The diaphanous drug-addled dreams-cape of Cărtărescu’s imagination transmogrifies the world of Bucharest into a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations; the narrative of ‘Blinding’ reads more as a series of images rather than a coherent story and this, alongside the sensuality of Cărtărescu’s prose, the brush-strokes of his pen reading like a Dali painting can at times by jarring, as the reader is left disorientated by the dizzying images of the world Cărtărescu creates;
“Above the yard, the sky was an intense azure with milky clouds frozen in curls. The green and pink oleanders painted their blue shadows on the whitewashed wall of the left-hand house, and further away, the semi-gypsy population sweated in the smell of roux, like fleshy growths on a coral reef”
It is this coalescence of beauty with hideousness which lingers in the mind of the reader, as they are unsure as to whether they are delighted or horrified in the series of images which Cărtărescu creates. Snow melting prettily beneath the shadows of a morbid night; gums which recall to the narrator’s mind sepia-tinted sunsets; the image of a ring as it reflects and blends into the star-filled night- sky. These, rather than any of the characters, who are purely incidental, puppets aimed at propping up the fantastical world fashioned by Cărtărescu, or the plot, which meanders alongside the weird and wonderful mind of the narrator, represent the true essence of ‘Blinding’, as Cărtărescu opens our eyes to the surreal, beautiful and often terrifying power of the world around us.