Fiction
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Noam Mor's debut novel
follows primordial, modern-day Adam in his quest to find the reason for
his
existence after losing his lover, Phoenix.
After encountering Kadman,
his philosophical, spiritual other, and
painstakingly making his way from an unlit hole of a restroom, Adam
sets out
amid the shadows of myth, constantly (and comically)
concerned with the safety
of his genitals as he travels from strip bars and bath houses to
infinitely
more disturbing landscapes. Despite the
help of Sheckanah, an earthy
motherfigure, and her band of grotesque sidekicks,
Adam's progress toward knowledge is sluggish and blundering; at the
same time,
the pace of the prose itself is slowed by the painstaking attention
that is
paid to the texture of each word swirling in Adam's mind and stuttering
from
his mouth. Mor has succeeded in
creating a reality that is linguistically thick and laden with
libidinous
desire, pulling the reader into a sensually and philosophically murky
world in
which the ground is constantly shifting.
So all-encompassing is Arc's otherworldly vision, in fact, that it is
shocking to witness the occasional intrusion of a world we recognize as
our
own, such as Adam's attempts to find his lost Social Security card or
his fear
of legal repercussions after having intercourse with Ambrosia, who is
seemingly both a projection of his imagination and an underage
girl. While
Arc resonates with echoes of the
Kaballah, Mor plucks only the elements from it that enhance his
narrative and
filters them through the souls of several morbidly humorous and
formally
experimental modern novelists,
crafting a tale of self-discovery at once in
conversation with the past and yet unlike any that came before
it. [Chris
McCreary] review of contemporary
fiction fall 2002
Fans
of Brooklyn writer Noam Mor have compared him to such luminaries as
Kafka and Beckett, and even weirdo-genius filmaker David Lynch. Not too
shabby for a first-time novelist.
Mor's Ambitious and poetic book draws
inspiration from the mystical Kabbalah, employing an unusual form to
chronicle one man's messy search for his identity and purpose in a
confusing world. Time Out
Arc
is driven by a pulse -- a linguistic surge -- rather than a plot. At
the
heart of every line is an itch, a libidinal agitation, an unappeasable
hunger. First Intensity
Just as the central text of the
Kabbalah is unafraid to work through questions as elemental as
cannibalism, Arc: Cleavage of Ghosts becomes the central novel
of the new confrontation with mysticism by a writer who is a direct
heir of Kafka and Singer. Even more of a poet than his predecessors,
Noam Mor conjures the voice and narration of the soul like a
contemporary Paul Celan. It’s virtually impossible to describe his work
without invoking the company of writers sorely missed. His multifaceted
talent limns the interior life of the human body as though Dostoevsky
had returned from underground. The depths of humor and
sexuality are noted effortlessly and dreamlike, as if David Lynch were
given ten
years to film Notes from Underground.
David
Rosenberg, author of Dreams of Being Eaten Alive: The
Literary Core of the Kabbalah
The harrowing journey of the human
soul charted with beauty and abandon. ARC is a work of great urgency
and ruin. Carole
Maso, author of Ghost Dance and The American Woman
in the Chinese Hat
In Noam Mor’s Arc: Cleavage of
Ghosts, the “full name” is Adam Kadman, Blake’s Human Form Divine, God
as Primal Man and Cosmic Body. Mor’s “textual mark,” bearing
the traces of kabbalism and gnosticism, of Kafka and Beckett, indeed
rises out of the dark of the modern city in all its violence,
depravity, corruption,
and longing for redemption. Here, in a work part
poetry, part hallucinatory prose, the divine emanations argue, make
love and play poker amongst themselves for the highest
stakes.
Norman
Finkelstein, author of Lyrical Interference
Noam Mor