Genesis 0

Isabelle Nicou Genesis 0 (2007)
Back in March, I opined that Nicou's Paresis wasn't likely to be Amphetamine Sulphate's chart smashing hit single for all that it constitutes an astonishing debut. Genesis 0, on the other hand - Nicou's second novel to be translated from the French - may be another thing entirely. It demonstrates the same forensic level of attention to existential and biological detail - so beautifully realised that it almost hurts - and yet its purpose is driven and absolutely clear, and to the point of reminding me - because apparently I'd forgotten - that this was what proper novels used to look like before everything expanded to five-hundred page bloaters with the author's name in raised silver type. This is the sort of thing Penguin should be publishing now rather than whatever the fuck it is they actually do publish these days.

Genesis 0 - and that's zero rather than the fifteenth letter of the alphabet - inhabits pregnancy and in doing so explores territory I only seem able to recall having encountered in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning and, to a much lesser extent, The Abortion by Richard Brautigan. Given where we all came from, without exception, this seems a ridiculous oversight on the part of world literature, so possibly it's just me. Obviously, I've never found myself with child, but I'm particularly close to someone who has, so a lot of Genesis 0 seems painfully familiar in its documentation of the fundamental changes to one's existence which occur when the periods shut down; and it's nice to find the subject approached without any of the customarily sappy shite about ribbons.

I don't know if we're still bothering to use the term transgressive fiction here, but if so, Genesis 0 proves it to be a redundant label risen above the waves only because the alleged mainstream of literature has devolved so far from doing what it should do. It's by no means an easy read and it demands that you pay attention, but masterpiece honestly doesn't seem too great an accolade.