Part of it is simple virtuosity; Cortazar possesses that which also distinguishes the writing of other greats such as Nabokov and Proust: that facility with language, the ability to find and to manipulate exactly the right words, to create a precise, vivid image, and to make music out of prose. (Note: I could perceive his virtuosity even though I read this book as an English translation.)But it goes beyond virtuosity. If Cortazar wrote about ideas to which I was indifferent, the writing would not matter to me. But his stories inspire those flashes of recognition that make reading exciting; he creates those "aha" moments through his ability to present a feeling or situation that you recognize on some level, even if it's one that never previously made it out of your subconscious and which you might not have thought to remark upon, had not Cortazar dug it up for you.From the general to the specific: This is a collection of short stories, most of which contain an element of the fantastic. Some of the flashes of recognition that I mention above are recognitions of mundane, daily feelings, but others are not. Cortazar seems to have ready access as well to our subconscious fears and to our dreams.To take but a few cases in point:One story involves a brother and sister who share a large, old wooden house, once owned by their great grandparents. At one point in the story, they hear voices and commotion from another part of the house. They bolt the doors, shut off that section, and confine themselves to living in the front part of the house. It's all left quite mysterious: Cortazar never explains who "they" are, who have taken over part of the house. But someting about this story rings eerily true; it's that bizarre combination of vivid, mundane reality, and unexplained phenomena, and illogical reactions to those phenomena, that characterize dreams.Another example is a story in which a young girl goes to live with distant relatives in their country house for a summer. The house has a tiger roaming the rooms, but let's put that aside: what is remarkable about the story is Cortazar's ability to bring the scene to life, of an urbanite or suburbanite who is new to this comparatively relaxed environment. In one small, but typically rendered scene, the main character finds a bug crawling in an antiquated wash basin. She flicks at it, it curls into a ball, and she easily washes it down with running water. This is classic Cortazar; with a few well-chosen sentences, he puts you in that world: a world where the reader senses the sunlight through the house, the smell of pollen in the air, the renewed emphasis on the freshness of vegetables at the local market, and the ease with such inconveniences as older plumbing and intrusions by bugs are encountered.Comparison with other writers is a bit unfair, because Cortazar has a voice all of his own. But in case it's helpful to you, Cortazar's precise prose reminded me a bit of Nabokov, his sense of wonder and magic recalled Steven Millhauser, and his trafficking in paradoxes a bit like Borges. But he's not quite like any of them: his prose focuses less than Borges on logical contradictions, and is more weighted toward precisely rendering sensory images.Several of the stories are outstanding. My favorites (in addition to the two mentioned above: "House Taken Over", and "Bestiary") included:Axolotls -- in which the narrator identifies very closely with an exotic amphibian species on his trips to the zoo.A Yellow Flower -- an encounter with a sort of reincarnation gone awryContinuity of Parks -- a very economical, very short story with an eerie, paradoxical twistThe Night Face Up -- a story in which reality and dreams are very difficult to distinguishCortazar is a master of the short story form. I would recommend him to anyone who likes the works of Borges, Millhauser, Nabokov, or Bruno Schulz.

Cortazar is an oft-overlooked master of the short story form. In this collection, he delivers stories befitted with beguiling metaphor, tremendous ambiguity, magical realist mind-bending, and, at the tail end of the book, some unrelenting tedium. Like Barthelme and Kakfa, Cortazar works best when he keeps it short and sweet. Wonderful capital-F Fabulist tales in this book include the story of a man turning into a salamander and a girl on summer vacation at a decaying manor house patrolled by a Bengal tiger. These stories, and another in which a couple is chased out of their house by a marauding, unknown force, sing with poetic language, and reveal some cosmic absurdity lurking behind the façade of everyday life...an absurdity we can glimpse if the fates align, but have no real chance at comprehending. The stories at the book's end are much more blasé, particularly one concerning a flailing Sid Vicious-esque musician bombing around Paris on an inevitable downward spiral. These stories do not diminish the power of what has come before, but they seem a little out of place--more like padding than anything else. The book, despite its uneven nature, is a must-read, however, for fans of black humor, magical realism, and so on.

There is always something weird at the heart of the stories in this book, although Cortazar rarely plants his foot firmly in the supernatural (When he does it is always unconventionally, as in the bizarre story 'Letter to a Young Lady in Paris', ). There's a feel of Borges ' not just because Cortazar is Argentinian ' for example in 'A Yellow Flower' in which a man thinks he has come across his own reincarnation and does something he lives to regret. Also, perhaps, a feel of Robert Aickman. The later, longer stories, that make up the second half of the book are more realistic, and are mostly set in and around 60s Paris. 'The Pursuer' is about a Jazz genius who is, I think, based on Charlie Parker. 'Blow-Up' is probably the best story in the book, though ' and it is much stranger (and better) than the film Antonioni based on it.

A mix of stories that are so imaginative and entertaining to read you wont put them down, and others that are too long and drag on.

Cortazar can be a model writer for writers. It's meaningless to explain his stories or his writing skill, just read them and you will understand. A cortazar-story will remain with you forever. Well, a statutory warning, this closeness with your memory can be sometimes disturbing!

Some fascinating and intriguing tales showing a genuine talent at work. All very well done. Is that enough yet? yes.

Wow what an amazing experience reading this anthology of Cortazar