On Hatred

Bradley Soileau with a gun?

Have you ever charged into the beginning section of a story and realized that you absolutely despise every character and what they’re about? It’s an odd feeling, especially if it comes after a benchmark idea or foreshadowing that makes you want to read more. I finished Live Flesh by Ruth Rendell during lunch breaks and I had the oddest sensation of wanting to put the book down every couple of paragraphs, combating this overwhelming urge to figure out what the hell is actually going on in this guy’s head and how it is all inevitably going to come crashing down. It’s a story about a rapist who gets out of prison and doesn’t understand why the world treats him poorly. Each line makes you cringe as you’re forced to follow his thought processes, and it’s murder to finally understand Mr. Jenner’s motivations (dun dun). The parents are horrible, the phobia is a nightmare, and the “good guys” are tools. I hated the book, but at the same time it was really good. As an aside, Ruth Rendell is this British grandmother type, writing about horrific mental processes. It’s boggling and stunning.

I had a similar experience reading Vernon God Little, wherein I just hated the main character and every other character and ever scene and all events, but was quite taken with the story and the narrative style. Conflict just drives you to read the book, because if it’s compelling enough, you know that your mind will be eased (if only slightly)by the awaited completion of the winding, nauseating tale. There are readers out there with stronger stomachs than I, holding out for the amazing narrative style and character building, but I can say that I really struggle when I see the cover of the book poking out of my bag and knowing that I’m about to hate something that’s well written, and compelling enough to pull me in. Against my better judgement, I know I’m going to read on.

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~Sam Scrimger

Sag Harbor

Sag Harbor is a Colson Whitehead about being a private school black New York kid in the seventies and living in a broken home. I use the term “Colson Whitehead” in the hopes of conveying the astounding depth of character and narration, line humour and dark forebodings that the man sets in order each time he approaches his writing and idea apparatus. Mr. Whitehead is a genius, and probably my favourite living author. Zone One and The Intuitionist were each my book-of-the-year (2012, 2011, respectively). The takes on ‘the detective novel’ and ‘the zombie novel’ are hilarious and wordy, and there is a serious amount of poetic virtuosity hiding there in that badass mop of dreadlocks.

Colson, in Sag Harbor (the place)

Colson Whitehead is a brilliant author who touches on issues of racism with an angry nerdliness that can sometimes be baffling. He is so damned clever, it can take pages for you to see the analogy or work out the wording. His sentences can be crafted by no other, and his fuel is so forceful, so intense, and so very much a part of him that you have no option but to be pulled along for the ride.

In reading Colson Whitehead, I am now used to the idea that the issue of race will inevitably arise. I can see his amazing sentence structures and a descriptive verbosity needling conflicts that are often a striking new perspective I hadn’t considered. I remain amazed, and that’s just a part of it. Every white nerd or intellectual should read Colson Whitehead. I digress.  Sag Harbor keeps great time, though is more of a ‘thinking’ novel than a ‘stuff happens’ novel. Laugh-out-loud at some points, close to tears at others, and all around an fantastic look at amazing relationships on every scale. Pick it up.

-An aside: at a recent poker night, of five people three brought a Colson Whitehead to be exchanged. Bangin’.

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~Sam Scrimger

Do Let the Dog Drive.

Dramitization.

I recently discovered David Bowman and am impressed by his style.  I picked up this book because of an astounding cover blurb (which turned out to be somewhat misleading): It was advertised as “Garcia Marquez meets Raymond Chandler”. Naturally I jumped on that; those are two of my favourite authors, so I threw this right in the “buy” bin, and checked out. Well, I got through, and quickly, but it was nothing like those boys. We have a nineteen year-old in 1976 rolling through a post-Kerouac US road trip. The writing is slick, the narration is superb, and the style is cunning. However, there was no single piece of fantasy realism, unless you count desert-driving drug hallucinations. Also, no one was actually hardboiled. In the book’s defense, there were a few badass Chandlerian phrases, and some really amazing turns of plot that brought forth vivid, original imagery. I just wish that my expectations hadn’t been so frighteningly high. The novel was swell, and quick, and I recommend it to anyone who wants a go at this quasi-lit fiend hiking across a plane of existence through the Southern States in the summer of Son of Sam and Elvis dying (not a spoiler). It really is an amazing read. But expect a more law-abiding Hunter Thompson meets a crazier Sebastian Faulks (again, amazing writers). Strap in, read on, and prepare for some hilariously over-the-top concepts and coincidences.

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~Sam Scrimger