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Nick Bantock first burst onto the literary scene in 1991 with his remarkable illustrated novel
Griffin & Sabine--which was as much art as it was artifice. While chronicling the correspondence between two mysterious lovers, Bantock peppered his book with visual delights--macabre post cards, intricately designed stamps, exquisite envelopes that open to disclose hand-written letters.
Sabine's Notebook and
The Golden Mean soon followed to complete the trilogy. In many respects,
The Museum at Purgatory resembles its predecessors, mixing metaphysics and art in a way meant to both puzzle and delight its readers. The narrator offers the basic premise early on: "My name is Non, and as Curator of the Museum here at Purgatory I am required by statute to facilitate, without judgment, the progress of all collectors assigned to these halls. It is my responsibility to act as their souls' guardian, as well as preserver of their accumulated treasures." Non then goes on to give a brief overview of the layout of Purgatory, a city that "takes a meditative, non-partisan view of reality" and where visitors are "faced with fundamental questions of self-worth" that must be resolved before they can move on.
In other words, this stopping place between heaven and hell is one big analyst's couch. Non's introduction to Purgatory scans like the overly formal, academic language one finds on informational panels in natural history museums--no doubt Bantock's intention. Unfortunately, this can become wearing after a while, and it isn't until the second half of the book when Non tells his own story (as opposed to the histories of the various "collections" under his care) that the prose loosens up somewhat.
But it's the illustrations that make Bantock's books special; it's unfortunate that several of them look as if they've escaped from a Dorling Kindersley guidebook--photographs of objects on stark backgrounds with a caption explaining their significance or use. Yet this museum contains some lovely examples of its author's art. As always, his stamps and postcards are exquisite--and how many cards are postmarked Nirvana or bear stamps from Inferno? This book may not equal the mystery or sheer beauty of the Griffin & Sabine trilogy, but Nick Bantock fans will still find plenty to intrigue and amuse. --Alix Wilber
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This is the slightest of Bantock's clever, illustrated novels. The author of the Griffin and Sabine trilogy and
The Forgetting Room (1997), Bantock combines inventive collages with lightweight if witty and sweet metaphysical fables. This tale is told by Non, the curator of the museum in Purgatory. Purgatory is a city, Non explains, a city that is in constant flux, forever changing its shape, its buildings, its trees, and its light and colors. A place of ambiguity, it is where souls come to re-evaluate their lives. It seems that we are essentially conduits for information, which we "deposit" into the collective consciousness via our dreams. Therefore, the question each soul must answer before they leave is whether he or she has "contributed enough to the greater consciousness" to go to a Utopian State, or, failing that, to a Dystopia. Non's job is to watch over the souls of collectors and to house their treasures. His introductory explanation is followed by a catalog of some of the museum's holdings, which includes biographical profiles of a handful of collectors. One woman, believing herself to be ordinary, collected unique and extraordinary things. An Englishman hopelessly in love with a Persian woman collected magic carpets. Stamps, shrines, ancient artifacts, spinning tops, board and card games all reflect the personalities and predicaments of their owners. Non finally tells his own sad tale in the book's concluding chapter, bringing Bantock's pretty but vacuous little volume to a saccharine conclusion.
Donna Seaman
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