An Armenian Apocalypse: Armen Melikian’s Expraedium

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Armen Melikian’s 2023 novel, Expraedium, is a beguiling piece of work, part Joyce, part Orwell, part Pynchon, with a smattering of Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange thrown in for good measure.

If I read Melikian correctly, then the novel’s protagonist Brathki even performs the nifty trick of dying before he is born — three years before to be exact, as announced in the “Ololog” — Melikian’s version of a prologue.

Melikian is the author of a previous, humoristic novel, Welcome to Virginland, which garnered some critical praise. It also infuriated governmental and clerical leaders in post-KGB Armenia enough to warrant several assassination attempts and have him excommunicated from Armenia, a country to which the author returned after having lived in the West for several decades.

Melikian’s current, sometimes hard-to-decipher but joyously expounded text is part incantation, part mariner’s tale, part nonsense. Made up of poetry, prose and in-between writing that limns the (in)comprehensible, Expraedium combines several languages including Latin and English, with smatterings of Armenian, Hebrew and Greek and some cleverly made-up terms, to produce what Melikian terms “anti-literature.” The work’s title, according to ChatGPT, is a rare Latin legal term meaning “out of the estate” or “beyond the land or property,” used to describe rights that exist outside the boundary of an estate. In the present context, one assume that it self-referentially designates a work that exists beyond the usual limits of literature or what is commonly read. As a linguist and an avid reader, I found it a welcome if sometimes laborious exercise to try and extricate meaning from the narrative.

Expraedium takes place in a vaguely recognizable somewhat apocalyptic world where references are made to lost empires, capitalistic lands of rapacious destruction and a world that exists beyond exact time and place. Some easily recognizable tribes which inhabit this world include Slavs, Vikings, Russians, Israelis, Armenians, Europeans/Frenchmen, Greeks and Americans: all caught up in a world that the author blasphemes with somewhat joyous flair. That being said, religious institutions fare particularly poorly in Melikian’s estimation. And the author is learned, have no doubt about it, as evidenced by the names that he references in the following passage from the beginning of the book:

“Haik Primogenitor. A silhouette hushtoric. God of Cron. In analogue, Kronos, Occulted, Uranos, God of genesis. Daughters, sons, reflections on the origin of measurement. Guardians of moons. Urmashu. Zodiac’s birthplace…Bel, Hayk’s nemesis. to Baldasar of Urmashu’s foundation epos aneyl corresponding. Balthazar: Babylonia-Bel Shazzar, Bel Shar.”

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Cosmologies and mythologies mix here, including Greek, Babylonian/Assyrian and Armenian, ancient traditions that particularly fascinate Melikian. Readers enamored of history, science fiction and works such as The Lord of the Rings and the Game of Thrones should find hours of delight piecing together the many characters and references in the book.

Armen Melikian

Expraedium is also extraordinary for its experimentation with language, with naming, renaming, with the trip that its Odyssean hero takes through space and time: polemical, prophetic, written in a polyglot haven of linguistic mélange. Melikian seems to want to throw down the gauntlet and undermine both Western and Middle Eastern canons, if not civilization itself as we know it. It seems clear from the outset that there is no making clear linear sense of this work, just as there is no making linear sense in the “real world” of History and the insanely brilliant and savage human tribes that continue to travel the earth. Many people will find this particular aspect of the novel perplexing. As in Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, Melikian asks the reader to suspend his (dis)belief — as well as trivial matters such as word order, grammar and syntax and let his/her mind and tongue caress the novelties at hand. In this sense and in others, the work is simultaneously life-affirming and apocalyptic.

Despite being forewarned, readers may try to find everyday meaning and denouement in the novel. But better just to read a few dozen pages and then skip the next dozen, then perhaps work backward with the same frenzy as the author has written this absurd tale.

There is a concomitant lack of attention to lyricism in the work that I find troublesome, as well as a pell-mell throwing together of traditions and ideas that lacks some sort of rigor. The reader keeps reading hoping to find meaning or to try and decipher the action as it proceeds.

At the same time, the author’s depictions of destructive American and Judaic traditions seem so on-target in parts — especially given the Palestinian Genocide occurring in Gaza today — that the reader feels a sense of both recognition and alienation as he reads through Melikian’s work. And so (s)he reads on, only to arrive at the last page and be left with this final image of a man, Godlike, picaresque and absurd, riding on a donkey’s back.

Expraedium will enchant some and perplex others who pick it up: still, it is a valiant and noteworthy effort on the part of an author who has produced one of the most interesting and nontraditional texts to appear in quite some time.

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