I’ve been meaning to write this review for a while now, but have been putting it off because it concerns one of my favourite books of all time, and I want to do it justice. So in preparation and anticipation, one day I set about rereading the book once again to make sure I did it the justice it deserves. As you might have ascertained from the tile and book cover in the post, the book is Glamorama by Bret Easton Ellis. To give more structure and organization to the review, I want to write about this novel in three different parts, hopefully getting closer and closer to the essence of why it’s made such an impact on me.

Plot

The novel tracks the movements of Victor Ward, a 27 year old model-slash-actor-slash-club-owner who also happens to be sleeping with the girlfriend of his backer. He’s got an allowance from his rich father, a steady supermodel girlfriend, and lots of free time which he fills with scattered projects like snack food commercials, charity fashion shows and half-baked band practices. One day, he gets a call from a mysterious diplomat who invites him to make some quick money. Victor’s mission is: travel to London, find a love from his past, and bring her back to the USA.

The second half of the novel begins as Victor sets off for Europe, and effectively unravels the plot and characters set up in the first half. Once Victor arrives in London, he finds Jamie, along with her boyfriend and rich, supermodel friends, who also work as – terrorists. Victor is still in love with Jamie, but as his understanding of the complicated situation he’s gotten himself into grows, so does the violence, danger, the surrealistic nature of the writing.

Devices

Ellis employs several literary devices in the second half of the book, some of which I’d never encountered before. First, he profiles a loose network of characters which are connected across his books. Alison Poole, Sean and Patrick Bateman, Lauren Hynde and even Victor himself make appearances not only in Glamorama, but also in the novels The Rules of Attraction, The Informers and American Psycho. Ellis shows just how small the world that he writes about is; these stars and models seem to have the entire world at their feet, but their community is quite small, almost incestuous.

Surrealism is demonstrated in several ways in Glamorama, such as by the film crews that enter in the second half of the book to direct Victor’s life. Easton gives no explanation for them, not even when a second crew comes in to challenge the first. I have read some magical realism, like Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, and Margherita Dolce Vita by Stefano Benni, but I wasn’t very familiar with surrealism in literature before reading Glamorama.

Then, there’s the surrealistic presence of flies, the increasing cold, and the smell of feces, all of which grow stronger as the novel progresses through the second half. It reminds me of Sartre’s The Flies, in which the town suffers under a thick blanket of flies to signify its moral vacuity. Or, do these devices foreshadow that Victor is getting closer and closer to his own death?

Significance

Now we come to the fun part – why I love the book. This novel holds a special place for me because it marked my first read of Transgressive Fiction – wherein the characters try and wrestle with moral emptiness (whether they know it or not) by acting in unorthodox ways. I enjoy all the layers of Glamorama -  from the superficial name dropping of celebrities in the opening, to the descent of a barely coherent plot. It’s got all the glitz of pop culture while easing the reader into heavier themes, asking that you make connections between the novel’s two halves. I’ll leave you with one more thought, since this review is becoming a literary work in itself… What shapes our attitudes to both terrorism and pop culture? The mainstream media.

- The Reader

[Image reproduced from tangentlabs.co.uk. Permission provided under the Fair Dealing Act]

After I read my first Charles Bukowski book, I picked up this one whilst on vacation. This novel was written by Bukowski later in life. It is semi-autobiographical and follows Henry (Hank) Chinaski, a semi-celebrity, writer and alcoholic.  As opposed to the portrayals of Chinaski in Factotum and Post Office, Hank Chinaski can subsist from the fruits of his pen, which leaves him time for more recreational pursuits, namely numerous semi-satisfying and debatably successful relationships with members of the opposite sex.

Bukowski’s autobiographical character is both involved with and interested in women, but not neccesarily fulfilled by them. It’s almost as if, once he’s fulfilled his basic needs for food & shelter, he begins to realise both the pleasure and the fruitlessness of the mating process to fulfill any of his higher needs.

There are all kinds of women in this book, several of which reflect actual women Bukowski knew in his life.  There’s the unstable and aggressive Lydia Vance, who is based on Bukowski’s actual ex-girlfriend (and writer) Linda King. There’s the adoring fan ‘Tanya’ who throws herself at her mentor. Tanya was based on a real life woman who published her own (differing) account of what happened between the two under the pseudonym ‘Amber O’Neil.’ Finally, there is the vegetarian-restaranteur who Bukowski eventually marries named ‘Sara,’ and based on Linda Lee Beighle.

It’s no exaggeration to say that this novel is not for the faint of heart. It has no obvious structure in terms of a beginning, middle and end. It begins somewhere in Chinaski’s life, and ends at some seemingly random point in the future. The women who come into his life pass in and out, sometimes returning and other times not.  Bukowski’s writing is as usual frank, unforgiving, unpretentious and at times graphic. But ultimately, if one is to contemplate postmodern living in Western literature, the one thing one definitely cannot be is faint of heart.

I recommend it.

–The Reader

[Image reproduced from bookcoverarchive.com. Permission provided under the Fair Dealing Act]

“All I want to do is get my check and get drunk.”

This was the first book by Bukowski I’d ever read, and I’ve never read author quite like him since. I’ll start by saying that I can usually identify with how Bukowski’s main character (Henry Chinaski, a semi-autobiographical version of Bukowski himself)  feels, but I can almost never identify with how he acts and reacts to the world around him. His attitude is very similar in my eyes to that of 90s grungers who listened to alternative rock bands like  Nirvana and decided to protest the world’s problems by ‘opting out,’ or through apathy. In fact, one Bukowski’s tombstone is in scripted ‘Don’t Try.’ Maybe that is why he still resonates with readers worldwide to this day.

The book has structure, but not an obvious one. It follows Chinaski, a quiet young man in Los Angeles in the mid 70s, as he drifts between menial jobs, has short and ill-fated affairs with women, and meets with various people, including his parents.

One striking thing about Chinaski is that he is always and constantly himself, no matter how life fluctuates around him. Much to their shock and chagrin, he speaks frankly to his parents and employers, lovers and landlords.

To his employers, he asserts:
“How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 8:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? “

As for his potential lovers, he gently ruminates:
“She was desperate and she was choosy at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn’t have quite enough going for her to become what she imagined herself to be.”

I do love to read Bukowski. He gently refuses to present a false front or to deny himself the things he enjoys, which as he readily admits, include leisure and alcohol. I admire his honestly and willingness to live as he chooses, though I personally can’t agree that living a life of rootless destitution and developing a dependence on alcohol is the answer to the discrepancies and complications of the modern human condition. I’ll have to keep looking and reading for that.

–The Reader

[Image reproduced with permission from Jim Barker's photostream on Flikr.com]

image: amazon.ca

I couldn’t stop laughing the entire time I read this book.

The way Stefano Benni writes  is incredibly fun. 14 year old Margherita and her brother, parents and grandfather live in a quiet village and are, though quite eccentric, content and happy. That is, until the Del Bene family moves in next door. The parents, daughter and dog all are wealthy, perfect and a little sinister.

Little by little, the families interact, and Margherita begins to see that the neighbors aren’t exactly what — or who — they say they are. I don’t want to give too much away on this one. I’d just say, read it– you’ll be in stitches!

I definitely want to read more Benni.

–The Reader

Hello fellow bloggers,

I want to ask you for reading recommendations. As you all know, I am interested in books by contemporary authors that deal artfully with modern themes like isolation, consumer culture and the media age.

I’ve discovered a handful of authors that I love, but I want to expand my consciousness. If you stop by my blog, PLEASE feel free to suggest authors or titles you think I might enjoy. I would appreciate it very much!

I look forward to reading your suggestions,

The Reader

[image: twiice.com]

image: digilander.libero.it

I read this book a few years ago, and it definitely deserves a place on this blog. It’s called Jack Frusciante Has Left the Band (in an obvious reference to John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers) and was written by Enrico Brizzi.

The novel examines Alex, an Italian teenager named who feels he is different from his peers, and experiences intense angst during his journey of self discovery. In general, the book  follows Alex in his daily life at school, with friends, and in his free time, recording what he does, where he goes and what he thinks.

In terms of the writing style, I love the way Brizzi gives the novel a definite sense of time and place through his descriptions of exactly what Alex is wearing. Alex is Italian, and dressing is of tantamount importance to Italian men.  In addition, the type of clothes described gives the reader an exact sense of the time period in which the novel was written (the 1990s).

The main theme of Jack Frusciante Has Left the Band is one that is an undercurrent for many of the novels treated in this blog. It’s the boredom with modern existence and the dissatisfaction with a comfortable, middle class, western-style existence. These books make it almost seem as if our current capistalist, democratic lifestyle satisfies  material and physical needs, but leaves spiritual and emotional ones unfulfilled.  Alex understands these principles, and tries to escape the inevitable cycle his parents and elders have experienced through various methods like: making friends that feel the same way,  romantic feelings, art, etc.

Alex and the protagonists inmany other books I’ve read, whether youth, young adults or middle aged professionals, seem to share a feeling of unfulfillment and disengagement with their lifestyle and society. Another thing these characters  have in common is the lack of resolution of this essential dilemma. It might just be the biggest unanswered question of our age.

–The Reader

image: wikipedia.org

This book was an interesting addition to Norwegian Wood, which is the only Murakami book I’d previously read. South of the Border follows Hajime during the course of his life from a 12 year old up to a man in his late 30s. It hilights his various love affairs with Shimamoto (his first crush), Izumi (his first girlfriend, whose heart he breaks), and Yukiko (his wife). His relationships with these three women ebb and flow, and follow him throughout his life.

It’s an interesting read, highly stylised and classy. I found several parallels in this book to Norwegian Wood. These include the middle class, unfulfilled ‘normal guy’ protagonist, the damaged woman he’s in love with, the healthy available woman who he’s comfortable with, but doesn’t want to stay with, and the ambiguous ending as to both the status of his relationships and his happiness.

Although Murakami is widely regarded as one of the best living writers, I don’t feel I relate well with his characters. He definitely captures the complexity of human relationships, and the modern situation of being middle class, comfortable and yet incomplete. However, the protagonists of his books strike me as a little too vacuous and very still. An author like Houellebecq writes about the same themes, but somehow, his isolated characters are engaging. Instead of another traditional novel, I’d be interested to read some of Murakami’s magical realism, like Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.

–The Reader

image via borders.com

It’s hard to explain the appeal of Chuck Palahniuk through a plot summary. What I love about the book is the writing itself– so I’ll start off with a summary and end with some quotations.

Lullaby is about a journalist who lives a pretty miserable, lonely existence. His wife and daughter died mysteriously years before. He meets a Helen Hoover Boyle, a real estate agent while investigating a series of infant deaths for a piece he’s writing in a local newspaper. Helen apparently knows a thing or two about sudden deaths as well — her family died mysteriously years earlier, leaving her all alone.

The two find out that the sudden infant deaths are linked to a culling spell which has been mistakenly printed in a children’s book. A “culling spell” is a song that was used traditionally (in this case, in Africa) to put children to sleep, like a lullaby. Unbeknownst to the parents who read the poem to their children, this particular culling spell kills whomever hears it.

The unnamed protagonist, Helen Hoover Boyle, Helen’s secretary Mona and Mona’s boyfriend Oyster set out on a road trip across the USA to try and destroy all copies of the book that hold the culling spell, and they have to also find a way to keep the information under wraps so others don’t know about the sobering power of the spell.

As usual with Chuck Palahniuk, I loved this book. He has the distinct ability to write about subjects I’d otherwise be disgusted by, but to write about them in a way that makes me interested in what he has to say, even entranced by the words he uses to describe them. Here are a few prime examples:

“Every generation wants to be the last. Every generation hates the next trend in music they can’t understand. We hate to give up those reins of our culture. To find our own music playing in elevators. The ballad for our generation, turned into background music for a television commercial.”

“These music-oholics. These calm-ophobics. No one wants to admit we’re addicted to music and television and radio. We just need more of it, more channels, a larger screen, more volume. We can’t bear to be without it, but no, nobody’s addicted. We could turn it off anytime we wanted. These distraction-oholics. These focus-ophobics.”

“What we think of as nature, Oyster says, everything’s just more of us killing the world. Every dandelion’s a ticking atom bomb. Biological pollution. Pretty yellow devastation. The way you can go to Paris or Beijing, Oyster says, and everywhere there’s a McDonald’s hamburger, this is the ecological equivalent of franchised life-forms. Every place is the same place. Kudzu. Zebra mussels. Water hyacinths. Starlings. Burger Kings. ‘The only biodiversity we’re going to have left,’ he says, ‘is Coke versus Pepsi. We’re landscaping the whole world one stupid mistake at a time.’”

Highly recommended.

–The Reader

image: wikipedia.org

This book examines how one person can gain strength by destroying another — in this case, a married couple. Dick and Nicole Diver seem like happy, wealthy American expatriates to outsider Rosemary Hoyt, who meets them while on holiday on the French Riviera.  Through spending time with them however, she pieces together their unusual story.

Dick Diver was an aspiring psychologist who married one of his rich patients, Nicole. In exchange for caring for Nicole, who is in a fragile state, Dick receives the life he’s always wanted — with a partnership in a Swiss clinic and a beautiful, comfortable home life. However, Dick’s superior position begins to wane once Rosemary meets him. Partly because of the strain of his situation, he begins to act in uncouth ways, to let his emotions get the better of him, and to drink heavily. By the end of the book, Nicole has divorced Dick, remarried and is stronger and more stable than she’s ever been. Dick is left alone and financially berefit.

I love F. Scott Fitzgerald’s writing because of the way he portrays the wealthy classes in the early 20th century. He isn’t just another author who writes about Sex and Scandal, however. His writing glimmers with questions about the undercurrents that push and pull his characters. He leaves enough space between his descriptions for multiple interpretations of the protagonists’ motives and for questions about their true identities. As with all good art, perhaps what you don’t say is just as important as what you do say. In the case of Tender is the Night, the question could be– is a life of comfort and wealth worth the sacrifices one must make in order to obtain it?

–The Reader

image: wikipedia.org

My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute. –Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand was a Russian novelist who believed very much in the ideas of capitalism & self-determination. Her personal philosophy was called Objectivism, and it still influences many readers today around the world.

This book has four main characters: Howard Roark, Peter Keating, Dominique Francon, and Gail Wynand. Howard Roark is the story’s protagonist — a brilliant architect who wants to make modern buildings that no one understands or accepts. He stays true to his individual vision throughout the book, despite all the people who do not agree with him and all the business he loses (this represents the triumph of the individual over the collective.) Peter Keating is another architect who has the opposite strategy– he is not an original artist, but he ingratiates his way to success by knowing the right people. Gail Wynand is the owner of a newspaper who loves Roark’s work. Dominique is the woman who all the men love and who, ultimately chooses to be with Roark because she believes in his vision, genius and artistic integrity.

I loved the way this book was written. At the time of reading it, I did not agree with the principles of Objectivism, but I do believe in adhering to one’s artistic principles. I’m not sure what my own personal philosophy is now… but I am certainly glad I read The Fountainhead, as I do believe that reading all kinds of material from all different kinds of authors helps in the the determination of one’s moral stance.

–The Reader