CHRONIC CITY by jonathan lethem
for all CHRONIC CITY’s ambition and for all its frantic counterculture name-dropping and for all its borrowed and original wackiness (a giant tiger, love letters from a marooned astronaut fiancée, psychedelic ceramics) lethem’s latest is at heart a comedy of manners, gently lampooning a fundamentally effete manhattan. it’s also more page six than swiftian, the sting and focus of its satire sadly dulled and clouded as if in a solipsistic, self-entertaining mary jane fog.
which is both strange and unfortunate because the author here certainly seems to be going for more, working hard and well for significance and depth. despite its flaws it also seems in many ways a return to form, so one is left with a puzzling ambivalence. what happens? it’s hard to say… but i kept recalling a review for some wes anderson film — one that noted anderson, for all his lavish and cleverly particular art direction couldn’t help but make an airless movie. something similar happens here. all emotion, messiness, pureness and quickness of heart has been photoshopped out in order to make some cooler, shinier but more dead artifact.
Thinking about our conversation on this book later on it occurred to me that perhaps the feel of missing depth and significance of Chronic City communicates the conundrums of its characters more effectively than a work than felt whole and significant.
communicates > communicate
it’s true that the thinness could be justified because the xters lives are thin — but i’m not yet convinced. though maybe this is one of those books that annoy you but then grow in the mind later. while i think i was meant to love my time with tooth and folk, it’s true that i didn’t mind it at all.
and speaking of hanging out: i was very happy to get to spend time with you and evelyn. hopefully again soon!