What the Body Requires (Jaded Ibis Press, $16.99) is to the mind what chocolate is to the tongue -- rich and decadent.
In her 2009 novel, Debra Di Blasi aims to indulge. As the title suggests, this is a work focused on the flesh. The sensual Italian landscape of the setting is as much a character as the people who populate its olive groves and medieval villas. Against this exotic backdrop, Di Blasi slowly unveils her mistress, an American artist married to a gorgeous violinist. Flitting back and forth through time and setting, she teases the reader with growing suspense.
Though Di Blasi is coy with her plot twists, she's not gun-shy. Death makes an appearance in the first paragraph. The word clitoris debuts on page two. Di Blasi is right to call this a "symphonic novel." The selling aspect is the melody of the words.
At times the plot is tough to follow, but the story here is secondary to style. The short sections, with their irregular punctuation and almost stream-of-consciousness structure, are more like poetry than prose. Reality and thought are often difficult to distinguish. Throughout the novel, Di Blasi plays with contrasts: the thin lines separating life and death, shadow and light, love and hate.
Di Blasi's writing takes on a sensual cadence. The rhythm and texture are erotic in ways very removed from the usual paperback romance. Her entrancing descriptions are both tactile and cerebral. Sure, chandeliers are pretty, but Di Blasi can spin a scene with such erotic tension that a hand through the lamp crystals becomes the sexiest thing in the world.
That tone fits the protagonist. Madeline is a hyper-sexual being. A male voice behind her at the post office can make her genitals quiver -- and Di Blasi doesn't pass up any opportunity to describe genitalia going hard or slippery, as the case may be. Madeline is married to Gustavo, a physically stunning creature with equally stunning musical talent. But even before the reader knows his specific sin, Gustavo is cast as a traitor. This is why Madeline is the out-of-place American in a small Italian town -- she's come to Europe to kill her husband.
But Madeline's bitterness hasn't dulled her affections. She's a magnetic presence, and there are other men in her life: the Italian police lieutenant who admires her from afar until a mysterious death brings them together, the American neighbor, the detective who is also the middleman for murder. Just as Di Blasi is adept with description, she's also a pro at ratcheting up tension, pulling in loose threads and bringing her characters to a bloody climax.
Yet for all the poetry, Madeline is kind of a narcissistic, possessive slut. She's preoccupied with beauty. It's unclear if her passion for Gustavo is just the product of her overactive libido or true love. With so few redeeming qualities, she can be hard to feel sorry for her when her lover betrays her. Even her neighbors call her la madonna della morte.
For all Madeline's faults, though, the book that tells her story remains a worthy indulgence.
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On the strength of this review I would buy this book.
Is there a reading scheduled in the near future?
Anyone preoccupied with beauty and slightly slutty to boot, is exacting the proper Nietzschean response to existential exigency. Living well is still the best revenge.
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