This novel is insane. Mario Bellatin as translated by Heather Cleary is not at all what it seems. From the beginning it seems pretty straightforward and then there are the footnotes and even before that many little things do not add up. As the book description goes: "in the opening pages, Mrs. Murakami is watching the demolition of her now-dead husband’s most prized part of the estate: his garden. The novel that follows takes place in a strange, not-quite-real Japan of the author’s imagination. But who, in fact, holds the role of author?"

Ms. Murakami's garden is all about probing, relentlessly, by way of footnotes - Gloriously Strange Footnotes! - and a breakdown of the text and story structure this question: Who holds the role? of teller, of artist, of truth, of responsibility to literary-ness, of anything, of intention, of the readers ability to suspend disbelief and just freaking go with it.

It is this sense of 'comeon freaking go with it. That I reoccurring in new works coming out from the main-mainstream. It is refreshing and challenging and as good writing does, from the point of view of this reader, leaves more - many more - questions than answers.

Ms. Murakami's garden is novel that is surreal, challenging to the reader, conspiratorial with the translator. It is madness that along with the what is anything question also moves deftly and with precision themes of inequality, academia, and social commentary.

A mad novel that is very much of the moment but in every best possible way is not at all of this moment or any other but purely Bellatin's moment, Bellatins reality, Bellatins story.

Most Exceedingly Excellent. ( )

Rather an odd little book, this. Not at all sure i quite grasped the intention behind the 'story'. It seems like a simple tale of a woman looking back on her life and marriage after the death of her husband, but the footnotes - and footnotes which then refer to other notes at the end of the book - suggest an editorial framing that may question the superficial meaning of the plot.

This was my first foray into the world of South American author Mario Bellatin, and it just left me a little flat. ( )