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Our Assessment:
B : appealing parts, but uncertain in purpose See our review for fuller assessment.
Review Consensus: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
The narrator of The Tango Singer is the NYU graduate student Bruno Cadogan.
In 2001 he gets a Fulbright scholarship to travel to Buenos Aires to do research for his dissertation "on Jorge Luis Borges' essays on the origins of the tango" -- enough, along with the grant he gets from the university, to live there "for six months, if not longer".
That evening, ten days after the Twin Towers were destroyed, I saw Buenos Aires for the first time.The events of 11 September barely rate another mention; indeed the author seems to go out of his way to ignore them (the narrator complains about how long it takes him to get down to Argentina, without mentioning that in those first post-attack days air travel was much stalled -- in fact, at that point in his story he hasn't even mentioned that these were the post-attack days ...). It may be jarring for American readers, but it's also an eye-opening perspective. The Argentina that Cadogan travels to is focussed on its own coming economic crisis -- which finally hits full force when Cadogan is there -- and local concerns easily drown out anything happening continents away. Americans, used to thinking that whatever happens to them is the most important (and essentially only) thing that matters in the world, surely will find this -- what essentially amounts to complete indifference -- jarring. (Cadogan's ignoring of the events in New York is, however, ultimately unrealistic: especially in taking a plane just a few days after the events, it seems simply unbelievable that it would not affect his plans -- or be on his mind.) Martínez does present Cadogan as very narrowly (self-)obsessed, focussed on a very limited world -- i.e. he is a typical graduate student (and typical also in that he is a the Martel experience is like another dimension, almost supernatural.Martel, of course, proves elusive. He does not sing at clubs any longer, but rather shows up in the unlikeliest places across the city and dazzles with his songs. Once on his trail, Cadogan invariably comes too late. A sickly, stunted hemophiliac Martel has his own style, the words often incomprehensible, amazing with: a voice that rather than repeating images and stories, slid from one emotion to another, with the clarity of a sonata. Like the music, the voice had no need of meaning. It expressed itself alone.Of course, it is all hearsay -- Cadogan never stumbles across any of the public concerts --, and Martel (and his talent) seem as much myth as reality; in any case he is essentially unknowable. This fits with another of the novel's obsessions: Borges himself, and especially his universe-encompassing Aleph, said to be located in the cellar ... well, possibly of the very house where Cadogan takes a room. But the Aleph, too, remains elusive, the cellar blocked by the librarian Bonorino, the (im)possible just out of reach. The Tango Singer is a double-edged Argentinian tale, a paean to the beautifully mysterious city of Buenos Aires and a reckoning with the ugly recent history of Argentina. Buenos Aires is presented as a constantly changing city -- not merely in the usual urban-growth sense, but in an almost shape-shifting way: There are no reliable maps of Buenos Aires, because the street names change from one week to the next. What one map affirms, another denies. Directions guide and at the same time disturb.The book is full of episodes of people not finding their way; indeed, it proves almost impossible to do so. "I walked for two hours without getting anywhere" is not an unusual experience. It is also an upended world -- Cadogan notes the seasonal change (when it is spring in New York it is fall in Argentina), and the all-night café's help substitute day for night. Some places are worse (or better ?) than others: Hundreds of people have gotten lost in the deceptive streets of Parque Chas, where the interstice that divides reality from the fictions of Buenos Aires would seem to be located.In fact, the divide between reality and fiction is constantly being obscured (one way, also, of dealing with ugly history ...): among the more amusing examples are the fake tours put on for tourists, leading them, for example, "to all the big soccer stadiums simulating a day of classic matches", with hired crowds out front and the stadium loudspeakers simulating "the roar of a non-existent crowd". Cadogan says of the tourists: They were each shown a Buenos Aires that doesn't exist, or maybe they could only see the one they'd already imagined before their arrival.Yet he barely considers that he may have fallen into the same trap. He, too, is presented with what may well be, more or less, illusions -- the Aleph, the tango singer, and the city, too. Following the trail of Martel, Cadogan wants to figure out the system by which the singer determines his next performance-place -- so that he can get there in time to hear him. The only connexions he can find is that the places are all part of Argentinian history: bad things happened here, small and large, and Martel's performances are, perhaps, homages to these crimes. The country that Cadogan finds himself in is one that is a master of forgetting: In Argentina there is now a secular custom of suppressing from history all the facts that contradict the official ideas of the grandeur of the country.The tango singer's performances are tributes to the past -- but the memory-less present barrels ahead. The constant transformations all about (including that ultimate one, death) prevent Cadogan from ever establishing much hold on the past, as this is a city where even the Aleph can be bulldozed into oblivion. Martínez doesn't seem to be certain what he wants his book to be. It's a quest-tale, of sorts, but Cadogan's inertia find him constantly left behind -- or just too late. His feeble efforts at writing his dissertation suggest he's hardly a person to accomplish anything. There are other stories within the novel, broken-off tangents recounting some of those Argentinian fates; fully formed, they're not fully integrated into the novel -- as is they're almost too large for it (though quite interesting). The story of the tango singer and the history of Argentina makes for a solid foundation, but Martínez's Borgesian obsession also tends to distract. The Aleph (and the money-making scheme the fellow Cadogan takes up with comes up with, involving a fake version) is intriguing, but ultimately also feels like yet another loose end. Finally, there's Buenos Aires in those months, perhaps the novel's true central character. Martínez glowing portrait also comes to feel strained, and his descriptions of the city and its neighbourhoods, people, streets, history, and appearance are not always tied in well enough with the story proper. The financial crisis that strikes is nicely realistically presented -- the difficulty of getting one's hands on any money, the day-to-day consequences, the changed atmosphere of the city -- but again feels like something he wants to weave into his larger narrative, but is unable to do so. The content of The Tango Singer is fabulous, many of the ideas inspired -- but mixed and matched as it is it's simply too messy. Martínez writes eagerly, but the scraggly result is ultimately something of a disappointment. - Return to top of the page - The Tango Singer:
- Return to top of the page - Tomás Eloy Martínez was born in Argentina in 1934 and died in 2010. - Return to top of the page -
© 2006-2012 the complete review
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