
Jonathan is dying of AIDS. It must be the late 80s or the early 90s because he's emaciated and his feet are covered in what I imagine to be KS sores too numerous and painful to walk.
In a last ditch effort to help him, Kitty, his wife, drags him to a hospital to the laboratory of a Dr. Kack who places Jonathan inside a machine called the Kwark-King, which will painfully fix his body at the quark level. Every organ, every blood cell, every tissue rebuilt at the most basic sub-atomic level. But the process is so painful, that anyone who goes through it completely is seemingly left brain dead.
Seemingly for those outside the machine, because actually Jonathan can see, hear and feel but cannot respond or react. And while lying there unable to move, Jonathan learns two things: that his wife is having an affair with Dr. Kack, and that they are now about to throw him into the ocean to hide the evidence.
Over the next 50 years, Jonathan, suspended at the bottom of the ocean by a chain to a metal Venus statue, meditates on his love for Kitty, and will eventually discover that he can not only see, hear, and feel but also move. Looking around he will find that he is suspended above the deck of a shipwreck, and in an effort to distance himself even further from anything that connects him to the human world above, he travels to the center of the Atlantic, to the mid-Atlantic rift itself, and takes up residence in a volcano.
Michael S.A. Graziano has written a tight, little sureal book that honestly you can breeze through in a couple of hours. And though I enjoyed it immensely, it wasn't nearly as meditative as I was lead to believe it would be from the blurb on the back. But the central image is a powerful one: a man brought back from death, walking through the emptiness of the ocean floor, carrying a replica of the Venus de Milo, to the fiery heart of a volcano. WOW!
I will not post my favorite part of the book - I don't want to give the story away, so here are a couple of tidbits after Jonathan comes out of the Kwark-King and before he's dumped in the ocean:
"He's just lying there," Kitty said.
I was aware of her voice. I was perfectly aware of her voice and the sight of her face as it drifted across my field of view. I didn't turn my eyes to look. The metal form had been taken off. The foam had been scraped away, although I was aware of a residue all over my body, slightly greasy, as if I were covered in a layer of shaving cream. The suction cups were gone from my eyeballs. The giant spaghetti monster still hung from the ceiling directly above me. I knew where I was. But I didn't move. I wasn't paralyzed: I just didn't want to move. I had come back from a journey that I couldn't quite remember, and I felt absolutely at peace. A Buddha at the zenith of meditation could not have felt as self-contained. The noises and sights around me didn't seem to matter anymore. It's not right to say that I didn't care; that phrase has a harsh connotation. Instead, I didn't mind anymore. I felt infinitely indulgetn and willing to forgive the world anything, any circumstance it might foist on me, and therefore I saw no point in moving; I simply waited to see what new sensation the world might supply (47-8)
I think I was in the trunk for about three days.
I didn't mind. I didn't move a muscle. My eyes were open and I never blinked. The Kwark-King obviously had given me corneas of steel. They never dried out. When a normal person is trapped in a trunk for a few days, he or she probably can't help thinking about the situation, wondering when the sicko who put you there will come back, wondering what will happen to you. But I was past wondering and feared nothing, and my mind didn't have any reason to race. I simply was. I sensed. I happily accepted. I understood each new event as it unfolded. Why anticipate the next event? (57)