The latest work of the celebrated Nigerian-born British writer Ben Okri, “Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted,” is a slim volume, more novella than novel. Its cast of characters includes two restlessly unhappy middle-aged couples, who are members of the British elite, and the eponymous Madame Sosostris, on whom the plot hinges.
Fans of the modernist poet T.S. Eliot may recall this famed fortuneteller from “The Waste Land.” (Okri appears to be following the adage that great artists don’t borrow; they steal, attributed by some to Eliot.) But the greater debt is to Shakespeare, whose comedies this story mirrors in its themes of romance, revelation, and transformation, as well as the characters’ verbal parries.
Dialogue makes up the bulk of the book, whether as confrontation, confession, or bickering, so much so that reading “Madame Sosostris” was reminiscent of reading a play. While that style may appeal to some readers, for me, long passages of uninterrupted dialogue make for a far less absorbing read, especially when there is nary a signal phrase in sight (such as “Viv suggested” or “Stephen bellowed”) to express tone and keep readers from getting disoriented in the forest of conversation.
Maybe that’s apt since this novel/la (or play in novel’s clothing?) is meant to conjure the magic of getting lost in the woods as a means of self-discovery, revelation, and renewal.
The two couples, Viv and Alan and their frenemies Beatrice and Stephen, experience just that during the festival of the title, conceived of by Viv, to which she invites the brokenhearted to gather on the grounds of a remote, woodsy French château. Those attendees – or “revelers,” as they’re referred to – function much like a Greek chorus, or perhaps backup singers, as an undifferentiated mass meant to emphasize the themes of heartbreak and hope for renewal. They create a sort of swirling atmosphere of adventure mixed with grief. That the four central characters don disguises, along with the revelers who have been required to come costumed, propels the plot, as well as adds a note of Shakespearean carnivalesque. A piano heard throughout the festivities seems almost a character in its own right, such that I found myself considering a playlist. … First, perhaps, The Bad Plus’ instrumental cover of Peter Gabriel’s “Games Without Frontiers,” then Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “20220404,” followed by Charles Mingus’ “Myself When I Am Real,” and concluding with Thelonious Monk’s “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You).” One might add Astghik Martirosyan’s “Summer Night (Amran Gisher)” as a musical epilogue, come to think of it.
Into this farcical, absurdist atmosphere, add a dash of Samuel Beckett, since, I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say, there is a lot of anxious waiting for Madame Sosostris, whose appearance Viv has billed as the festival’s main event. The novel’s characters are convinced that her arrival, complete with a reading of tarot cards, will resolve all matters of the heart.
Farce is tough to pull off on the page, and some key elements of Okri’s novel didn’t quite land, at least for this reader. What is meant to be fanciful can feel tedious at times. Then there’s the question of brokenheartedness, which as a universal experience is no doubt a worthy theme to explore. The problem lies in how narrowly the story defines heartbreak as romantic disappointment. One can be brokenhearted about politics, injustice, or the plight of the disenfranchised, among many other things.
A fixation on romantic entanglements as what fulfills or breaks our hearts seems a narrow preoccupation, and more often that of a young person, which made it all the more perplexing coming from a mature and an otherwise inventive writer like Okri. Although novels that focus exclusively on romantic love can be absorbing, they come with certain risks, namely that to hook readers it’s pretty essential to create an empathetic protagonist with whom to identify and a compelling romantic journey. That Okri’s central characters are defined almost completely by their lives as one-percenters make Viv, Alan, Beatrice, and Stephen not only difficult to empathize with – filled as they are with malaise, complaint, complacency, and contempt – but also frankly hard to keep straight. Wait, is Beatrice married to Alan or is Viv? I found myself asking. Is Stephen the finance bro or the literary magazine editor?
I kept flipping back to the first few pages to check, but in the end I’m not sure it really mattered, since Okri seems less driven to offer a nuanced portrayal of individual characters than by more abstract questions of identity and how to come unstuck from past, unresolved grief.
In this, it’s a shame that “Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted” doesn’t have something more meaningful to say to contemporary readers. For that, one might circle back to classics by Chinua Achebe or, ironically, Shakespeare.
