Vendela Vida. The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty. New York: Harper, 2015. E-book.
I had read some glowing reviews of Vendela Vida and that The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty reminded one reviewer of Patricia Highsmith. Highsmith was the author of Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley, both made into famous films.
The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty did not strike this reviewer as clever quite like the Highsmith novels, but it was a wild read. There were enough twists in the tale to make the book disorient the reader.
The first thing that stands out is that the story is told in the second person. We see that in poems and songs, but I can only name two works of prose fiction that do that (for what it is worth, Bright Lights Big City and parts of “A White Heron”). That in itself is disorienting enough.
This might force the reader to identify with the character, but it is hard to do that completely. Is she clever or stupid? Does she have real survival skills? Is it impossible for her to see the consequences of her actions? Is she simply caught up in circumstances beyond her control?
“You” have just flown from your home state of Florida to spend an exotic vacation in Casablanca, Morocco. You get a sense that this might have been a mistake since the guide book you pick up tells you that “The first thing to do upon arriving in Casablanca is to get out of Casablanca.”
It goes from bad to worse; or, perhaps, from inconvenient to insane. The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty is a Moroccan The Out of Towners. The original film by that name with Sandy Dennis is one of the funniest movies ever made. One bad thing happens after another. Yet unlike the film’s Ohio couple on their first trip to New York City, we realize that most of the things that happen to “you” are not beyond her control. Yes, you can rationalize your behavior, and no doubt some bad things happened, but you do complicate things to make them worse.
Without giving too much away, as you check into your hotel, your backpack containing all your money, credit cards, identification, computer, and passport is stolen. Naturally, you complain to the hotel and report it to the police. In a day or two, the police say they have found a backpack that matches the description of the one you reported missing.
It is not your backpack, but it has the American passport of a woman who looks like you. It has money and credit cards that have not been canceled yet, so you accept it. You sense (or claim to feel pressured) that you should take it so that the police chief can close the case.
Even from this little episode we note two things. One, like A Tale of Two Cities, there is a lot of doubling. You look like Sabine Alyse, the owner of the returned backpack. You are a twin, but you suffered from acne that your twin sister escaped. You even change hotels after this—you have been very conscious of the difference between first and second class hotels.
Second, although Casablanca has a romantic aura about it in the Western mind, it is in a Muslim-majority country. Islam is a fatalistic religion—inshallah (“if Allah wills it”) is a universal expression. So are “you” a victim of fate, of kismet?
It turns out that you also resemble—except for the facial acne—a famous actress who is filming in Casablanca. Under still another new name (not from the passport lest the real Sabine discovers you), you get a job as a stand-in for the actress on the movie set. They pay you good money in cash, so it seems like this could be an opportunity to get back on your feet.
But nothing is that simple.
The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty is not only second person but stream of consciousness. Like Faulkner’s work using this technique, your backstory reveals itself. Why did you decide to go to Casablanca in the first place? (It has little to do with the film by that name…).
Virtually every detail is important. The story begins while you are still the plane and about to land in Casablanca. There is a group of women of a certain age (older than your thirty-three years) who appear to be alumnae of Florida State on some kind of reunion holiday. One woman among them looks vaguely familiar. There is a reason for that, but it takes quite a while for us to find out what it is.
Typical of stream of consciousness, the real story gradually unfolds. Some readers may find “you” annoying or exasperating. As with The Out of Towners, others may find you funny. Either way, go with the flow and enjoy the craziness and disorientation and, perhaps, not a little bit of sympathy. It might begin like The Out of Towners, but it ends maybe a little more like Topaze.
P.S. The unusual title is from a line of a poem by Rumi about a woman the poet loves but whom he finds elusive—maybe like “you” imagines herself. Of course, like many love poems, it is suitably written in the second person.