We Are Highly Amused

It’s amazing how much more reading you can get done when your classes are finally over. The funny thing is, it’s not like I really did a whole lot of the reading for my classes, but I guess it was always in the back of my mind: if I do read, it should probably be something for class. Well, that’s done with for a month or so.

So what have I been reading, you ask? (Or not . . . I have only vague illusions about the numbers that make up my readership). Well, as it is the end of the year, most publications with some sort of literary connection/aspiration has gone out of its way to make sure everyone knows their opinions concerning which books were the best this year. In the spirit of the decimal system, many resorted to aping Letterman, and giving us top ten lists. Now, with so many books being produced each year, there’s rarely a consensus as to which books belong on the list, let alone where (although, to be fair, if there were only eleven books to choose from, I’m sure very few lists would actually match up). Still, it seems pretty clear that some books were more universally considered excellent compared to others. Interestingly enough, two such books, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, are two books that I read and reviewed when they first came out, and I was a little less-than-impressed than some of the other critics. But, hey, they got paid, and I didn’t, so maybe they’re onto something. I suggest you might try them for yourselves, but I personally can’t recommend them.

One other book that made a lot of lists I can whole-heartedly recommend: Then We Came to the End, by Joshua Ferris. Clearly the most unique feature of this book is the gimmick: it is written in the first-person plural. For those of you not so grammatically inclined (okay, I had to look up “first-person plural,” too; English is hard!), the first-person plural is told from the point of view of a narrative “we.” So, for example: “We blog about things that nobody reads or cares about.” This is not to be confused with the royal “we,” as in “We are afraid someone at work will notice that we’re writing in our blog,” but the choral “we” (and don’t for a minute think I didn’t notice that royal and choral kind of rhyme!). So what you get is a story told from a group consciousness – a hive-mind, if you will, where individuality separates you from the pack and allows you a name. It’s both disconcerting and oddly liberating.

More to the point: it is perfectly suited for the story being told. Ferris is writing about advertising specifically, but the general office/corporate culture is certainly being commented on with the use of the first-person plural. The disconnection from personality, the mindless following, the addictive need for habit: this book is for the group what Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho was for the individual corporate drone. Except, of course, that it’s a lot funnier, and lot less gory (which isn’t to say I didn’t like American Psycho; just that these books are two slightly different beasts).

The story is of an advertising firm going through a hard turn during the economic stumble when the Internet bubble burst. As more and more people get laid off (“Walk Spanish”), the “we” jumps back and forth recounting those days, always through observations and heard conversations. Like the Greek choruses of old, what you get from the narrator is a communal news organization, reporting and commenting on the stories of the day. Ferris, then, makes sure to give us the news first, and then to go back and fill in the actual story. If you’ve ever worked in an office (or, really, ever been in any social situation where gossip and hearsay are the information disseminators), than you know this is how news gets spread: you get the pay-off first – or at least a reasonable facsimile – and then you get the parts that led up to startling revelation. So while various characters are going through very real and personal moments, we do not enter the story until much later, having to wait until the facts are in to make sense of the information we have received.

Which is probably one of the reasons that, despite the acknowledgment that Ferris is using a gimmick, the book still works. It simply feels true to the situation, and so you very quickly get absorbed into story, and forget that what you are reading is pretty much alien to the novel-consuming public. You get sucked into the “we,” and you follow along, hoping to find out if Lynn does have cancer, or how the pro-bono campaign is going, or who is going to be laid off, or if Tom is going to come back and shoot up the office, or what exactly Joe’s deal is. You are allowed into the offices, to gather in the little groups as you hear the first- or second-hand knowledge that propels the story forward. And that becomes highly enjoyable, because you’ve been accepted – you are on the inside, now.

Perhaps the only fault I really found in the book was the pseudo-meta-narrative that Ferris felt compelled to add. I guess part of the game is to figure out who the “I” might possibly be, but I rather liked the fact that, up until the end, there is no way to pinpoint one. At the end, though, the lines become a little less blurred, and I think it actually takes away from the impact of using the first-person plural. Yet, it is a minor moment, and one that only partially (and very partially) detracts from the overall brilliance of the book.

Please note: I was going to attempt to write this in the first-person plural, but I figured pretensions aside, I’m not sure I could actually do it. It’s pretty difficult, making me respect not only Ferris, but the editor who thought: Not only is this a good idea, but I think I will be able to edit it when the time comes. So, props to you, editor man or lady.

SUPPORT INDEPENDENT BOOK STORES!

United We Fall

I’m sure he had the best intentions when he wrote The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, but I’m not quite sure what those were. Michael Chabon, who most people probably know because of Wonder Boys (a decent book that was made into a movie), should definitely be known for writing the ambitious and fantastic novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Not only did the latter book win the Pulitzer (which I’m not sure is necessarily as big a deal as I’ve always thought, but in this case I certainly concur that a deserving book won – and I’m sure the people at Columbia University are breathing sighs of relief for my endorsement), it was simply one of the more well-conceived books of our time. A grandiose claim? Perhaps, but with all the elements Chabon brings into play in Kavalier and Clay – from comic books to World War II, Jewish mysticism to escape artists, homosexuality to magic – never once is there a moment that doesn’t work. For anyone who wants to write their own ambitious piece, remember: It’s not page count that matters, but how those pages add up to a whole. Kavalier and Clay, intermingling historical elements with Chabon’s imagination, is a complete book. It’s also funny and sad, touches upon very interesting topics that have both broad and narrow appeal, and doesn’t waste characters or characterization. What’s really cool is that they made a comic book based on the comic-book character the characters in the book create (The Escapist). It proves that Chabon is a skilled writer and storyteller.

Perhaps some of it left him when he wrote The Yiddish Policeman’s Union. Although not a terrible book by any stretch – there are some genuinely funny and innovative things going on with this book – it lacks something that is hard to ignore: connectivity. Essentially a murder-mystery, more elaborately a book of growth and redemption, its ambition is commendable. That said, the ambition is also its downfall, because it puts the reader so far from a zone of comfort that it is often quite hard to extricate oneself from the lack of information to get at the actual story. Hence, connectivity.

While I know one could always point out that this is a plot-heavy argument, I have two responses for such a person:

1) It should be a plot-heavy criticism. Say what you will concerning the role of the novel, this book is a piece of commercial fiction. Chabon is writing for a living and therefore needs to always be considering markets and audiences (more so audiences; it’s up to the publisher to consider markets). Luckily for him, he is an established author and can sell books on his name alone (see Stephen King and pretty much any Romance author). But that doesn’t mean people will like the book -- or that it’s any good.

2) First readings are always for plot. Anyone who says otherwise is either getting paid to read for something other than plot or has a motive behind their reading that eludes me. That is not to say you can’t read beyond plot on the first reading, but no matter what your ultimate goal is in getting something out of the book, the first time must include comprehension, and that means plot.

So what makes Policeman’s Union so disconnected? The fact that it takes its alien-ness for granted. Now, I don’t begrudge for Chabon for treating his readers with respect regarding their intelligence, but there are limits to that, and he goes beyond them. The book, set in Alaska in what seems like the present (your never quite sure what the exact date is), is at the same time not our present; it is an alternate history. So while it is Alaska, it is not Alaska the state, but a territory – in this case, a specifically Jewish territory composed of refugees from World War II (hence “Yiddish” Policeman).

But Chabon only gives us bits and pieces of this alternate history. This wouldn’t be so bad if that was the only “new” feature we have to deal with – sometimes it’s nice that the narrator doesn’t take time to explain things the characters take as a matter of course. Alas, the other features make this lack of information problematic, because we are now asked to not only accept the new history, but in doing so, get passed the mix of languages and cultures Chabon throws at us. Names and terms have a habit of blurring and in the end, perhaps worst of all, we’re not exactly clear about all the mysteries that are brought up.

And for a mystery novel, that’s egregious.

Read it; try it out. Maybe I’m being critical because I’m coming from a place of high expectations. But I think Chabon didn’t get it right on this one and I cannot recommend buying it, at least not in hardcover (and with paperbacks running about eight bucks, probably not that either).

I do Highly Recommend Kavalier and Clay, though.