JELLYFISH HAVE NO EARS

A beguiling, whisper-thin novel about a woman losing her hearing.

At its best, fiction remakes the world, turning what we think we know totally upside down. That’s the case in Rosenfeld’s imaginative debut novel. Louise is totally deaf in one ear, with limited hearing in the other. When her hearing suddenly gets even worse, she needs to decide whether she’s going to get a cochlear implant. At times absurd, but mostly poignant and inventive, the book is really about making sense of the world, exploring the gaps between perception and cognition. To Louise, who has lost her ability to hear middle-low frequencies, language becomes pure sound (“the warmth of timbres”) and touch (“this soft sheen of wind”) and even many senses mixed together (“all sound’s snags and snarls”). Her hearing makes her vulnerable, as she studies people’s lips, tries to snatch words from the world’s din, guesses, and often mishears. In a restaurant, she thinks, “There was a chalkboard on which I was the hangman. ‘F_ _ _ S H _ D?’ the waiter was asking me.” When her hearing keeps worsening, “the monster crouching deep in my ear…gorging on more and more words,” she and her boyfriend communicate in the bathtub, her boyfriend at one end speaking into the water, and she at the other, her good ear resting on the surface of the water, absorbing the vibrations. The book is also a perceptive meditation on identity, with Louise stuck in a kind of “no-man’s-land,” as her doctor puts it, having “built a life as a hearing person” but with the “all the same problems as any deaf person.” The question of who she is becomes more acute as she worries about how an implant might change her: “Would I recognize my mother’s voice…my own voice?” In quietly dazzling prose, Rosenfeld captures what we know but haven’t really seen, what we’ve heard but haven’t quite registered.

An utterly original take on self-perception and perception.