The Solitude of Prime Numbers

Never judge a book by its cover? Psssht. The design of the cover tells you what genre it is, what type of reader the marketing department thinks will buy the book, how much the publisher was prepared to spend on the book, what the reviewers said and whether they can be trusted (the publication they write for)... And the title and author's name, of course. Then there's the blurb...

I never read the blurb. So many words that tell you nothing about the book. Unless you're in it for the plot. Are you? Do you read the 'new fiction' stacked at the front of the book shop? Head shaking, patronising sigh. No, no. The 'new fiction' up front is the stuff with plot in it. Plot... Pssssht. What you want are characters, ideas, revelation. You're looking for the next life-changing read.

So, you speed past the piles of ghostwritten and skeletal books, to the shelf of 'new fiction'. No, no, not the bestseller list. Have you been listening, like, at all? Around the shelf to the back of it. Ah, here is the real new fiction. The runts of the litter, the ones that will follow you around convinced you are some kind of deity from which freedom flows. These are the dogs - books - that will wrestle a bear to protect you.

(c) brusselspictures.com. Let's play find the reader.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers does not rest here. You zoomed past him 5 seconds ago.

Ok, ok, so 'new fiction' has its own place in the world of literature. It reaches many more people than new fiction, and what we really want is people reading. Because people who read are intelligent people, empathic people, empowered people. Yes, and democracy is a real thing. Did you know that a certain bestselling author, who produces one book every six months, actually uses ghostwriters? He gives them the plot, they write it, he overwrites and to the publisher it goes.

Luckily we live in societies that worship diversity (by which I mean the people who can host fundraisers and plonk pretty minorities in their ads and hire against a checklist of the previously disadvantaged that they still need), so you are free to stop at the front of the shop and pick up one of those books whose author's name is in bigger type than the title. And I shall not judge because I can't see you from behind the shelf and I am too busy playing with puppies.

I tricked you. Where do you think The Solitude of Prime Numbers is resting? Do you think it's at the front, flouncing its skirts? Ask yourselves how many seconds it will take to walk back to Raptor or Sally's Sonnet or whatever else is dancing in the window. Actually, ask me, because I actually know. 10 seconds! (I timed it. I don't have a watch but I can count, you.) Which means - ta dah! - that The Solitude of Prime Numbers is somewhere in between. Maybe hanging from the ceiling by some duct tape or held up by some poor staff member whose arm is beginning to atrophy.

The cover is made up of four layers: The first is a picture of a girl sitting on a bench. The second is a picture of a river with some water flowers reflected in the water, Monet-style but not quite. The third is a set of geometrical diagrams drawn in thin lines. Finally we have the title and the author's name, as well as the words 'haunting, bestseller,stunning'. In other words, the design is literally layered, suggesting the novel is the same.  But then there is that line-up of words that are worn through with use.

Marketing speak. Love it. There's more on the back cover but I won't bore you. The blurb? I didn't read it before I opened the book. Now, I realise, it reveals the entire plot except for the last 15 pages. Luckily, this book is about characters as much as plot, which is why it is permitted to hover in the centre of the room, caught between readers' judgements.

The novel focuses on two main characters: Alice and Matthia, both of whom suffered childhood tragedies and grow up with normal self-destructive tendencies like not eating and cutting oneself. Several other characters flow through like undercurrents, each with their own self-destructive tendencies. The plot focuses on the friendship of these characters, mostly in retrospect and with the importance we attach to single moments in our lives.

In psychology speak, they become co-dependent. They fill the void that would normally be filled with said self-destructive tendencies. Well, really, they just shove them aside.

The author treats the psychologies of the two characters with such empathy and understanding, especially Matthia. It is through Matthia that the promise of the philosophy of mathematics, posed in the title, comes through. (To be honest, I think it was the phrase 'Prime Numbers' that hooked me.) Although a lot of the book is dedicated to the characters' disorders, somehow we learn more about the characters themselves than just a list of their symptoms.

And this isn't a Jodi Picoult version of tragedy; these are the everyday lives of two afflicted characters, to whom little happens bar their early traumas. (So, don't worry, no one's sister dies unexpectedly at the end. That all happens at the beginning...)

But, see, here's the thing. Nothing happens... (I ain't a hypocrite - hear me out.) The characters meet and then we bound through their lives at intervals of a few years, sitting in their brains while they contemplate what is, was and might be. Then whoosh we're off again. We're tripping over loose ends and generally 

contemplating the angst that prevents us from ever having a real relationship with another human being - or, in fact, just saying what we bloody well are thinking - and everyone is just a step away from mental meltdown.

Then we have the last 15 pages not covered by the blurb. To give the author, marketers and reviewers the benefit of the doubt, I think maybe it's meant to be a happy ending. It only looks that way if I squint. If I squint, I can also appreciate that at least the blurb accurately describes the, errr, plot, which is really an accomplishment in the days when people can't spell without spellcheck.

Hush, now, here's a free lesson. Always judge a book by the first paragraph. This is the paragraph the author has slaved over, trust me on this. It should always leave a mystery hanging in the air, a mystery you want the answer to. That is a good book. (Except for once, when it turned out the editor must have known this and really crafted the first paragraph, because the rest was just badly written.) This good book may not be on display at the front of the shop, the cover design may be shoddy because no one really expects it to sell and, really, it may be a runt born from a runt. But have you never watched a Disney movie?!

The first paragraph of The Solitude of Prime Numbers hides the novel's mystery, letting us wonder what exactly it is until the very end. The paragraph focuses on a young Alice, does hint at the atmosphere of angst that each page coughs up, like a smoker's breath. You know this is not going to be a happy story. I was distracted by the reference to prime numbers in the title, thinking this novel was going enrich me. I probably would not have read it if I had read the first paragraph. But it's hanging in the middle of the shop if you want it.