Chandler Morrison surprises with an unusually grim novel about the vapid, vile, self-serving, chain smoking rich people of Los Angeles. Against the backdrop of the wildfires that consume the city, we follow four people who are both part of this empty, shallow, cruel social system but also struggle to fit in: Arden Coover, rich junkie and proud owner of a useless philosophy degree from Berkeley; his sister Tess who tries to figure out if her affair with a narcissistic writer (“the” Writer , mind you) is worth it; Ryland Richter, an insurance executive, addicted to coke, to work and the new employee in his company who turns out to be unhinged and dangerous. And finally sweet Baxter Kent, surfer boy addicted to porn and afraid of real women, who meets an unlikely person to soothe his loneliness.
Every character is a caricature in American Narcissus,
which is nothing new for a Morrison book, it’s his normal to plunge
into the shallows of empty eyes behind mirrored sunglasses to show us
there’s nothing there. His characters usually binge into some kind of
excessive perversity to numb themselves against the absurdity of the
world they live in. That “excessive” part is what draws me to Morrison’s
books, he can show how ridiculous this world is by making his narrative
ridiculously over the top, making it funny, making it comedy. There’s
not much funny in American Narcissus, the only thing excessive is the mind-bogglingly lavish amount of drugs they all do.
The only person who reminds of former Morrison books such as Dead Inside
in which this excessiveness takes control, is Baxter, who falls for his
father’s sex-AI, Mechahooker. She can offer him everything the world
around him can’t – she has no imperfections that distract him, in a
confusing world, she is clear and precise in the way she expresses
herself (well, because all she can talk is dirty sex talk). The
crassness of her talking is hilarious when placed in random situations,
like when Baxter tries to take her to a romantic beach walk among people
or he tries to genuinely talk about his feelings and she answers with a
suggestion of him doing things to her.
All four characters are
dealing with an obsession they think will save them in a way or another,
but to the reader who can see the bigger picture it is clear they are
all basically doomed and can’t be saved; Baxter and his sex doll, Arden
and his drug use, Tess and her idealized feelings for the author and
Ryland and his new romance. When finally some sincerity shimmers through
and they are confronted with the cruelty of the world they have been
enjoying, it is too late, they have already been ruined, and the flames
have taken over Los Angeles.
A couple of scenes in this book are
dedicated to the poorer, the “uglier” side of LA, showcasing an
understanding on the author’s part that we always suspected is there,
but was never spoken out loud. Yes, the mere existence of his vain,
narcissistic, vapid characters is an affront, but now we are also shown
the cost at which this system rolls – a documentary-maker filming the
homeless in LA, a woman refusing to succumb to the beauty industry, a
young girl not being able to go to college because she needs to take
care of her sick mother, an ex-girlfriend who got infected with HIV and
now lives in a trailer, one of the characters waking up in bed with a
ten year old girl after a wild night out… These characters are
disgusting at the cost of these people and deep down they know it –
Arden’s selective memory and his forgetting things he wants to forget,
things that have nothing to do with the lifestyle of the rich and famous
is a telling symptom of their repulsiveness. Of course, there are the
drugs who help.
A careful dissection of the society he lives in,
Morrison shows an unusually serious and dark side of himself, maybe a
side he was hiding behind freakish exaggerations that prompt a laugh in
his previous books, but were none the less there all along. I think I
will chew on this book for some time.
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