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Our Assessment:
B : artful, but ultimately doesn't go far enough See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review: The Waiter is narrated by an old hand at the venerable Oslo restaurant The Hills. He's been there for thirteen years, comfortable in the routine of his work: "I wait. I please. I move around the room, taking orders, pouring, and clearing away". He has done his best to fit right in, and he does: I stand here, straight-backed in my waiter's uniform, and could just as easily have stood like this a hundred years ago.The Waiter is a character-portrait of a would-be entirely unassuming character, pleased to have found his role, in an appropriate old-style, uncompromising (but also a bit long in the tooth) establishment, and to inhabit it to the fullest: to let himself be defined by his work. So also he admits: "I work as much as I can. My days might seem endless, but that's how I want them". He barely seems to have -- or be able to imagine -- a life beyond his professional one at The Hills. He sums up: My job has two key criteria: I have to show pride in my work, and I have to be self-effacing.He put everything he has into doing both -- successfully, for so long, but in the November days he recounts here some cracks begin to show. The waiter acknowledges: The farce of everyday life seeps in here at The Hills as well, where we try to keep it at bay through rigid routines.Ultimately, here, the efforts are undermined by a variety of smaller and larger incidents that throw the waiter increasingly off. It begins with one of the regulars -- and almost all the tables seem to have their regulars --, known as the Pig. Always dependably impeccably dressed, and with his own set of routines, he arrives later than usual for his lunch; even more suprisingly, one of his three guests doesn't show up: "Not every day the Pig gets stood up," says the Bar Manager.The absentee eventually appears, after Pig has left; it is a striking young woman, who then shows up repeatedly, alone as well as to join Pig. The waiter doesn't know what to make of her; he's not even sure of what she is: It's hard to say whether she she's a lady or a girl. Child or lady. She's some kind of child lady. In every respect, she's an adult. Definitely adult in appearance as well as in her habits, which are far too refined to belong to a child, not to mention expensive.He refers to her simply as the Child Lady -- and she continues to divert his attention when she's present, unsettling him and his routines. He admits, too: "I think the Child Lady's true face is also a mask, and an awful one." Among the goings-on in the restaurant the waiter recounts are the routines with the regulars, and the slightly out of the ordinary incidents that occur over the course of the days he's describing. For example, he's asked to make introductions: one party has a picture -- a Holbein -- they'd like to have evaluated, and they want to call on the expertise of others; the waiter declines to act as middleman. The waiter also has some troubles -- largely of his own invention -- with the florist. And there's his friend Edgar, who regularly comes in with his nine-year-old daughter, Anna, and the increasingly ruffled waiter is particularly thrown off his game when Edgar asks him to watch Anna one afternoon and evening when he has to go away. For the waiter: "Regularity and service act as a bulwark against inner noise", but his walls are increasingly under attack and, as the inner noise burbles up, he does not handle it particularly well. Mistakes creep in; the waiter injures himself. He continues to try to keep on track, but finds it increasingly difficult. Of course, he tries to maintain a stiff upper lip, and does his best to give the impression everything -- including he -- is under control: "What's going on ?" says Edgar.Faldbakken nicely uses his protagonist's correct and mannered bearing and diction to sustain a simmering tension in The Waiter -- that small-scale nervousness one feels in a restaurant watching a server balancing a slightly over-full tray. The story rises to the occasional bigger jolt, but Faldbakken is more low-key than sensational; the unease or even horror bubble beneath but only barely poke through to the surface. Much of the pleasure of the novel comes in the creation of atmosphere, especially in the presentation of The Hills. This is an establishment from and of a different age. It aspires to the Continental ideal and maintains certain standards. So, for example, it offers newspapers in "so-called Zeitungsspanner" (a wooden stick clipping the spine, allowing the newspapers to be hung on a rack for customers), but: We don't offer the Norwegian daily papers in a place like this; they're too primitive. We try to maintain a Continental standard. Instead, we hang the few international papers still available in printed editions. Not that we're desperately Continental, but, unfortunately, offering the Norwegian papers isn't an option.So, too: The Bar Manager has put her foot down when it comes to serving decaf. It's not possible, she says. She's not some coffee fanatic, no coffee Nazi -- she doesn't have any warped barista ideology -- but she is part of the old school, and the line has to be drawn somewhere, she claims.There's impressive art hanging on the walls, too -- a pre-cubist Braque oil painting, a Schwitters, a Léger, a Kippenberger, even a Valie Export photograph Faldbakken's portrait of these two main characters -- waiter and restaurant -- is rich and evocative, while the many incidental characters, divided up between supporting characters (the various other restaurant-affiliated employees) and clientele, is also very good. Indeed, The Waiter is enjoyable to read for the descriptions, of the people, atmosphere, and the various, generally fairly small-scale restaurant-happenings -- but Faldbakken doesn't quite manage the payoff that seems to be lurking underneath the narrative all along. Not so much tease, The Waiter nevertheless winds up, when all is said and done, a bit flat, more show than anything telling. Yes, there is substance to it, and to its protagonist, who obviously has quite a few issues, but the novel doesn't quite dig down deep enough into them (even in its forays into The Hills' splendid old cellar ...). - M.A.Orthofer, 12 January 2019 - Return to top of the page - The Waiter:
- Return to top of the page - Norwegian author and artist Matias Faldbakken was born in 1973. - Return to top of the page -
© 2019 the complete review
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