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The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing
Clarence St. Claire is a programmer who cherishes an orderly life. His motto: ‘work is important; people, not so much’. His determination to be The Most Serious Person on the Planet is threatened when he becomes haunted by a mysterious manuscript from his past: 300 pages of possibly random bird tracks. Risking his career and self-possession, St. Claire dares to pursue the manuscript against the opposition of hackers, the NSA, the ghosts of famous writers and doubts of his own sanity.
Lost in a maze of bird-prints and their possible meanings, St. Claire determines to summon the late writer Jorge Louis Borges to help with the translation. He will dream Borges into existence, exactly as Borges wrote of doing. But this act stirs the opposition of a secret order of past writers, who may, possibly, have their own agenda. The duel between St. Claire’s reality and theirs leads to a final encounter in The Dark Library, before the dread conclave known as The Tribunal of Dreams. ‘Origins’ is a book about books, about magic realism and artificial intelligence, virtual reality and languages, and how sensible people wind up in strange situations by strangely sensible steps. It is built of the words books whisper to each other alone after the library has closed.
From the book:
There is a secret society of dead writers who live in the wall spaces between realities, in the silence of empty rooms, in the Schrödinger-uncertainty of unopened books. They call themselves the Tribunal of Dreams. Often they appear as birds. They peek out of mirrors and walk the shadows of libraries. They are old and sly and are not retired. They have vast plans. They have me barricaded in my bedroom and they painted my windows black. They are listening at the door now. Send help.
Lost in a maze of bird-prints and their possible meanings, St. Claire determines to summon the late writer Jorge Louis Borges to help with the translation. He will dream Borges into existence, exactly as Borges wrote of doing. But this act stirs the opposition of a secret order of past writers, who may, possibly, have their own agenda. The duel between St. Claire’s reality and theirs leads to a final encounter in The Dark Library, before the dread conclave known as The Tribunal of Dreams. ‘Origins’ is a book about books, about magic realism and artificial intelligence, virtual reality and languages, and how sensible people wind up in strange situations by strangely sensible steps. It is built of the words books whisper to each other alone after the library has closed.
From the book:
There is a secret society of dead writers who live in the wall spaces between realities, in the silence of empty rooms, in the Schrödinger-uncertainty of unopened books. They call themselves the Tribunal of Dreams. Often they appear as birds. They peek out of mirrors and walk the shadows of libraries. They are old and sly and are not retired. They have vast plans. They have me barricaded in my bedroom and they painted my windows black. They are listening at the door now. Send help.
387 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 30, 2016
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 43 reviews
March 1, 2018
Raymond St. Elmo is a writer of extraordinary talent. I’d bet he has more than a little in common with the A.I. "Bob", who Clarence St. Claire, the protagonist in this novel, describes (with creatorly pride and despair) as “…a genius whose brilliance is a consuming fire devouring all the space of his mind.”
There are more great lines in the first half of this novel than in the entirety of most of the novels I’ve read—even the good ones. Here’s an example, an extreme introvert’s first inkling that maybe . . . well, Raymond St. Elmo says it better than I can:
“Who knew but that other people carefully positioned in time and space, might play some useful role in reality?”
Here’s one more example (my favorite, at the moment), some advice from the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe:
“… never say ‘never’. Say, nevermore.”
And as for the second half of the novel—well, I get to that, in a minute.
Clarence is a computer programmer who is so terrible at romancing that he takes up necromancing. He creates a “spirit door” and invites his favorite, dead authors to join him in a sort of book club, where they can all discuss various interpretations of a mysterious, 300 page book of what look like bird tracks, but may (or may not) have some (or many) deeper meaning(s).
One could say Clarence de-crypts his favorite authors in order to help him decrypt his favorite book. Or not.
The decryptions of the bird-track book turn out to be bizarre and twisty little rewrites of legends and mythology. These little stories-within-the-story are utterly brilliant. Kafka and Donald Barthelme have nothing on Raymond St. Elmo. But there is also a dream version of the book, and naturally, the vignettes of the dream book pale in comparison with those of the real book. What a remarkable feat—for an author to be able to write both exquisitely, and somewhat less than exquisitely, at will. I imagine that if you asked a professional vocalist to sing very slightly off-key, they would find it terribly difficult—and that the same is true for a gifted writer attempting to write slightly off-giftedly. Raymond St. Elmo makes it work—with a caveat, which brings me to the second half of the book.
I put this book down for good at about the halfway point, probably making “The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing” the best book I’m never going to finish. I want to say that this is not entirely the author’s fault: patience has never been one of my greatest virtues.
So here’s my impatient gripe: Is it really necessary to include three slightly off-gifted vignettes? One would have been enough, three tarnishes the shine of the brilliant ones. And in a similar vein: Taking me through the decryption of a mysterious text: once, fascinating—the second time around, I start to slip away. Introducing me to two or three of your favorite dead authors—what fun! Six or seven or eight—the room’s getting a little crowded and I think I’ll step out and get some air.
I said that the problem was not entirely the author’s fault, but I do think it is a little bit the author’s fault. I’m going to chalk it up to exuberance. Exuberance is necessary. The great ones write with exuberance, and the exuberance shines through, and the light is irresistible, but with exuberance comes the risk of getting carried away. I know, because exuberance is one of my, um, “virtues”, too.
I have tons of good things to say about this work, like how Raymond St. Elmo absolutely nails a profession near-and-dear to my heart, but I’ll take my own advice and keep it brief(er). My summary will be that one day, Raymond St. Elmo is going to write a novel that will make all of our heads explode, in a good way. “The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing” is not that novel.
Awe, what the heck: “The tribe of tech dwells eternally on the borderlands of elf country.”
Is that a great line, or what?
And by the way, I checked my own writing, and apparently, when I’m dead, I’m destined to be reincarnated as a mockingbird. I'm okay with that.
There are more great lines in the first half of this novel than in the entirety of most of the novels I’ve read—even the good ones. Here’s an example, an extreme introvert’s first inkling that maybe . . . well, Raymond St. Elmo says it better than I can:
“Who knew but that other people carefully positioned in time and space, might play some useful role in reality?”
Here’s one more example (my favorite, at the moment), some advice from the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe:
“… never say ‘never’. Say, nevermore.”
And as for the second half of the novel—well, I get to that, in a minute.
Clarence is a computer programmer who is so terrible at romancing that he takes up necromancing. He creates a “spirit door” and invites his favorite, dead authors to join him in a sort of book club, where they can all discuss various interpretations of a mysterious, 300 page book of what look like bird tracks, but may (or may not) have some (or many) deeper meaning(s).
One could say Clarence de-crypts his favorite authors in order to help him decrypt his favorite book. Or not.
The decryptions of the bird-track book turn out to be bizarre and twisty little rewrites of legends and mythology. These little stories-within-the-story are utterly brilliant. Kafka and Donald Barthelme have nothing on Raymond St. Elmo. But there is also a dream version of the book, and naturally, the vignettes of the dream book pale in comparison with those of the real book. What a remarkable feat—for an author to be able to write both exquisitely, and somewhat less than exquisitely, at will. I imagine that if you asked a professional vocalist to sing very slightly off-key, they would find it terribly difficult—and that the same is true for a gifted writer attempting to write slightly off-giftedly. Raymond St. Elmo makes it work—with a caveat, which brings me to the second half of the book.
I put this book down for good at about the halfway point, probably making “The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing” the best book I’m never going to finish. I want to say that this is not entirely the author’s fault: patience has never been one of my greatest virtues.
So here’s my impatient gripe: Is it really necessary to include three slightly off-gifted vignettes? One would have been enough, three tarnishes the shine of the brilliant ones. And in a similar vein: Taking me through the decryption of a mysterious text: once, fascinating—the second time around, I start to slip away. Introducing me to two or three of your favorite dead authors—what fun! Six or seven or eight—the room’s getting a little crowded and I think I’ll step out and get some air.
I said that the problem was not entirely the author’s fault, but I do think it is a little bit the author’s fault. I’m going to chalk it up to exuberance. Exuberance is necessary. The great ones write with exuberance, and the exuberance shines through, and the light is irresistible, but with exuberance comes the risk of getting carried away. I know, because exuberance is one of my, um, “virtues”, too.
I have tons of good things to say about this work, like how Raymond St. Elmo absolutely nails a profession near-and-dear to my heart, but I’ll take my own advice and keep it brief(er). My summary will be that one day, Raymond St. Elmo is going to write a novel that will make all of our heads explode, in a good way. “The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing” is not that novel.
Awe, what the heck: “The tribe of tech dwells eternally on the borderlands of elf country.”
Is that a great line, or what?
And by the way, I checked my own writing, and apparently, when I’m dead, I’m destined to be reincarnated as a mockingbird. I'm okay with that.
September 5, 2016
Wise, witty, wacky, wonderful.
And that’s just the title.
The Origins of Birds in the Footprints of Writing is the kind of book most readers only dream of finding, let alone actually having the joy of reading. Wildly amusing and at the same time thought-provoking, it’s a delight from start to finish.
Narrated by a seemingly hapless hero named Clarence St. Claire, the book follows his trail of discovery after he is hired by the NSA and tasked with translating a secret document composed entirely of bird tracks. After that it gets weird. No, just kidding. After that it gets wise, witty, wacky, and wonderful. Okay, and maybe just a little weird, but only in the most laugh out loud, funny way imaginable.
Don’t take my word for it. Read it. You’ll never see bird tracks the same way again.
And that’s just the title.
The Origins of Birds in the Footprints of Writing is the kind of book most readers only dream of finding, let alone actually having the joy of reading. Wildly amusing and at the same time thought-provoking, it’s a delight from start to finish.
Narrated by a seemingly hapless hero named Clarence St. Claire, the book follows his trail of discovery after he is hired by the NSA and tasked with translating a secret document composed entirely of bird tracks. After that it gets weird. No, just kidding. After that it gets wise, witty, wacky, and wonderful. Okay, and maybe just a little weird, but only in the most laugh out loud, funny way imaginable.
Don’t take my word for it. Read it. You’ll never see bird tracks the same way again.
January 1, 2022
This was fun – a wild ride down a rabbit-hole filled with everything from birds to androids to knife duels. I’m sure Borges, Calvino and the rest of the Tribunal members would be proud.
August 20, 2021
Yet again, I thoroughly enjoyed this book by a self-published author fairly new to me (well, this is the fifth book in the last couple of months). It’s taken me off the regular paths I travel with my fantasy reading and challenged me, in a good way!
This book is an earlier publication to those I’ve read recently and which were all based in small town Texas. In this book we’re given the First Person narration of a graduate of foreign literature (mainly Spanish, and it’s Latin American side) starting on his first job for a security agency; to try to translate an obscure set of symbols, appearing like bird footprints. They may be coded writing and he obsessionally attempts a translation. Some years later, with the protagonist now re-skilled as a very competent computer programmer, that same translated script reappears unexpectedly. Then things get weird…
The narrator has a name reminiscent of the author’s, so I think there is some semi-autobiographical aspect to this part of the story, at least with regard to his skill sets and literary interests.
In the other books of the author I’ve read he likes to play with a fuzzy boundary between reality and some magical or supernatural undertones to the story. You're not always certain which side of such a boundary the story is on at various points. The author does this again here but to a greater degree than I’ve seen in the other stories. Is this IT specialist, with an obsession on both his work and this weird script, progressively having a breakdown, going insane, in a dream state where apparently magical events happen?
If you’d asked me beforehand I’d have said that this wouldn’t be the sort of fantasy that might appeal to me, but the author handles the story, when the state of mind of the narrator is confused, very well. I didn’t feel weirded out; the narrator is quite aware that he might be in those mental states and regularly questions himself about whether he is, whether he’s dreaming or not. Sometimes he gets the right answer! It gives the author the opportunity for his protagonist to interact in a fantastical way with the author’s literary heroes (Borges, Poe, Kafka, Lovecraft, Philip K Dick, even Lewis Carrol indirectly - and others). There seemed to me a feel of Alice Through The Looking Glass about some of the story from roughly this midway point, another book referenced a couple of times.
I’m sure parts of the story at this point may have gone over my head, being unfamiliar with many of those authors, but as in his other books his excellent prose, observations and dialogue carry you along. If you get stuck in the plot the writing will pull you through the sticky patches and resuscitate you on the other side. The text has plenty of quote worthy passages.
Eventually the dreamlike aspects of the story subside and the plot has a pleasing ending taking us back to a more familiar landscape where the story started. Strangely for such an offbeat plot with magical undertones it has a dash of romance. And I’m pleased to see the author seems to be a fan of one of my favourite rock bands, Muse! Radiohead - more meh…
I’m sure this is not for everyone and it’s more challenging than the Sword and Sorcery, pseudo-medieval, worlds I normally read about. But I really enjoyed it, as I have done with all the author’s books so far. As I’ve said, maybe the content, with its heavy dose of ‘Magical Realism’ authors and references, was a little wasted on me, but the writing style, imagination and prose more than compensated. And I continue to learn more about a fantasy sub-genre. We’re even given a very brief overview, in a postscript, of several of the authors referred to in the story.
Torn between 4* and 5*. 5* for the writing and imagination, 4* for the literary aspects of the plot maybe. I think because of its more limited accessibility I’ll just rate it slightly less than the other books I’ve read of his. After a break I’m determined to read more by the author.
This book is an earlier publication to those I’ve read recently and which were all based in small town Texas. In this book we’re given the First Person narration of a graduate of foreign literature (mainly Spanish, and it’s Latin American side) starting on his first job for a security agency; to try to translate an obscure set of symbols, appearing like bird footprints. They may be coded writing and he obsessionally attempts a translation. Some years later, with the protagonist now re-skilled as a very competent computer programmer, that same translated script reappears unexpectedly. Then things get weird…
The narrator has a name reminiscent of the author’s, so I think there is some semi-autobiographical aspect to this part of the story, at least with regard to his skill sets and literary interests.
In the other books of the author I’ve read he likes to play with a fuzzy boundary between reality and some magical or supernatural undertones to the story. You're not always certain which side of such a boundary the story is on at various points. The author does this again here but to a greater degree than I’ve seen in the other stories. Is this IT specialist, with an obsession on both his work and this weird script, progressively having a breakdown, going insane, in a dream state where apparently magical events happen?
If you’d asked me beforehand I’d have said that this wouldn’t be the sort of fantasy that might appeal to me, but the author handles the story, when the state of mind of the narrator is confused, very well. I didn’t feel weirded out; the narrator is quite aware that he might be in those mental states and regularly questions himself about whether he is, whether he’s dreaming or not. Sometimes he gets the right answer! It gives the author the opportunity for his protagonist to interact in a fantastical way with the author’s literary heroes (Borges, Poe, Kafka, Lovecraft, Philip K Dick, even Lewis Carrol indirectly - and others). There seemed to me a feel of Alice Through The Looking Glass about some of the story from roughly this midway point, another book referenced a couple of times.
I’m sure parts of the story at this point may have gone over my head, being unfamiliar with many of those authors, but as in his other books his excellent prose, observations and dialogue carry you along. If you get stuck in the plot the writing will pull you through the sticky patches and resuscitate you on the other side. The text has plenty of quote worthy passages.
Eventually the dreamlike aspects of the story subside and the plot has a pleasing ending taking us back to a more familiar landscape where the story started. Strangely for such an offbeat plot with magical undertones it has a dash of romance. And I’m pleased to see the author seems to be a fan of one of my favourite rock bands, Muse! Radiohead - more meh…
I’m sure this is not for everyone and it’s more challenging than the Sword and Sorcery, pseudo-medieval, worlds I normally read about. But I really enjoyed it, as I have done with all the author’s books so far. As I’ve said, maybe the content, with its heavy dose of ‘Magical Realism’ authors and references, was a little wasted on me, but the writing style, imagination and prose more than compensated. And I continue to learn more about a fantasy sub-genre. We’re even given a very brief overview, in a postscript, of several of the authors referred to in the story.
Torn between 4* and 5*. 5* for the writing and imagination, 4* for the literary aspects of the plot maybe. I think because of its more limited accessibility I’ll just rate it slightly less than the other books I’ve read of his. After a break I’m determined to read more by the author.
April 25, 2017
I can't remember how long I've been trapped in this library. I wander down one aisle after another, past long shelves lined with books. I pull one down at random. Hey, I remember this story--Lovecraft's The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath.
Okay, maybe I'm dreaming. That's one explanation.
Two aisles down, I see an old man with dark glasses running his fingers over the book spines. He turns toward me as I pass, but doesn't speak. It might be Jorge Luis Borges. Then again, it could be someone completely different who just happens to be virtually the same as Borges. It's impossible to tell for sure.
Turning down the next aisle, I meet a gargantuan cockroach reading a cookbook. It nods to me in a friendly fashion, but I'm taking no chances. I grab a book and pretend to be absorbed in it while beating a quick retreat. It's an operator's manual for the Wang VS100. A few aisles away, I get bored and drop it. Who needs to relive the days when minicomputers roamed the earth?
That's when I start hearing the voice. It alternately whispers and raves in what sounds like one of the Romance languages. What could it be? A mutter from Marquez? An echo of Eco?
If nothing else, it means that there's somebody in here that's crazier than I am. Which is either comforting or not, depending how you look at it.
At last, what the voice is saying becomes clear. It's actually speaking Esperanto, which is great, since I'm professionally comfortable with artificial languages. It's telling me that I must write a review of the next book I pick up. Only then will I be able to leave the library.
I close my eyes and reach out at random. The book turns out to be The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing.
This story starts slowly. In fact it starts with the back story, involving the hero working for the NSA (or, it occurs to me, some agency that only appears to be the NSA) and translating a strange manuscript filled with what look like bird tracks. Years later, the hero is located again, running the maze of corporate cubicles that software developers know only too well. Harder to escape, for him, is the obsessive maze he builds in his own mind, attempting to code up an artificial intelligence.
Then he loses his mind, and that's when things really take off. The hero steps through a Spirit Door into an the otherworldly labyrinth of The Library. The narrative becomes a sort of fever dream, rife with dead writers, live birds, supernatural bureaucracies, vengeful hackers, and discussions of magical realism. The hero searches frantically for his long-lost translation of the enigmatic manuscript until...
Well, until he finally finds it. Or possibly, himself. Is there a difference?
Just to throw a couple more books in here for comparison (as if there weren't enough already), the overall arc of The Origin of Birds reminded me of Daumal's A Night of Serious Drinking and also Eco's Foucault's Pendulum. These works, too, follow protagonists who descend into seeming madness while journeying through outlandish and/or occult realities, returning to the everyday world with a new appreciation of its own mysteries and wonders. For me, no matter how entertaining the trip is (and The Origin of Birds is very entertaining), there's always a bit of a letdown when reality returns and the magical world disappears. In a way, it's a variation on the 'it was all a dream' device (which brings us back full circle to Lovecraft! Will I ever get out of here?)
I really like the boy meets girl theme, though. No matter how many thousands of years it's been out there, it never gets old.
Okay, maybe I'm dreaming. That's one explanation.
Two aisles down, I see an old man with dark glasses running his fingers over the book spines. He turns toward me as I pass, but doesn't speak. It might be Jorge Luis Borges. Then again, it could be someone completely different who just happens to be virtually the same as Borges. It's impossible to tell for sure.
Turning down the next aisle, I meet a gargantuan cockroach reading a cookbook. It nods to me in a friendly fashion, but I'm taking no chances. I grab a book and pretend to be absorbed in it while beating a quick retreat. It's an operator's manual for the Wang VS100. A few aisles away, I get bored and drop it. Who needs to relive the days when minicomputers roamed the earth?
That's when I start hearing the voice. It alternately whispers and raves in what sounds like one of the Romance languages. What could it be? A mutter from Marquez? An echo of Eco?
If nothing else, it means that there's somebody in here that's crazier than I am. Which is either comforting or not, depending how you look at it.
At last, what the voice is saying becomes clear. It's actually speaking Esperanto, which is great, since I'm professionally comfortable with artificial languages. It's telling me that I must write a review of the next book I pick up. Only then will I be able to leave the library.
I close my eyes and reach out at random. The book turns out to be The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing.
This story starts slowly. In fact it starts with the back story, involving the hero working for the NSA (or, it occurs to me, some agency that only appears to be the NSA) and translating a strange manuscript filled with what look like bird tracks. Years later, the hero is located again, running the maze of corporate cubicles that software developers know only too well. Harder to escape, for him, is the obsessive maze he builds in his own mind, attempting to code up an artificial intelligence.
Then he loses his mind, and that's when things really take off. The hero steps through a Spirit Door into an the otherworldly labyrinth of The Library. The narrative becomes a sort of fever dream, rife with dead writers, live birds, supernatural bureaucracies, vengeful hackers, and discussions of magical realism. The hero searches frantically for his long-lost translation of the enigmatic manuscript until...
Well, until he finally finds it. Or possibly, himself. Is there a difference?
Just to throw a couple more books in here for comparison (as if there weren't enough already), the overall arc of The Origin of Birds reminded me of Daumal's A Night of Serious Drinking and also Eco's Foucault's Pendulum. These works, too, follow protagonists who descend into seeming madness while journeying through outlandish and/or occult realities, returning to the everyday world with a new appreciation of its own mysteries and wonders. For me, no matter how entertaining the trip is (and The Origin of Birds is very entertaining), there's always a bit of a letdown when reality returns and the magical world disappears. In a way, it's a variation on the 'it was all a dream' device (which brings us back full circle to Lovecraft! Will I ever get out of here?)
I really like the boy meets girl theme, though. No matter how many thousands of years it's been out there, it never gets old.
May 29, 2017
From a very young age we’re expressly warned about judging a book by its cover, but y’know we do. Despite best intentions, it’s human nature. Having committed this misdeed with The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing, I admit I probably wouldn’t have read this book if a friend hadn’t gifted me a copy. Moving past the cover, I was quite surprised by what lay inside. This is not an academic text. Far from it.
The book follows the adventures of the eccentric Clarence St. Claire as he tries to translate a mysterious manuscript written in bird footprints. If I had to write a one sentence summary, I’d say it’s a love letter to language and literature. One sentence isn’t enough to do this book justice. It’s a rich, dense text that demands a close read. It��s also very funny and highly entertaining in many parts. The textual references come thick and fast, from classical, to literary, to popular culture. The writing is philosophical, satirical, intelligent and sometimes endearingly corny. The central character is delightfully complex and somewhat unhinged, which makes him suitably well-adjusted for the descent into madness. Overall, the mix of ingredients comes together well and I think many readers will find this book very rewarding.
Note to self: in future, read the first page before mashing the gavel.
The book follows the adventures of the eccentric Clarence St. Claire as he tries to translate a mysterious manuscript written in bird footprints. If I had to write a one sentence summary, I’d say it’s a love letter to language and literature. One sentence isn’t enough to do this book justice. It’s a rich, dense text that demands a close read. It��s also very funny and highly entertaining in many parts. The textual references come thick and fast, from classical, to literary, to popular culture. The writing is philosophical, satirical, intelligent and sometimes endearingly corny. The central character is delightfully complex and somewhat unhinged, which makes him suitably well-adjusted for the descent into madness. Overall, the mix of ingredients comes together well and I think many readers will find this book very rewarding.
Note to self: in future, read the first page before mashing the gavel.
August 16, 2018
This made me smile and laugh from the beginning to the end
The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing: what an unusual book. Just finished reading it. Here’s a book of magic realism if ever there was one. The birds and books intermingle as metaphors for one another. True, St Elmo owes a heavy debt to Calvino, Poe, Chesterton, and Lewis Carroll. But his work is its own, funny, thoughtful and mesmerizing. Dream sequences intermingle with economic worries and workplace policy. The balance between workaday trouble and weird, wonderful scenarios could tumble any moment, but we (the readers) are safe in the hands of a master plotter, a programmer extraordinaire, and a court jester turned magician all in one.
The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing: what an unusual book. Just finished reading it. Here’s a book of magic realism if ever there was one. The birds and books intermingle as metaphors for one another. True, St Elmo owes a heavy debt to Calvino, Poe, Chesterton, and Lewis Carroll. But his work is its own, funny, thoughtful and mesmerizing. Dream sequences intermingle with economic worries and workplace policy. The balance between workaday trouble and weird, wonderful scenarios could tumble any moment, but we (the readers) are safe in the hands of a master plotter, a programmer extraordinaire, and a court jester turned magician all in one.
February 23, 2017
This was a fun story, full of geeky humor, which suited me just fine. It’s told from the perspective of a socially awkward programmer who becomes suddenly obsessed over a coded manuscript (‘coded’ here being used in the non-programming sense). I was especially fond of the office humor, which was very relatable. That said, to my personal tastes, I would have preferred more of the office humor and a little less literary humor. The protagonist spent a little too long isolated in his crazy world for me. I enjoyed the story much more during the reality scenes. As a literary piece, the story is intricate, well-written, and clean.
August 5, 2020
I have no idea what happened here, but I enjoyed every bit of my lack of comprehension.
September 22, 2017
Okay, I don't really know how to write a review that will even begin to summarize this wonderful, thought-provoking and satirical story that had me staying up late at night and forsaking my children, job and wife because I just couldn't stop reading.
This is a book that only comes along once every few years. It stands out from the millions of other stories on the shelves for it's uniqueness at delving into many things at a deep level, but they are handled in such a way that you enjoy going along for the ride. Humorous, satirical and with many great references to all things literary, The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing took my breath away. Literally. I still can't breathe.
Our hero and narrator, Clarence St. Claire, has been hired by the NSA (National Security Agency) for his translation skills to uncover the truth behind a document that is seemingly just a mess of criss-crossing bird prints, which the NSA sees as a threat. He is subsequently fired but we find him later in a sort of fever-ptiched, crazed quest through The Library searching for....himself perhaps? The long lost deciphered manuscript?
This is a novel that defies "normal" classification. Suffice it to say that this is one of the best indie books to come out in a long, long time. Read it!
This is a book that only comes along once every few years. It stands out from the millions of other stories on the shelves for it's uniqueness at delving into many things at a deep level, but they are handled in such a way that you enjoy going along for the ride. Humorous, satirical and with many great references to all things literary, The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing took my breath away. Literally. I still can't breathe.
Our hero and narrator, Clarence St. Claire, has been hired by the NSA (National Security Agency) for his translation skills to uncover the truth behind a document that is seemingly just a mess of criss-crossing bird prints, which the NSA sees as a threat. He is subsequently fired but we find him later in a sort of fever-ptiched, crazed quest through The Library searching for....himself perhaps? The long lost deciphered manuscript?
This is a novel that defies "normal" classification. Suffice it to say that this is one of the best indie books to come out in a long, long time. Read it!
June 17, 2022
Deep in the relegated and much-maligned channels of self-publishing, Raymond St Elmo's The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing proved a rare find. In terms of content, style, originality and literary quality, it beats out just about anything that passes for contemporary mainstream 'literature'. On his own, the self-publishing St Elmo makes the big boys look small.
It is refreshing that a book like this has been written – an idiosyncratic adventure of code-breaking, artificial intelligence and abstract secret societies, in which a government analyst is given a peculiar manuscript written in bird tracks, which he successfully translates and which draws him deeper into madness. The influence of the likes of Borges, Calvino and Poe is clear, and St Elmo is more than happy to acknowledge them. Part of the book's refreshing nature is that it was clearly written out of a love of writing, and with integrity. There's not even the glance of one eye towards the 'market' or to a particular demographic. There's no sign of a marketing department being consulted on the text; if there was, they were rightly ignored. There's no ego on display, no desperate looking for the false cachet of being an author, or even seeking praise. Maybe St Elmo would dispute that – all writers want to be read and acknowledged, after all – but what I mean is that he wasn't prepared to compromise the story he wanted to write in order to place on the podium. The Origin of Birds reads like a pure novel, delivered how the writer wanted it. That's all but unheard of nowadays, and perhaps why it was self-published: a novel this good wouldn't pass the shallow filters that greenlight a book in the mainstream publishing industry.
It's hard to know whether to call The Origin of Birds 'great', because great writing is so rare nowadays that it feels odd to read a book written in the last few years and be placed in such a mood that you could call it great. Certainly, it's a lot of fun, particularly in the first two thirds of the book. It is written to entertain, but also to stimulate on an intellectual level, and as the book progresses readers who thirst for that dual experience of real intelligence and quality entertainment in their novels will feel the rare sensation of having their thirst slaked. The writing style is also impressive: rich and readable, with the Borges-like interludes where St Elmo delivers a passage from the manuscript (often a laconic interpretation of a myth) being of particularly high calibre.
This is not to say the book is without flaws. There were more typos than I expected, particularly when everything else – from the story to the writing to the cover art – reaches a high bar. Even leaving aside this quibble, I felt the secondary characters could have been developed more (Kay is interesting, but a background figure) and the final third of the story pales compared to what came before. The story becomes increasingly outlandish and by the end the bottom falls out; it's gone so far out there, the only way St Elmo can bring it back is to yank harshly on the reins. It's a less-than-elegant end, particularly as the conspiracy, the search for meaning and the decoding of the manuscript – all of which excite the reader from the start – lack answers. St Elmo instead favours a rather cliché resolution that the journey is more important than the destination (pg. 317) and it's best to let things be. It's a fine answer, I suppose, and in keeping with the book's developing idea that seeking meaning in the tracks of birds is no more valid than seeking them in any other random patterns or events. But it still felt underwhelming that we get no closure on what the physical bird-track manuscript really is. We hear that starting gun on page one – questions of what, who and, more importantly, why – but end up on a race to nowhere.
That said, The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing was some of the most creative, high-quality fun I've had from a novel in years, and though I feel frustrated that original writing like this doesn't get the mainstream backing it deserves, I'm delighted that there's a real writer out there doing his thing. There's a whole bunch of other novels St Elmo has written, and certainly I'll be exploring them in short order. If the industry gave a book like this just an ounce of the backing that's given to formulaic trash and celebrity cookbooks, you'd watch it soar.
It is refreshing that a book like this has been written – an idiosyncratic adventure of code-breaking, artificial intelligence and abstract secret societies, in which a government analyst is given a peculiar manuscript written in bird tracks, which he successfully translates and which draws him deeper into madness. The influence of the likes of Borges, Calvino and Poe is clear, and St Elmo is more than happy to acknowledge them. Part of the book's refreshing nature is that it was clearly written out of a love of writing, and with integrity. There's not even the glance of one eye towards the 'market' or to a particular demographic. There's no sign of a marketing department being consulted on the text; if there was, they were rightly ignored. There's no ego on display, no desperate looking for the false cachet of being an author, or even seeking praise. Maybe St Elmo would dispute that – all writers want to be read and acknowledged, after all – but what I mean is that he wasn't prepared to compromise the story he wanted to write in order to place on the podium. The Origin of Birds reads like a pure novel, delivered how the writer wanted it. That's all but unheard of nowadays, and perhaps why it was self-published: a novel this good wouldn't pass the shallow filters that greenlight a book in the mainstream publishing industry.
It's hard to know whether to call The Origin of Birds 'great', because great writing is so rare nowadays that it feels odd to read a book written in the last few years and be placed in such a mood that you could call it great. Certainly, it's a lot of fun, particularly in the first two thirds of the book. It is written to entertain, but also to stimulate on an intellectual level, and as the book progresses readers who thirst for that dual experience of real intelligence and quality entertainment in their novels will feel the rare sensation of having their thirst slaked. The writing style is also impressive: rich and readable, with the Borges-like interludes where St Elmo delivers a passage from the manuscript (often a laconic interpretation of a myth) being of particularly high calibre.
This is not to say the book is without flaws. There were more typos than I expected, particularly when everything else – from the story to the writing to the cover art – reaches a high bar. Even leaving aside this quibble, I felt the secondary characters could have been developed more (Kay is interesting, but a background figure) and the final third of the story pales compared to what came before. The story becomes increasingly outlandish and by the end the bottom falls out; it's gone so far out there, the only way St Elmo can bring it back is to yank harshly on the reins. It's a less-than-elegant end, particularly as the conspiracy, the search for meaning and the decoding of the manuscript – all of which excite the reader from the start – lack answers. St Elmo instead favours a rather cliché resolution that the journey is more important than the destination (pg. 317) and it's best to let things be. It's a fine answer, I suppose, and in keeping with the book's developing idea that seeking meaning in the tracks of birds is no more valid than seeking them in any other random patterns or events. But it still felt underwhelming that we get no closure on what the physical bird-track manuscript really is. We hear that starting gun on page one – questions of what, who and, more importantly, why – but end up on a race to nowhere.
That said, The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing was some of the most creative, high-quality fun I've had from a novel in years, and though I feel frustrated that original writing like this doesn't get the mainstream backing it deserves, I'm delighted that there's a real writer out there doing his thing. There's a whole bunch of other novels St Elmo has written, and certainly I'll be exploring them in short order. If the industry gave a book like this just an ounce of the backing that's given to formulaic trash and celebrity cookbooks, you'd watch it soar.
April 21, 2020
An interesting book, for sure. Three hundred pages of bird tracks scribbled out in pen. Not something you see often nowadays.
Joking. Although it does contain bird tracks. And much more.
Raymond St. Elmo not only has a remarkable imagination but also the skills to translate that onto the page. His books tend to play with the narrative and blur the lines between reality and feverish dreams. They tell the story, celebrate the meaning of stories, and pay homage to literary heroes (JL Borges, Italo Calvino, Franz Kafka, Philip K. Dick, EA Poe) while making readers laugh.
It's easy to like the story's protagonist Clarence St. Claire, a programmer who cherishes an orderly life and has a fondness for languages. Socially awkward, rather shy, he finds fulfillment in developing artificial intelligence. He's doing well. He even keeps up the pretense of being serious. Not for long, though. A mysterious manuscript from his past returns to haunt him. Clarence needs to know if pages of bird prints contain hidden meaning or not. He goes as far as to dream JL Borges into existence to learn the truth. In consequence, he'll have to face a secret order of past writers.
The Origin of Birds in The Footprints of Writing is a book about books, languages, magical and virtual reality. It's in turns fantastic, nostalgic, funny, thoughtful, and bananas. Above all, though, it resonated with me. It has more serious moments, but overall I found the tone light and humorous. Much of what happens, especially in the middle of the book, is insane and Clarence’s adventures made me think of a grown-up version of Alice in Wonderland. St. Elmo plays with literary references and fates of his characters (say, deceased authors) were written by themselves in their famous literary works. Here, though, imaginary blends with the real.
After stepping through a Spirit Door, Clarence finds himself in the labyrinthine Dark Library and the narrative turns feverish. He meets dead writers, birds, hackers, discusses words and meanings. He even learns about the sexual life of books:
At some point, this part of the book tried to tie together a lot of dreams. Though it never got to the point where it got confusing, I did not feel invested in all aspects of the story. But that's just a minor complaint.
I loved this book and found it hard to put down. I know it won't appeal to everyone, but if you love books and languages, I urge you to give it a chance.
Joking. Although it does contain bird tracks. And much more.
Raymond St. Elmo not only has a remarkable imagination but also the skills to translate that onto the page. His books tend to play with the narrative and blur the lines between reality and feverish dreams. They tell the story, celebrate the meaning of stories, and pay homage to literary heroes (JL Borges, Italo Calvino, Franz Kafka, Philip K. Dick, EA Poe) while making readers laugh.
It's easy to like the story's protagonist Clarence St. Claire, a programmer who cherishes an orderly life and has a fondness for languages. Socially awkward, rather shy, he finds fulfillment in developing artificial intelligence. He's doing well. He even keeps up the pretense of being serious. Not for long, though. A mysterious manuscript from his past returns to haunt him. Clarence needs to know if pages of bird prints contain hidden meaning or not. He goes as far as to dream JL Borges into existence to learn the truth. In consequence, he'll have to face a secret order of past writers.
The Origin of Birds in The Footprints of Writing is a book about books, languages, magical and virtual reality. It's in turns fantastic, nostalgic, funny, thoughtful, and bananas. Above all, though, it resonated with me. It has more serious moments, but overall I found the tone light and humorous. Much of what happens, especially in the middle of the book, is insane and Clarence’s adventures made me think of a grown-up version of Alice in Wonderland. St. Elmo plays with literary references and fates of his characters (say, deceased authors) were written by themselves in their famous literary works. Here, though, imaginary blends with the real.
After stepping through a Spirit Door, Clarence finds himself in the labyrinthine Dark Library and the narrative turns feverish. He meets dead writers, birds, hackers, discusses words and meanings. He even learns about the sexual life of books:
"Sure, you can pretend it is just how the books talk to each other," he continued. "Umberto Eco described it as conversation going on across centuries. But no; it's sex. One book argues with another from an earlier time, and their argument gives birth to a shelf of little lesser arguers. Or a book inspires a painting that creates a discussion that leads to a piece of music that leads to a play that inspires a book that argues with all its parents. Kids. God knows they are all quoting each other, stealing from each other, passing the DNA along. And when translation and transcribing go off-track you get mutation. Maybe even evolution."
At some point, this part of the book tried to tie together a lot of dreams. Though it never got to the point where it got confusing, I did not feel invested in all aspects of the story. But that's just a minor complaint.
I loved this book and found it hard to put down. I know it won't appeal to everyone, but if you love books and languages, I urge you to give it a chance.
October 2, 2017
This story is told from Clarence’s pov. To everyone else he no doubt comes across as unsocial, paranoid, and a bit of a dick. But, we get to see the Clarence that’s witty, awkward, and maybe a little bit unbalanced (in an endearing sort of way), the Clarence that doesn’t know how to interact with people that might be his friends or not, and who spends way too much time in his own head.
We meet Clarence mid-spiral, he’s working as a programmer on the AI “Bob” (that will ultimately answer any questioned presented to him) and has become obsessed or maybe I should say re-obsessed with recovering a document of Bird Prints that he translated in the past for the NSA.
What follows is a slightly mad, weird, and occasionally hilarious, search that… I don’t even know how to describe.
At one point, I was reminded of this Tiny Toons episode from years ago, where Babs Bunny gets knocked-out at the art museum, and has a totally warped and comedic mad-dash through every painting of importance- the equivalent of a cartoon love letter to art, and its evolution.
That’s how this felt, not like a cartoon (well maybe, the madcap spirit of the cartoon) but like an honorific to some of the best literary work in the past. Work that has shaped writing, and fantasy writing in particular to what it has become now.
And though, I haven’t read all of the classics/authors referenced in this and I am no doubt the least qualified person here to even talk about this book and its inferences (after all I did just compare parts of this to a cartoon) but I loved the wry humor and the rambly kind of awkward/uncomfortable in his own skin, Clarence. And I loved his interactions with Steve and Kay– partners on the “Bob” project and possibly friends of Clarence’s, or could be spies for the NSA… or hackers.
And that, I think, is where this story really shone for me- with this character who was a total mess but who persevered. And also with the underlying humor and conversationalist style to the writing it was such an enjoyable read, even when half the time, I wasn’t sure how much of the events in this were real, and how much of it was Clarence descending down the path to cutting off his own ear. But the whole time, I enjoyed this crazy, madcap story.
Totally recommended.
My favorite scene- The reading in the park.
We meet Clarence mid-spiral, he’s working as a programmer on the AI “Bob” (that will ultimately answer any questioned presented to him) and has become obsessed or maybe I should say re-obsessed with recovering a document of Bird Prints that he translated in the past for the NSA.
What follows is a slightly mad, weird, and occasionally hilarious, search that… I don’t even know how to describe.
At one point, I was reminded of this Tiny Toons episode from years ago, where Babs Bunny gets knocked-out at the art museum, and has a totally warped and comedic mad-dash through every painting of importance- the equivalent of a cartoon love letter to art, and its evolution.
That’s how this felt, not like a cartoon (well maybe, the madcap spirit of the cartoon) but like an honorific to some of the best literary work in the past. Work that has shaped writing, and fantasy writing in particular to what it has become now.
And though, I haven’t read all of the classics/authors referenced in this and I am no doubt the least qualified person here to even talk about this book and its inferences (after all I did just compare parts of this to a cartoon) but I loved the wry humor and the rambly kind of awkward/uncomfortable in his own skin, Clarence. And I loved his interactions with Steve and Kay– partners on the “Bob” project and possibly friends of Clarence’s, or could be spies for the NSA… or hackers.
And that, I think, is where this story really shone for me- with this character who was a total mess but who persevered. And also with the underlying humor and conversationalist style to the writing it was such an enjoyable read, even when half the time, I wasn’t sure how much of the events in this were real, and how much of it was Clarence descending down the path to cutting off his own ear. But the whole time, I enjoyed this crazy, madcap story.
Totally recommended.
My favorite scene- The reading in the park.
December 6, 2024
“The riddle need have no solution, no hidden meaning. The seeker could craft of whatever words we gave, the answer they wanted.”
I’m at a loss for how to review this. There’s so much here. It’s late. Maybe right now I’m actually asleep at the kitchen table.
This book falls into a category I’m fond of—the “unreliable narrator having a mental crisis”—and it’s also equal parts entertaining and deeply philosophical. I’d love to read this in a class because there’s so much potential for in-depth discussions.
Another wonderful book from St. Elmo!
——————
Previously on minnielikesbooks:
Kindle does this irritating thing where it marks a book as read on Goodreads just because I reached the end of the book. But I’m far from done with this. I might even need to read it a second time before I decide I’m done. I GET TO DECIDE, KINDLE.
I went back and forth between audiobook and kindle edition while reading this, which I don’t think was the best decision. You gotta have your head in the game when reading this. If you zone out for a minute while listening to a robot voice, next thing you know you’re in a Dark Library with no idea how you got there.
I’m at a loss for how to review this. There’s so much here. It’s late. Maybe right now I’m actually asleep at the kitchen table.
This book falls into a category I’m fond of—the “unreliable narrator having a mental crisis”—and it’s also equal parts entertaining and deeply philosophical. I’d love to read this in a class because there’s so much potential for in-depth discussions.
Another wonderful book from St. Elmo!
——————
Previously on minnielikesbooks:
Kindle does this irritating thing where it marks a book as read on Goodreads just because I reached the end of the book. But I’m far from done with this. I might even need to read it a second time before I decide I’m done. I GET TO DECIDE, KINDLE.
I went back and forth between audiobook and kindle edition while reading this, which I don’t think was the best decision. You gotta have your head in the game when reading this. If you zone out for a minute while listening to a robot voice, next thing you know you’re in a Dark Library with no idea how you got there.
October 21, 2021
If you've ever solved a linguistic problem (think IOL), you'll get hooked from the beginning. Liking birds helps, liking magical realism dooms you further.
This book is full of love of language and literature (usually when a book is about stories, it seems to focus on narratives, but this one looked more at words and imagery, which I personally am all for). Despite never-ending nods to Borges, Calvino, Kafka, and so on, it has statements of its own (and all the above-mentioned personalities would like to make a joint statement that CLARENCE IS ANNOYING; loved this, as you may have guessed). So I definitely came out with images I will remember and reference, not only the desire to read more of Borges, Calvino, Kafka, and so on.
I would have tried to hunt the manuscript as well, the fragements were good and mysterious (and I weirdly associated most of them with Piranesi).
I also cannot believe the Philip K. Dick Android is real. Was he real before I read the book? No way to know now.
This book is full of love of language and literature (usually when a book is about stories, it seems to focus on narratives, but this one looked more at words and imagery, which I personally am all for). Despite never-ending nods to Borges, Calvino, Kafka, and so on, it has statements of its own (and all the above-mentioned personalities would like to make a joint statement that CLARENCE IS ANNOYING; loved this, as you may have guessed). So I definitely came out with images I will remember and reference, not only the desire to read more of Borges, Calvino, Kafka, and so on.
I would have tried to hunt the manuscript as well, the fragements were good and mysterious (and I weirdly associated most of them with Piranesi).
I also cannot believe the Philip K. Dick Android is real. Was he real before I read the book? No way to know now.
September 8, 2016
What do you want to read today? An epic struggle of the small man against corporate bureaucracy? An exploration of the implementation of Artificial Intelligence? A satire on geek culture? A hypertextual homage to Jorge Luis Borges, H.P. Lovecraft, Italo Calvino and Philip K. Dick? A Kafkaesque study in paranoia? A surreal capriccio in the style of Charlie Kaufman? A riff on the themes of translation and transcription? An ingenious cyber-espionage thriller? A study in obsession? A masterpiece of magic realism? A manual on how to annoy famous dead writers? A two (often three) chuckle a page comedy? The book that Lewis Carroll might have written if Alice had been a street-smart millennial teenager?
If the answer to any or all of those questions is ‘Yes’, then the book you must read is The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing by Raymond St. Elmo.
That is all.
If the answer to any or all of those questions is ‘Yes’, then the book you must read is The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing by Raymond St. Elmo.
That is all.
August 3, 2020
A lovely romp
I suspect this book is partly autobiographical.
Its about a person wrestling with the wonder and joy and inescapable humdrummery of life.
Its also about resurrecting dead authors and programming and a lot of birds. I laughed out loud a lot. Read it.
I suspect this book is partly autobiographical.
Its about a person wrestling with the wonder and joy and inescapable humdrummery of life.
Its also about resurrecting dead authors and programming and a lot of birds. I laughed out loud a lot. Read it.
March 21, 2017
Wow!
What is real?
Why should we care?
Because it is fun?
Read this book!
I need to write 6 more...
What is real?
Why should we care?
Because it is fun?
Read this book!
I need to write 6 more...
April 20, 2020
Trying to explain this book might give too much away of the mystery you have to discover. But I can tell you that the book transports the obsession of the old masters, Poe, Kafka, to name a few, to a new, modern stage with programmers, NSA, hacking, and video games. There is a hint of that same feverish writing. You have to believe that Clarence (the main character) and the bird tracks will lead you to something meaningful. And they do. For me to speculate about why this book was written and what the special is would again spoil the story for you, and I don't want to do that. (And no, I don't stay silent, because I don't know what that special is. I believe I do, or at least my take on the matter.)
This book is for anyone who is looking for something different from the usual story-driven books with a clear structure. That said, I'm not saying the book has thrown out all the convention, no. There is a story, there is an opening, middle, and ending. But a good writer knows how to break the pattern and bring something new to it, and Raymond St. Elmo is a good writer. This book is a dialogue between the character and the story, the narration and the reader, and the old masters and the writer. So many levels to stay and wonder about the written word and the bird tracks. Never forget those. A weird book with a hint of magic painted against reality.
My thoughts, oh, there were places I was at the edge of my seat, not knowing where we (the character and I) would end up. I loved that feeling of mystery, and the book kept it from start to finish. However, sometimes I was a little lost. I decided not to struggle against such a notion, letting the words lead me, and that was the right decision. Because enjoying is better than getting caught in minor details or my personal taste. Yes, I could complain about the inconclusive occurrences and layering that might need clarity. Still, I see those as part of magical realism that I can let go of those issues. Also, the references to old books in the imagery and language sometimes went beyond what was needed in the story, but I can look past that too. All this because the book kept me reading, it surprised me, it was fresh, raw, and full of emotion. And I keep thinking catch-42 (not 22.) So, shoo, go and read the book, the birds are waiting for you.
Thank you for reading! Always greet the birds and the raccoons! Hello, Miss Bird! Hello, Miss Raccoon!
This book is for anyone who is looking for something different from the usual story-driven books with a clear structure. That said, I'm not saying the book has thrown out all the convention, no. There is a story, there is an opening, middle, and ending. But a good writer knows how to break the pattern and bring something new to it, and Raymond St. Elmo is a good writer. This book is a dialogue between the character and the story, the narration and the reader, and the old masters and the writer. So many levels to stay and wonder about the written word and the bird tracks. Never forget those. A weird book with a hint of magic painted against reality.
My thoughts, oh, there were places I was at the edge of my seat, not knowing where we (the character and I) would end up. I loved that feeling of mystery, and the book kept it from start to finish. However, sometimes I was a little lost. I decided not to struggle against such a notion, letting the words lead me, and that was the right decision. Because enjoying is better than getting caught in minor details or my personal taste. Yes, I could complain about the inconclusive occurrences and layering that might need clarity. Still, I see those as part of magical realism that I can let go of those issues. Also, the references to old books in the imagery and language sometimes went beyond what was needed in the story, but I can look past that too. All this because the book kept me reading, it surprised me, it was fresh, raw, and full of emotion. And I keep thinking catch-42 (not 22.) So, shoo, go and read the book, the birds are waiting for you.
Thank you for reading! Always greet the birds and the raccoons! Hello, Miss Bird! Hello, Miss Raccoon!
March 17, 2025
I don’t know how to review this other than to say: “You will open this box, and find yourself in the box, asking how to get out of the box."
July 24, 2023
This is the second book I’ve read by Raymond St. Elmo, and while I think Letters from a Shipwreck was perhaps the more polished of the two, there’s something about this book that will stick with me for longer.
There’s a similar, awkward, anxious protagonist with a name similar to our author (Clarence St. Claire), although this book takes place during a contemporary setting with said protagonist having a similar background to said author. Said, right? This book makes no appearance of masking, though. Author stand-in? Sure, why not? Who really cares, anyway? Every writer (including myself) does it to some extent, and our work reflects how we interact with the world, anyway. This book is all about interacting with deceased literary heroes, a mysterious manuscript that Clarence dubs “The Origins of Birds in the Footprints of Writing,” which does indeed bear a peculiar resemblance to Italo Calvino’s “The Origin of the Birds.”
It makes sense, though, when Clarence is trying to conjure up help from literary heroes like Luis Borges, Philip K. Dick, Italo Calvino, Franz Kafka, Edgar Allan Poe, and H. P. Lovecraft. What this book does is uses them, and their own literary allusions to birds, as a vehicle to explore the concept of magical realism itself, while Clarence goes on a magical realist adventure of his own that begins working at the NSA, leads to working as a software engineer creating an AI chatbot of sorts, and ultimately to the creation of a dark library in his own home to bring these people back to life.
Clarence tries, and fails, to be a serious adult not wrapped up in the concepts of magical realism, but can’t shake that connection to it. Right before him are friends, a potential romantic interest, and a steady, normal, “serious” job that most adults would feel right at home in. Instead, Clarence is sucked into a conspiracy involving that old NSA job and the bird track manuscript that leads him through various stages of surreal and odd places, people and things, until he’s able to accept himself as both a serious and unserious person. He’s the type of person who can sit down and code a chatbot for his company, while also the type of person reading passages of his favorite writers from a podium by a river to an audience of birds creating tracks for him to translate and insert into that chatbot to make it quirky and fun again.
What we get is an enjoyable romp through some nostalgic ideas, mashed together and distilled into a skillful, readable novel by St. Elmo.
Like I said, there were some polish issues, which were in most cases just missing or misplaced quotation marks, and maybe some pacing issues, but nothing to ruin the experience or detract from the book at all.
There’s a similar, awkward, anxious protagonist with a name similar to our author (Clarence St. Claire), although this book takes place during a contemporary setting with said protagonist having a similar background to said author. Said, right? This book makes no appearance of masking, though. Author stand-in? Sure, why not? Who really cares, anyway? Every writer (including myself) does it to some extent, and our work reflects how we interact with the world, anyway. This book is all about interacting with deceased literary heroes, a mysterious manuscript that Clarence dubs “The Origins of Birds in the Footprints of Writing,” which does indeed bear a peculiar resemblance to Italo Calvino’s “The Origin of the Birds.”
It makes sense, though, when Clarence is trying to conjure up help from literary heroes like Luis Borges, Philip K. Dick, Italo Calvino, Franz Kafka, Edgar Allan Poe, and H. P. Lovecraft. What this book does is uses them, and their own literary allusions to birds, as a vehicle to explore the concept of magical realism itself, while Clarence goes on a magical realist adventure of his own that begins working at the NSA, leads to working as a software engineer creating an AI chatbot of sorts, and ultimately to the creation of a dark library in his own home to bring these people back to life.
Clarence tries, and fails, to be a serious adult not wrapped up in the concepts of magical realism, but can’t shake that connection to it. Right before him are friends, a potential romantic interest, and a steady, normal, “serious” job that most adults would feel right at home in. Instead, Clarence is sucked into a conspiracy involving that old NSA job and the bird track manuscript that leads him through various stages of surreal and odd places, people and things, until he’s able to accept himself as both a serious and unserious person. He’s the type of person who can sit down and code a chatbot for his company, while also the type of person reading passages of his favorite writers from a podium by a river to an audience of birds creating tracks for him to translate and insert into that chatbot to make it quirky and fun again.
What we get is an enjoyable romp through some nostalgic ideas, mashed together and distilled into a skillful, readable novel by St. Elmo.
Like I said, there were some polish issues, which were in most cases just missing or misplaced quotation marks, and maybe some pacing issues, but nothing to ruin the experience or detract from the book at all.
June 14, 2024
Well that was certainly a wild ride. A twisting, turning tale through reality, unreality, dream worlds, mundane worlds,and shadow worlds just on the other side of the solid wall of the known( which turns out to be mostly just dark space and probabilistic clouds of possibility masquerading as solid matter). I enjoyed the journey in the search for the meaning of a manuscript of bird tracks. Borges and Calvino, which I am both fond of, would approve. We are all on some sort of search I suppose, maybe not quite as frenetic and crazed as this one, but perhaps most of us are just not paying close enough attention to how strange our ordinary world is. This is an engrossing tale and I shall certainly read more from Mr St Elmo.
December 29, 2024
This book is absolutely unhinged.
June 11, 2020
Originally posted at https://beforewegoblog.com/the-origin...
I cannot review The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing without bringing up Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco. Foucault’s Pendulum follows three people in a vanity press who create a conspiracy theory, as both joke and grift, until enough other people take it seriously that it becomes dangerous. It’s a brutal, clever satire, and one of my favorite books.
The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing is not Foucault’s Pendulum, but I had the same sense of feeling reality shift as I read it. Both books deal with signs and forcing intentionality and meaning where none necessarily should be.
Clarence St. Clair works for the NSA, where he’s given the task of deciphering a document that contains nothing but the footprints of birds. Through persistence and cryptography, he does it. Or at least he’s pretty convinced he did. Forcing oneself to find patterns in random signs doesn’t have the best track record. Clearly, something happened, because he gets fired.
Ten years later, St. Clair has switched his career to programming and is trying to build an android capable of thought. He wants to name it Odradek-Dupin, after characters from Kafka (The Cares of a Family Man) and Poe (The Murders in the Rue Morgue) but the company he works for changes the robot’s name to Bob The Answer Man.
“What people call ‘Artificial Intelligence’ are two very different things. There is artificial reasoning, which is the manipulation of concepts according to math-like rules. And then there is artificial personality, the act of making a machine seem like a person. There are no rules for ‘personality’ except whatever trick works. Our artificial man must do both; hence, Odradek-Dupin. One half of him thinks about the concepts of things, the other half chats confidently about what he thinks.”
People are told to ask questions to Bob The Answer Man, and he will respond. But some questions are answered with the same strange dream-phrases that were deciphered in the manuscript of bird tracks.
As he deals with this St. Clair is targeted by a persistent hacker and some NSA agents and eventually some far stranger people. One could assume that outside the strangeness of the bird tracks the novel could well be a traditional tech thriller plot. “Caught between hackers and the government, possessing secrets they want to know—” but St. Elmo has no interest in that.
The action sequences, such as they are, feel perfunctory. They’re irrelevant. This isn’t the kind of book aiming at pulse-pounding adventure.
It’s not a book aimed as a deep dive into characterization, either. Outside of Clarence, most characters get little more than a brief descriptor. This isn’t a flaw in the book, but again, characterization is simply outside the purview of what this book wants to be. As far as Clarence St. Clair goes, he happens to have the same background as Raymond St. Elmo. Both have a degree in Spanish Literature and now work in artificial intelligence. Clarence is far from the idealized figure most authorial self-inserts would be, yet he ends up having a wild adventure with characters St. Elmo clearly regards highly.
Around the mid-point the story shifts drastically. St. Clair hopes for Borges—as in Jorge Luis, the Argentinian author—to translate the bird prints. At this point, the story, which has teetered on the edge of realism (Seriousity in the parlance of the book) falls all the way off into unreality and you simply need to go along for the ride. It’s more fun that way.
This book is aimed at people who love books, who would do anything for the feel of a folio, who climb the library stacks searching for their next fix. This is not a book content to be a pleasant diversion. It wants to worm its way into your brain until you start grabbing strangers on the street and yelling at them about how much you love books.
At the beginning of the review I mentioned Eco. When Borges enters the story, he’s the head librarian—the same position Jorge of Borgos had in The Name of the Rose. And Eco is directly name-dropped:
“Umberto Eco described it as conversation going on across centuries. But no; it’s sex. One book argues with another from an earlier time, and their argument gives birth to a shelf of little lesser arguers. Or a book inspires a painting that creates a discussion that leads to a piece of music that leads to a play that inspires a book that argues with all of its parents. Kids. God knows they are all quoting each other, stealing from each other, passing the DNA along. And when translation and transcribing go off-track you get mutation. Maybe even evolution.”
I cannot review The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing without bringing up Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco. Foucault’s Pendulum follows three people in a vanity press who create a conspiracy theory, as both joke and grift, until enough other people take it seriously that it becomes dangerous. It’s a brutal, clever satire, and one of my favorite books.
The Origin of Birds in the Footprints of Writing is not Foucault’s Pendulum, but I had the same sense of feeling reality shift as I read it. Both books deal with signs and forcing intentionality and meaning where none necessarily should be.
Clarence St. Clair works for the NSA, where he’s given the task of deciphering a document that contains nothing but the footprints of birds. Through persistence and cryptography, he does it. Or at least he’s pretty convinced he did. Forcing oneself to find patterns in random signs doesn’t have the best track record. Clearly, something happened, because he gets fired.
Ten years later, St. Clair has switched his career to programming and is trying to build an android capable of thought. He wants to name it Odradek-Dupin, after characters from Kafka (The Cares of a Family Man) and Poe (The Murders in the Rue Morgue) but the company he works for changes the robot’s name to Bob The Answer Man.
“What people call ‘Artificial Intelligence’ are two very different things. There is artificial reasoning, which is the manipulation of concepts according to math-like rules. And then there is artificial personality, the act of making a machine seem like a person. There are no rules for ‘personality’ except whatever trick works. Our artificial man must do both; hence, Odradek-Dupin. One half of him thinks about the concepts of things, the other half chats confidently about what he thinks.”
People are told to ask questions to Bob The Answer Man, and he will respond. But some questions are answered with the same strange dream-phrases that were deciphered in the manuscript of bird tracks.
As he deals with this St. Clair is targeted by a persistent hacker and some NSA agents and eventually some far stranger people. One could assume that outside the strangeness of the bird tracks the novel could well be a traditional tech thriller plot. “Caught between hackers and the government, possessing secrets they want to know—” but St. Elmo has no interest in that.
The action sequences, such as they are, feel perfunctory. They’re irrelevant. This isn’t the kind of book aiming at pulse-pounding adventure.
It’s not a book aimed as a deep dive into characterization, either. Outside of Clarence, most characters get little more than a brief descriptor. This isn’t a flaw in the book, but again, characterization is simply outside the purview of what this book wants to be. As far as Clarence St. Clair goes, he happens to have the same background as Raymond St. Elmo. Both have a degree in Spanish Literature and now work in artificial intelligence. Clarence is far from the idealized figure most authorial self-inserts would be, yet he ends up having a wild adventure with characters St. Elmo clearly regards highly.
Around the mid-point the story shifts drastically. St. Clair hopes for Borges—as in Jorge Luis, the Argentinian author—to translate the bird prints. At this point, the story, which has teetered on the edge of realism (Seriousity in the parlance of the book) falls all the way off into unreality and you simply need to go along for the ride. It’s more fun that way.
This book is aimed at people who love books, who would do anything for the feel of a folio, who climb the library stacks searching for their next fix. This is not a book content to be a pleasant diversion. It wants to worm its way into your brain until you start grabbing strangers on the street and yelling at them about how much you love books.
At the beginning of the review I mentioned Eco. When Borges enters the story, he’s the head librarian—the same position Jorge of Borgos had in The Name of the Rose. And Eco is directly name-dropped:
“Umberto Eco described it as conversation going on across centuries. But no; it’s sex. One book argues with another from an earlier time, and their argument gives birth to a shelf of little lesser arguers. Or a book inspires a painting that creates a discussion that leads to a piece of music that leads to a play that inspires a book that argues with all of its parents. Kids. God knows they are all quoting each other, stealing from each other, passing the DNA along. And when translation and transcribing go off-track you get mutation. Maybe even evolution.”
April 12, 2021
“OK Computer, it’s just you and me now” I said, staring at the glowing screen, bereft of any meaningful translation. No surprises there. Inspiration had been high and dry since that creep last night had stood me up. What a let down – a secret message, promises of a clue. I’m so close to understanding, all I need is one nudge and that damn manuscript will make sense. The answer is there, inside my head, but I’m getting nowhere and my brain feels like a house of cards ready to collapse. I tell myself to stay optimistic, but little by little I find myself daydreaming, distracted by the hum of the airconditioner, music from the radio, head full of noise.
I hear the door open and a small man appears in the opening. A wolf at the door.
“Turn around, hands up, do as I say or there’ll be trouble” he says. His hands are empty.
“You and whose army?” I reply. He smiles, and more faces appear behind him.
“Don’t do anything silly kid. A fool can see you’re in trouble here”
I mutter under my breath. This is all I need, a bunch of bodysnatchers here to take me as I’m on the verge of discovery. “Stop whispering” says the man, as he and his cronies move in. But I have an ace up my sleeve – I may not know how to disappear completely, but I knew as soon as I found the mysterious document that people would be after me. An exit strategy was essential.
I push the button under my desk, the lights go off and music starts blaring loudly throughout the room – the national anthem, of course, for I am a patriot even if these g-men think otherwise. Lifting the trapdoor below me, I descend as quickly as I can, which is still slowly despite the number of times I’ve practiced this. As I descend, I look up. On the ladder above me the lights begin to flash and the first feet appear. You can plan all you want, and think everything is in its right place, but the stress of the moment is often enough to set those plans to ruin.
I might be wrong though, so I push on, reaching the floor, a corridor extending before me. I run. Looking behind, the bends in the corridor show flickers, those flickers becoming longer and more frequent as my pursuers gain on me. I thought by this time in my life I’d be fitter, happier, but my desire for dollars and cents has left my fitness goals in limbo. They're catching me, easily.
This is ridiculous I think. I stop, reach to my ankles, knives out, a last stand. I want none of this but I’m left with no choice.
The first flashlight rounds the corner and stops, others quickly following it. There is a bang and I feel a bloom of pain in my stomach. My last plan a failure. I’m not bullet proof. I wish I was. My hand reaches down then comes up, covered in blood. My head grows light, my legs go weak, forcing me to sit down. Stand up! I yell, but the words don’t come out.
The small man appears, and walks towards me, eyes sad. “It didn’t have to be this way but it’s over, go to sleep” he says.
I look up at him, strength fading. He see’s I want to say something, and he leans forward. His eyes are full of compassion, and I begin to wonder at my choices. My voice is a low whisper, but he hears me clearly. “The indents... The messages are in the indents… And they're beautiful”
I hear the door open and a small man appears in the opening. A wolf at the door.
“Turn around, hands up, do as I say or there’ll be trouble” he says. His hands are empty.
“You and whose army?” I reply. He smiles, and more faces appear behind him.
“Don’t do anything silly kid. A fool can see you’re in trouble here”
I mutter under my breath. This is all I need, a bunch of bodysnatchers here to take me as I’m on the verge of discovery. “Stop whispering” says the man, as he and his cronies move in. But I have an ace up my sleeve – I may not know how to disappear completely, but I knew as soon as I found the mysterious document that people would be after me. An exit strategy was essential.
I push the button under my desk, the lights go off and music starts blaring loudly throughout the room – the national anthem, of course, for I am a patriot even if these g-men think otherwise. Lifting the trapdoor below me, I descend as quickly as I can, which is still slowly despite the number of times I’ve practiced this. As I descend, I look up. On the ladder above me the lights begin to flash and the first feet appear. You can plan all you want, and think everything is in its right place, but the stress of the moment is often enough to set those plans to ruin.
I might be wrong though, so I push on, reaching the floor, a corridor extending before me. I run. Looking behind, the bends in the corridor show flickers, those flickers becoming longer and more frequent as my pursuers gain on me. I thought by this time in my life I’d be fitter, happier, but my desire for dollars and cents has left my fitness goals in limbo. They're catching me, easily.
This is ridiculous I think. I stop, reach to my ankles, knives out, a last stand. I want none of this but I’m left with no choice.
The first flashlight rounds the corner and stops, others quickly following it. There is a bang and I feel a bloom of pain in my stomach. My last plan a failure. I’m not bullet proof. I wish I was. My hand reaches down then comes up, covered in blood. My head grows light, my legs go weak, forcing me to sit down. Stand up! I yell, but the words don’t come out.
The small man appears, and walks towards me, eyes sad. “It didn’t have to be this way but it’s over, go to sleep” he says.
I look up at him, strength fading. He see’s I want to say something, and he leans forward. His eyes are full of compassion, and I begin to wonder at my choices. My voice is a low whisper, but he hears me clearly. “The indents... The messages are in the indents… And they're beautiful”
August 18, 2020
Brilliant, original, funny and surreal. A highly entertaining novel that explores programming, AI, translation, books, dreams and the descent into madness with a truly great sense of humour throughout. The only reason this doesn't get five stars from me is that I felt it dragged a bit somewhere in the middle between one too many dead authors and pseudo Greek myths. But overall this is an amazing and fun read and definitely one of the most exciting things I've read in recent years.
June 28, 2021
Planning on doing a real review for this one in the future. I really enjoyed it, the writing was beautiful, and I definitely need to check out more from Raymond St Elmo.
November 3, 2022
I decided to write my review before I read any other reviews because I want to write this fresh from the experience of this crazy ride without the bias of how others interpreted the book/plot.
This is the 2nd book of RSE’s that I’ve read. The first was The Blood Tartan, which was just a complete and whacky joy ride that took me a bit to get into, but I just loved. As for this one, it’s clear by the number of passages I highlighted that I still love the writing. I reread each of those after I finished and still find them all to be so beautifully done. Just incredible prose.
As for the plot of the book, I have to admit that I’m subtracting some stars for what I feel is my own dimwittedness…I didn’t feel very clever while reading this mostly because I just kept thinking WTF am I reading?!? I got it on a surface level, but most of the story (the whole middle 50-60% maybe?) I could not tell if this is supposed to be fantasy (magic realism??) that is actually happening, an allegory for something else happening or if the MC has just completely lost his mind and almost all of it is in his head. In the end, I *THINK* I was accurately able to determine what had happened and where reality split from dream/fantasy. Sort of, maybe?
I did find Clarence’s eternal optimism in tracking down this manuscript/translation no matter how many hurdles to be endearing. That said, for that long long middle stretch, it felt to me like that recurring dream where you’re late trying to get to school/work but no matter what you do, you never get any closer and sometimes all of a sudden you’re starting over in an entirely new spot. Which I suppose, due to all the Alice references, was somewhat intentional…although I found it stirred that same anxious frustration I get from that recurring dream.
I did like the office scenes the most and especially the sweet bit related to his relationship with Kay, particularly how she finally manages to get his attention. And overall, I wouldn’t say the book isn’t good, but it is an acquired taste for sure. And I think just too many of the pages from the bird manuscript were translated and included in the story.
I’m still looking forward to finishing the rest of the Quest of the 5 Clans books.
3 stars
This is the 2nd book of RSE’s that I’ve read. The first was The Blood Tartan, which was just a complete and whacky joy ride that took me a bit to get into, but I just loved. As for this one, it’s clear by the number of passages I highlighted that I still love the writing. I reread each of those after I finished and still find them all to be so beautifully done. Just incredible prose.
As for the plot of the book, I have to admit that I’m subtracting some stars for what I feel is my own dimwittedness…I didn’t feel very clever while reading this mostly because I just kept thinking WTF am I reading?!? I got it on a surface level, but most of the story (the whole middle 50-60% maybe?) I could not tell if this is supposed to be fantasy (magic realism??) that is actually happening, an allegory for something else happening or if the MC has just completely lost his mind and almost all of it is in his head. In the end, I *THINK* I was accurately able to determine what had happened and where reality split from dream/fantasy. Sort of, maybe?
I did find Clarence’s eternal optimism in tracking down this manuscript/translation no matter how many hurdles to be endearing. That said, for that long long middle stretch, it felt to me like that recurring dream where you’re late trying to get to school/work but no matter what you do, you never get any closer and sometimes all of a sudden you’re starting over in an entirely new spot. Which I suppose, due to all the Alice references, was somewhat intentional…although I found it stirred that same anxious frustration I get from that recurring dream.
I did like the office scenes the most and especially the sweet bit related to his relationship with Kay, particularly how she finally manages to get his attention. And overall, I wouldn’t say the book isn’t good, but it is an acquired taste for sure. And I think just too many of the pages from the bird manuscript were translated and included in the story.
I’m still looking forward to finishing the rest of the Quest of the 5 Clans books.
3 stars
December 19, 2017
This book is an adventure... a metaphorical, magical tale that asks age old questions of purpose only to dig up age old answers in the form of never ending quests, that lead to more questions and before you know it, the answer is no answer at all, but a realization that the point of all of it is not that you found (or will find) an answer, but you had a hell of a time on the adventure while looking. Thus is life, right? It’s the journey not the destination.
But Mr. St. Elmo has a way of writing that any other writer would envy. He does so much more than tell a story... He writes in such a way that you live through his hero’s bumbles and you’re part of every inside joke, sarcastic comment, sly remark, and insecure thought. He lets you in... actually he lures you in. His words flow in composition and you have no choice but to follow whimsically along under his spell. Word is he’s a fan magic realism...
What it comes down to is the author’s style. It’s classic, epic, romantic, philosophical, and silly! A pleasant combination. Just like St. Elmo’s other stories, I enjoyed this philosophical quest, and I feel smarter for reading it... and that’s not something many fiction books can accomplish! To quote this very story I could say about this author: “... I only hesitate to count as friends because I admire their quality too much to ever imagine myself a peer.”
But Mr. St. Elmo has a way of writing that any other writer would envy. He does so much more than tell a story... He writes in such a way that you live through his hero’s bumbles and you’re part of every inside joke, sarcastic comment, sly remark, and insecure thought. He lets you in... actually he lures you in. His words flow in composition and you have no choice but to follow whimsically along under his spell. Word is he’s a fan magic realism...
What it comes down to is the author’s style. It’s classic, epic, romantic, philosophical, and silly! A pleasant combination. Just like St. Elmo’s other stories, I enjoyed this philosophical quest, and I feel smarter for reading it... and that’s not something many fiction books can accomplish! To quote this very story I could say about this author: “... I only hesitate to count as friends because I admire their quality too much to ever imagine myself a peer.”
October 22, 2020
This one definitely leans heavily away from traditional fantasy and into magical realism. I have a lot less experience in magical realism, so I have a harder time judging things like “when am I supposed to be suspending my disbelief and when am I not?”
At any rate, I did quite enjoy this one. It’s fun and often funny, and even with the crazy stuff happening, there was enough of a plot that it wasn’t too hard to follow and kept me coming back for more.
There is an extended dream(?) sequence in the third quarter of the novel that didn’t hit as well for me. I felt like I could appreciate the wild occurrences for a while, but eventually it kinda lost steam for me, and I needed a real world reset to get me back into the narrative. It reminded me a bit of the back half of The Man Who Was Thursday, which I know is a classic but which lost a little steam for me. If that one worked for you, this may too. And even if that sequence doesn’t, it’s still a pretty entertaining book overall and a nice change of pace for someone who tends more in the epic fantasy direction.
At any rate, I did quite enjoy this one. It’s fun and often funny, and even with the crazy stuff happening, there was enough of a plot that it wasn’t too hard to follow and kept me coming back for more.
There is an extended dream(?) sequence in the third quarter of the novel that didn’t hit as well for me. I felt like I could appreciate the wild occurrences for a while, but eventually it kinda lost steam for me, and I needed a real world reset to get me back into the narrative. It reminded me a bit of the back half of The Man Who Was Thursday, which I know is a classic but which lost a little steam for me. If that one worked for you, this may too. And even if that sequence doesn’t, it’s still a pretty entertaining book overall and a nice change of pace for someone who tends more in the epic fantasy direction.
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