On Nanni Balestrini’s ‘Tristano’

Balestrini’s experimental retelling of ‘Isolde and Tristan’ puts into perspective both language and the experience of reading.


Nanni Balestrini
Fiction | Experimental Novel
128 pages
Paperback
ISBN 9781781681695
First Edition
Verso Books
London and New York
Available HERE
$25.00


“It is the moment in which you realize that language offers no guarantee at all. There is no meaning but something like a dream of meaning.”

(p. 9)

Some books find their readers rather than vice versa. There’s no set way in which this happens, but the moment it happens, the reader will know it himself — It’s an unmistakable feeling of an urge and a longing for something that feels far away even though it’s physically just an arm’s length away. That is what seeing a copy of Tristano by Nanni Balestrini in a used bookstore felt like, the number on its cover holding a particular allure.

With the constant evolution of technology, it shouldn’t be surprising that some of the experimental literature being printed today can be the product of algorithms or generally “playing around” on software. The extent to which Balestrini takes this idea exceeds all initial expectations, and makes it understandable why the true intentions of the book couldn’t be fulfilled until only recently. Tristano is not simply a novel — I would in fact argue that that is only secondary to its identity. What it is, first and foremost, is a literary experiment that plays with an idea most of us take for granted and don’t give much thought to: the notion that language is a combination of sounds and letters that have been strung together according to rules that can be altered just as easily as they were constructed in the first place. Sentence structures can be changed and words rearranged to give the reader an experience that focuses more on process than the actual material.

The summary of the book will tell you that the story is a retelling of sorts of the classical Tristan and Isolde tale. The catch lies in the fact that no two books published are exactly the same, as each one rearranges the paragraphs, lines, and words in the book to create a completely new experience for each reader, hence the reason why each copy is numbered on the front. The quotations in this review will be unique only to the copy of the book that I read (number 12127). The plot itself is only “Tristan and Isolde” in the sense that it tells of a whirlwind relationship of a pair of lovers that should be considered a loose adaptation at best, for it is not the focal point.

In fact, there is no real “focal point” in this book, which is divided into ten chapters that are “chapters” only in a structural sense, to give the work, and the reader, some semblance of order. They are easy to disregard for that reason as the writing captivates from the very beginning. The biggest advice for reading Tristano would be not to get boggled down with trying to follow details. All names and places have been replaced with the single letter, C, and beyond the vague notions of whether it is the woman or man speaking, and who each is talking about based on any remaining context in the sentence, there are no indications of a clear-cut story.

This allows one to focus on the most important part of the story — the emotions of the characters, as well as the writing itself. The anonymous turbulent lovers have their relationship, and the woman’s affair specifically, at the center of attention. At times very Anna Karenina while at others more Great Gatsby, it both amasses and transcends the literary notion of what a romantic relationship is. For one that is due to the way that the writing is critical of itself, as if conscious of its own action of telling a story, and at one point there appears a line that reflects this:

“All this does not have very much to do with our story but it doesn’t matter.”

(p. 21).

The writing frequently assumes a meta nature and what’s best of all is that this can be written off as pretty much accidental. Balestrini doesn’t sacrifice the descriptive nature of fiction, either, and occasionally the imagery creates its own tiny bubble that is an experience of its own. These feel a bit like Easter eggs that come up at unexpected but perfect moments, and mesmerize with how concisely, yet nonetheless strikingly, they convey the scenes they describe. The passage I remember most startled me with how colorful it felt in comparison to the rest of the story, as if a drop of ink was placed into a glass of water:

“Before C could find an answer to those questions you hear the lock of the door that led from her husband’s room to the corridor click. The general scheme was a nice yellow the upholstery of the chairs and the settee went well with the slightly darker solid-colored wallpaper and the wood color of the furniture. C shrugs. And now to finish the dialogue with the Cs. We’ll only find out in a few days’ time.”

(p. 112).

Reading Tristano felt very much like putting oneself into a trance willingly, the lack of any punctuation other than a period creating a natural flow that, once begun, was impossible to stop. It’s a novel that requires undivided attention while enjoying it alone quietly, but also begs to be discussed in public. The content of the book is secondary to the experience of reading it, but that doesn’t mean one cannot enjoy the material itself. It’s a book that puts into perspective both language and the reading experience, and it is only the beginning of the kinds of experimentation that is sure to come.

The Coil

Literature to change your lightbulb.

Margaryta Golovchenko

Written by

Settler-immigrant, poet, critic, and academic based in Tkaronto/Toronto.

The Coil

The Coil

Literature to change your lightbulb.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade