I generally remain a little bit confused whenever I finish a book from John Berger : each one appears to me so different from all the others , as if they were written by different authors. When loving a writer, one's normal preference is to read more of his work first to enjoy it ,and then to understand the personality and the development of the author. John Berger is with no doubt, an extremely rich personality and not an easy person: a very good art critic in "Success and failure of Picasso" etc. ; an excellent novelist in one of my preferable novels "To the wedding" and , more in a little non fiction masterpiece of remarkable deep human love: "A fortuned man" or "the story of a country doctor". Two extremely beautiful books....never to be compared neither to the lack of quality in "G" his 1972 Booker prize , nor for instance with "And our faces, my heart, brief as photos" where a breath taking poetical title is followed by a rather meaningless mixture of ideas .
"From A to X" could very well impress, as it probably does, by its freedom, its versatility, by its imagination. But I find here another author writing another book : I don't find in this book the beauty and the style of the ones I love. There are indeed very interesting nowadays topics: an actual terrible lack of personal individual freedom, to day horrible wars, injustice, a political positive vision , all a little bit hidden underneath a sad story of love and absence. Letters and more letters perhaps very tender but tiresome, repetitive ,and above anything letters without an answer.
Berger feels and wrote more than one beautiful sentence about true love. But I think-and probably this is not what he wants- that love is a very secondary theme in "From A to X". One thing is trying to write love letters as a woman would do through identification probably, while another very different thing are love letters written by a woman. Some days ago I was reading "Rapture" by Carol Ann Dufy and I saw the difference : there is not half an inch of this beauty and soul richness in A'ida letters. The lack of any answer troubles me, that kind of void has nothing to do with love. I think, finally, that the love under which lies all the drama, is not expressed in a satisfactory way.
Perhaps the basic theme, the drama, is not love but politics.
As Berger perhaps finally expresses it: political drama of today seems to have no answer.
This book left me a bit unsatisfied. Berger is considered an excellent writer: it is very possible that you, MY reader in this very moment, could find it beautiful ! Therefore, you would do much better if you try it and deduct your own positive opinion. Probably myself would add one or two stars more if I could keep on understanding more of this interesting book !