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I don't understand. He seems like a great author, judging by this novel; a dramatic author endowed with a very personal style and an otherworldly, visionary, and very delicate storytelling ability; yet, this book is the only one, among his, to have been published in our language. And those who, like me, don't know English very well, can only regret it.
It's probably famous as a film, not as a novel (novel released in 1962, for the date enthusiasts). In 1975, in fact, a very well-made film was adapted from the novella, although simplified (obviously; it's the fate of adaptations) brought to the forefront thanks to the magnificent interpretation of who would soon become a great actor, Jack Nicholson, in his first leading role.
Anyway, I saw the film as a kid and so, as I was about to open the book, I had few memories of the story, and I think this was actually a good thing. Indeed, in hindsight, I can't remember well, but it seems to me there were indeed differences between the book and the film.
The synopsis: 1962, in a mental hospital in Oregon life passes without advancing, among madmen stuffed with horse medicine who wet their pants and drool on domino pieces, and orderlies black as coal, cruel, who clearly can't help but assault the newcomers in the showers. Everything is governed by the clock of the Great Nurse, who commands with an iron fist and cannot stand seeing the rules of this miniature death camp being broken. The rebels, the recalcitrant, are first subjected to the already outdated practice of electroshock and only later, if it doesn't have significant effects, to lobotomy -if this goes well, they return emptied and half-dead to their homes, and everyone is happy because oh, how wonderful, he's cured, the miracles of science, looking in the face of the zombie who will live the rest of his life unable to think. If it goes badly, the patient's brain melts and completely ceases its functions, effectively making them a vegetable. But never mind, say the doctors, it can happen every once in a while! Better that than lobotomized, anyway, let's be clear. Peeling walls, electroshock and giant needles spread with generous doses of vaseline to soften the buttocks, drugs -drugs- and destroyed people, unable to make time pass, unable to react, in one word: emptied of everything. To further disorient the inmates, thanks to a special machine leftover from World War II, a particular mist is diffused in the rooms where "recreational" activities take place, in which it is pleasant to lose oneself, to soar; in which time does not pass, everything is still, and it functions, too, as a cradle, as protection. Lost in the gray nothingness, no one can harm you. And while you think that, without realizing it, you are progressively 'closing yourself off' from external stimuli. When the "redhead" Irishman McMurphy, a cheerful braggart and man of the world, is taken into custody, between him and the Great Nurse -who has understood the threat, cannot bend this person, is immune- the fires of a miniature cold war are kindled. He brings a breath of warmth and humanity to a place where people are forced to let go. He will gradually revive the patients, even without wanting to, because it is simply part of his character. The protagonist, or rather, the narrator of the whole affair, is an Indian who pretends to be deaf and mute, probably the oldest of the patients and with quite a sad history behind him that is slowly revealed to us through shards of memories and dreamlike fragments.
The story itself is not particularly trivial, but what makes it unique is precisely the way, the style, with which it is narrated. There is decidedly nothing sober or classical about it. Everything is suspended, disorienting, from the beginning, a beginning that will prove quite easy to breach but despite this very disorienting.
The narrator for a few pages shows us a zone devoid of colors; then introduces McMurphy and, with the draft of the door closing behind him, besides the wind, colors penetrate the building and the reader's mind; colors of the countryside, of smoky bars, of work under the sun, of joy and friendship. It's not just the narrator who notices it, the shift is perceptible. When McMurphy is present, the novel colorizes fantastically, and one seems to smell the earth and wheat, and when he is not, the gray mist and the antiseptic smell of machinery take over the pages.
This is not the only stroke of genius in this book. I believe it to be seminal because this way of narrating, rich in metaphors, is not cold or antiseptic like that of other writers. It is, in a certain sense, the most modern old novel I have ever read.
The story, dramatic and at times truly heartbreaking, is a parable of the misfits and people unable to adapt to society -the Indian protagonist reunites them under the name Clique and secretly hates it- and this is taken to the extreme, to discovery, with a masterful twist set about halfway through the book that wisely overturns the perspective we had held until then, and which is never clarified because it implies many things on which it is easy to stop and reflect. If the author had explained this...the novel would have lost points. It's good to clarify: there is nothing unfinished in this work, well delineated are the three fundamental points, the three trunks: beginning, development, finale, which closes the ranks, and which isn't closed but paradoxically more closed than many others that can be defined as such. More than this, I don't want to say. But it's hard to talk about it this way.
A particular scene stuck with me, and I'll "spoil" it for you. Our Indian, one night, realizes that the window of his room is left open. He leans out and... sees the world, the night, freedom, represented by a dog walking through the garden, cheerful and jubilant. And he understands how much he has lost, how much he misses. Skillfully described, it is a contrast, a tear, between the timeless place of the hospital and the great world, two different and apparently incompatible realities.
Recommended for those looking for dramatic but not mawkish stories, well-written and at times truly touching.
(some versions spoil the ending in the summary placed on the back of the volume: better not to read it, in any case!)
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