It is a rare feat, to successfully write a Gothic novel that is comic and tragic, along with the element of horror that is bound within the genre. That is, if you want to assign a genre to Sven Axelrad’s debut novel, Buried Treasure. But seen as we have, Gothic seems the best fit. After all, it is centred in a cemetery.
Certainly there’s a monochrome feel to the novel, accentuated by the high contrast black and white photograph on the cover. Which is not to say the characters are limited in tone, they are coloured with a depth that draws us in, eliciting our sympathy and stirring a growing emotional attachment. The possible exception is God, the dog who is a character as central as the orphaned, homeless girl Novo, the old cemetery caretaker Mateus, and the orphaned boy Augustine, who has an extra-sensory affiliation to flowers.
But God, the dog, is perhaps the genius of this novel, in that, even though we are introduced to her history and the hard-luck story behind her puppyhood, we cannot quite come to the point of understanding her, and not only because she is a dog rather than a person. Literature has many examples of dogs as characters with personalities that transcend their species. Here the dog, God, becomes a metaphor for the Judeo-Christian divinity, leaning more toward the Judaic than the Christian. If, in fact, the dog is viewed as the central character, then Buried Treasure could be argued to be, or at least contain, a Biblical allegory, including the sacrifice required for the possibility of redemption.
But this is a review, not an academic literary analysis which would neccessitate the reader having read the book. Which is not to say Sven Axelrad’s literary debut doesn’t deserve academic attention, even though that is usually reserved for more established writers; Mia Arderne’s debut novel Mermaid Fillet is currently studied by students of English literature at UCT. Buried Treasure certainly contains enough fodder on which to chew the intellectual cud it opens the door to a number of intriguing philosophical ruminations.
Besides God’s unforgiving and vengeful nature, there is the name of the town in which the story is set: Vivo. It is almost a pity that Axelrad spells it out in the introduction, for it would be a joy to figure it out oneself, although, one probably wouldn’t, unless you studied the novel in an university English literature course:
“Everything that I’m about to tell you happened, is happening, in a town called Vivo, which is to say these events happen both in Vivo (geographically) and in vivo. I have come to believe that nothing truly happens in vitro, or outside the bodies of the living, not even death.”
This introduction, along with the first paragraph of the very short first chapter, gives us a sense of the conversational narrative style, and the philosophy both within and between the lines:
“The old man walks home along the streets of Vivo, lamenting bitterly to the dog. The dog, for its part, listens politely. The lamentations themselves are nothing special, generic things, a list of woes hardly worth mentioning, what have I got myself into, et cetera.”
Consider, of course, that you already know the dog’s name is God, and consider the use of the word ‘lamentations’, and we’re well on our way to a Biblical allegory analysis. Think of a light hearted take on the Book of Job. But we’ll bury that now.
Another of Axelrad’s accomplishments is his ability to write characters that are both fantastical and relatable. This includes the ones who are ghosts, defined by little more than their names, such as the Once-Famous Pugilist.
Within the arc of the story building to its climactic conflict (remember there is an ever-present element of horror), there are many side-stories and back-stories that reveal a wonderful sense of humour,
wherein the writer is entertainer, raconteur. Which also leads to the only criticism of what is a moving, comic, thoughtful novel: the direct addresses to the reader, while often contexually relevant, just as often can come across as facile. Which is a small price to pay, perhaps a price that has to be paid, for a novel that holds intrigue, laughter, philosophy and perhaps most importantly, provides an unexpected comfort in its ability to make death seem as much a part of life as living is.