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I finally did it. I finished my sweater:
Not bad for my first sweater, if I do say so myself. I’m quite pleased indeed.
I’ve never read much crime fiction, or so-called “genre” fiction of any kind, really, but I’d heard such good things about Brooklyn Noir that I decided to give it a try. Plus, it seemed like a good summer read and a good way to get away from work for a while. I was not disappointed.
This book is a lot of fun and reminds me a bit of McSweeney’s Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales, the only other genre compilation I’ve read in recent years. However, unlike Thrilling Tales, Brooklyn Noir doesn’t have any clunkers. (Of course, there’s another big difference: namely, it’s all crime fiction and–with one delightful exception that I leave you to discover on your own–it doesn’t have any fantastical or supernatural stories).
Every story is a pleasure to read and is just the right length. Plots or styles that I have a feeling might grow stale or a little tiresome in a full-blown novel are perfect for the 15 to 20 pages that make up most of the stories in this collection. Cops and robbers, thugs and gumshoes–this book is just bursting with cool and feels like such a guilty pleasure for an avid reader of so-called “literary fiction.” I read most of the stories before going to bed at night, and I felt like an excited little kid the whole time, nestled under the covers with a flashlight and just hoping that my mom wouldn’t come in and tell me it was time for me to get to sleep. Each story is so compelling that it’s tough to put the book down when you finish the one you’re reading.
The seedy setting of Brooklyn is so effective and so masterfully crafted that someone like me with little background in either crime fiction or Brooklyn can’t help but wonder if noir itself would even be possible in another city. Though each writer makes the city his or her own, they all give the impression that Brooklyn is noir, and vice versa; the two cannot be disjoined. The TOC includes a nice touch, though: it provides the particular neighborhood in which each story is set, showing that though Brooklyn has unifying characteristics and a general inclination to noir, it also contains multitudes. Think that Park Slope is the same as Downtown? Sunset Park and Canarsie no different than Coney Island, Brooklyn Heights, Bensonhurst, or Brighton Beach? Think again, and get ready to witness the differences.
The epigraph that begins the book, “Dere’s no guy livin’ dat knows Brooklyn t’roo an’ t’roo, because it’d take a guy a lifetime just to find his way aroun’ duh f—- town” (from Thomas Wolfe’s “Only the Dead Know Brooklyn”), makes a good point. But by the time you finish the book, you feel like you do in fact know the city t’roo an’ t’roo. Perhaps that’s because you don’t have the word of one guy. You have 20 unique perspectives, each with a different voice, angle, agenda, and incredible story to tell.
I won’t single out any stories for special attention, because I really don’t want to run the risk of leaving some of the best stories out. They really are all worth reading. Just get this book and read them all. Have fun!
Since You Ask is a book that sneaks up on you. From its unassuming beginning, Louise Wareham’s consistent use of a detached, first-person narrative begins to do its job, a position you’re not quite clear about at the onset. The first paragraph of the book ends with these lines:
Usually, I was nervous around Ray, but I wasn’t that day. Partly because I didn’t live at home anymore and partly because Ray didn’t bother me anymore.
A recent reviewer of the book commented:
We soon realize that as a narrator, Betsy is a master of detached understatement. That “bother me” actually means she endured years of sexual abuse by her drug-addled sibling.
The phrase “detached understatement” is itself an understatement that doesn’t quite capture exactly what’s going on in the way Betsy sees and describes the world.
The writing style, which often overpowers the content with seemingly amateurish preoccupations with trivial descriptions, takes a while to get used to. For example, almost every new character, place, or object is introduced almost solely in terms of details that do little to flesh out the person or thing being described. Short, matter-of-fact statements describe scenes with more detail than is necessary, but with less feeling than you’d expect to come from such overdescription. Color is often the most identifying characteristic in any given description. We learn that “the grass was long and green” or that Betsy was “drinking from green bottles of beer,” but these descriptions seem both unnecessary and incomplete. At some places, such descriptive sentences just follow one another, creating what appears to be an unnessessary inventory of the colors in a given scene:
His shirt is pale blue, with the smooth light sheen of part polyester/part cotton. His tie is navy blue and loosely knotted. Out the window, the grass is thick and green and dark.
The irony of such overdescription is that it actually doesn’t describe enough. It reduces an otherwise rich circumstance, event, or person to a collection of superficial identifying characteristics.
This style becomes relentless and numbing, like the early stages of Chinese water torture, but the more you read the more you begin to realize that’s the point. The style itself gets the reader into Betsy’s head, which has itself been numbed by years of actual abuse, manipulation, anger, fear, and self-loathing. She sees the world with this cold, alienated gaze, in which surfaces hold more interest and less danger than the personalities inside. As a reader, looking to understand her environment on a deeper level, we’re left constantly disappointed and made acutely aware that we’re seeing exactly what Betsy sees, a world that might be colorful but that is far from pretty.
Ultimately, this style is a tough device to maintain and still offer a payoff in the end. Though resolving the novel’s main conflicts without oversimplifying them would be inappropriate and rather insulting to the reader, leaving them unresolved makes for an unsatisfying conclusion. Still, it’s a brave ending. You realize that Wareham’s goal is not to satisfy but to unsettle, and she definitely succeeds in doing so. The itch you go the whole book looking to get scratched remains tingling in you after you’ve put the book down. Since Betsy gets little relief herself, this seems fitting and fair.
A note on the design: This book’s main handicap is its unfortunate cover. Based on this cover, I would never have even bothered picking it up at the bookstore, which would have been a shame indeed. Akashic would be wise to redesign the book before its first reprint. I’m sure it would help sales.
Any book educating about sexual abuse has to be worthwhile. I jsut wish I had the language skills.
Dan, yes, the book is definitely important not only for the fact that it deals with sexual abuse as a serious topic, but also for the way it treats this theme, which is rather unique. It never takes the easy way out, nor does it ever make generalizations about how everyone experiences abuse. It shows that each experience is unique and has its own background, circumstances, and effects. The guilt the narrator experiences as a result of what she sees as her complicity in the abuse is at least as debilitating as her fear of attachment.
Incidentally, I’m not sure what you mean by wishing “you had the language skills.” The book certainly doesn’t take serious skills to read, and judging by your web site, your skills as a writer are certainly adequate.
Thanks for stopping by and commenting. I’m glad to have found your blog.
i just finished reading this wonderful first novel – i found it impossible to put down – even though i was dreading what was to come next. i think wareham’s taking on of this dark subject matter – the abuse, sexual compulsion, addiction – is spot on and courageous. bravo!!
Because this web site has the fortunate distinction of being recognized as an “object of [Mark's] affection” over at The Elegant Variation (thanks, Mark!), the good folks over at Akashic Books have noticed me and offered review copies of a couple books.
Since I find myself incapable of resisting free books from an independent niche publisher with a unique and interesting list, I’ve squeezed Since You Ask and Brooklyn Noir into my reading list. Reviews are forthcoming, as soon as I finish each book.
Beth 7:48 pm on July 26, 2004 Permalink |
I love the sweater. It looks great!