"I The Supreme": Second Half

I’ve had to retreat to Saturna Island to defeat the supremely long and complex “I the Supreme”. Dozens of cups of tea; more than a couple complaints to anyone who would listen; and half a hi-lighter later, I have triumphed. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Hesse and Calvino are counted among my favourite authors. Thus, it can be said that complex plots, philosophical ramblings, blurred realism and shear length are not literary qualities that I avoid. Having said this, I can say unequivocally that I found “I the Supreme” to be too long, that is to say that its length detracted from its supremacy. The chaotic and mystical diatribes that issue forth from the Dictator’s Pen grow tiresome after 430 pages, although there is much brilliance interposed between such highly (un)literal passages. This is a book that could have been written in 200 pages without losing its brilliance, and in my opinion would have increased it in fact. Did dear Bastos not have an editor? The book is “richly textured”, as one reviewer puts it; like many sumptuous Parisian desserts thrown together, but with a single flavour dominating the overflowing dish so that it makes it hard to pick out the other delicious flavours. Ok. Now that I have thoroughly complained about the layer of the cake that is too thick for my liking, let me get to the richness that lies above and below.

“I the Supreme” is a book about language. Mortality, politics, gender, and religion are important themes, but they are all embedded in language. It is simultaneously about the slippage of meaning and the permanence of language. The Dictator himself writes/dictates constantly and continually invokes various written works from the western canon dating back to Plato, yet curses scribes of all sorts and his own in particular. He berates Patino incessantly for his inability to capture His dictation. He demands exact copies of his speech, but also the recording of the meaning behind the words. In a political sense absolute power flows from The Supreme, but he admits to fooling himself at the end of the book. No power is absolute, because of the unavoidable slippage from the exact meaning of each of his orders as they are received; the slippage between the literal and figural, the sign and the signified. The Dictator himself is constantly remaking and re-working words in dizzying displays of word play. His thoughts are rife with illusions and allusions (the Orange Tree, mystical eggs and talking dead dogs). Ultimately, The Supreme still exists as a historical character because of language, both written and oral, but not in the way he would have liked, despite all of his writing. He is proof that regardless of the power that is invested in an individual, they are unable to fully mould their surroundings to their likings because they lack the language to truly express their desires.