October 24, 2022
Review of Boredom by Alberto Moravia
The original title of Alberto Moravia’s novel is La Noia, which means “Boredom”. For some unfathomable reason, there are many English translations referring to the book as The Empty Canvas. In this review of Boredom, self-evidently, I stick to the more direct translation of the title.
Alberto Moravia was an Italian author who produced plenty of interesting texts in the decades right after World War II. He did write (and publish) earlier, too, but his most intriguing texts came after the war. Boredom is certainly one of them.
If I had to pick just one word to describe it, it would be… No, not “boredom”. In Moravia’s novel, as his protagonist explicitly clarifies, boredom isn’t what you think it is. Perhaps the word I’d pick, the one arguably coming closer to the protagonist’s predicament, is absurdity.
Review of Boredom: Genre, Plot, Narrative
The plot of Boredom is fairly simple: Dino, a man in his mid-thirties, feels he has no connection to reality. He claims he is bored by everything, and precisely describes his condition as one where there is no firm foundation to something graspable and real.
His mother is very rich, and offers him the opportunity for a carefree life, but he decides to live as a painter in a small apartment, trying to combat this boredom as he calls it. Not only does he fail, but his meeting with Cecilia, a much younger girl (indeed a minor by our contemporary standards), throws his life into utter disarray.
The Allusions of Genre
There are plenty of literary-fiction elements in Alberto Moravia’s Boredom. I could talk about the deep introspection, the rich parallelisms, the ominous foreshadowing pervading the narrative. Nonetheless, I would like to focus my review of Boredom on what, I’d argue, is the true element behind it all: existentialist absurdity.
Also considering the context of the novel – published in 1960 – it’s easy to see why it draws on a then contemporary tradition of existential works. Indeed, there is an intense Camusian aura in Boredom.
Review of Boredom: Characters
Naturally, this existential framework depends entirely on the characters (chiefly the protagonist) and their reflections. Boredom delivers, in spades. The protagonist, Dino, is magnificently detailed, and as the novel is written in first-person, the reader has the chance to follow Dino’s thought process and his futile attempts at understanding.
Cecilia’s character is also excellent, intriguing in her incapability to be threatened, manipulated, coerced, or bribed. And the more she refuses to play by the rules of society – thus refusing Dino the pleasure of becoming bored with her – the more he ups the ante; to no avail.
Perhaps the best compliment I’d have to offer about Boredom is this: It’s a thoroughly frustrating book. Reading it is an extremely humbling experience, as it allows us to see our own behavior the way it’s reflected back to us, distorted and exaggerated, as in from a funhouse mirror. There are clear tragic elements in Boredom (that is, in the Aristotelian sense), highlighting what happens when we go too far in our self-delusions.
Review of Boredom: General Impression
I really enjoyed Boredom. It does have its flaws – the ending was the greatest disappointment – but there are plenty of things to like.
Its characters are intricate and realistic. The protagonist’s deep introspection makes for a cerebral, thought-provoking reading. And the narrative inevitability of the story (perhaps excluding the ending), offers a thoroughly rewarding experience.
Though it’s already 60+ years old, its age doesn’t show. You only remember it by details such as the characters needing to use payphones. Otherwise, the struggles Boredom explores are timeless. In many aspects, it reminded me of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. All in all, a provocative, engaging novel, well worth your time.
Note: And if you’re still… bored, why don’t you also take a look at Terminal Boredom, by Izumi Suzuki.