+ That's what William S. Burroughs called Brion Gysin, and that's high-praise indeed from L'Hombre Invisible. Known primarily--if known at all--as a graphic artist, Gysin, in *The Process,* proves himself to be one heck of a talented writer, as well.
+ *The Process* is a rambling, breezy, keef-laced, picaresque tale ostensibly centered on a black professor self-exiled in the Middle East where he seeks...well, exactly what he seeks isn't exactly clear. Truth, power, wealth, immortality, the ancient mysteries, the meaning of life--a continuing source of the best dope...or perhaps all of the above.
+ Hanson isn't exactly sure what he seeks, but he senses it is to be found in the great Sahara desert, where the spirit of Ghoul devours everything. A cast of characters, each more eccentric than the last, are searching the desert, too, and as their paths cross and re-cross, the *The Process* takes on the tangled complexity of a hairball.
+ That seems to suit Gysin's purposes just fine and if a reader isn't looking for easy answers or a story with nicely dovetailing subplots and no loose ends, it'll suit him, too. Gysin is a seemingly limitless generator of ideas, and so is his novel. There is something of the "shaggy dog story" about the *The Process,* or, perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be more appropriate to call it a 1001 Arabian Nights sensibility. The story goes on for the sake of its telling, because to keep talking is to keep entertaining; to keep communicating is to keep teaching; it is to keep trying to say what is perhaps ultimately unspeakable. The story, like life, continues because what is the alternative?
+ Gysin had an enormous influence on William S. Burroughs and many of Burroughs preoccupations can be seen in this novel. No doubt the two men cross-fertilized each other's imagination, but it is Gysin who Burroughs credits with the cut-up technique, the experiments with tape recorders, the idea that writing should be more like painting. Gysin was an artist's artist--better known an influence on other artists than he was for his own art. That's a shame and may, in part, be due to the fact that he spread his considerable talent over a wide-range of pursuits.
+ As a result, this novel, is not nearly as appreciated as it deserves to be. While written in the 60s, *The Process* hardly seems dated at all; in fact, some forty years after it's initial publication it's focus on the Arab world and the visionary aspects of Middle Eastern life seems more prescient and more relevant than ever.
+ Wry, philosophical, macabre, raunchy, surreal, madcap, and a lot of other things besides, *The Process* is a wild and unhinged piece of storytelling that can make you laugh, make you think, and make you turn pages. It's a wonderful, thought-provoking ride with many points of interest--to nowhere in particular.