i’m back. actually i’ve been back for a minute, but things have been hectic. the same day the dollar store show rolled into philly, my woman left for a summer in vienna. but it’s not a vacation; she’s there for a dance festival. then i thought about joining the dollar store folks for the trip to boston, but decided to skip it and meet them in albany where i got to read disturbing shit in front of an intimate audience of other writers, my entire family, and some childhood friends. also i sang a michael jackson bridge.
while i was gone i was reading many things and the biggest of these was fiona maazel’s last last chance.
i’ll be honest, i’m conflicted over this one. one the one hand, i wasn’t always compelled by it (and this is demonstrated by the fact i was reading it on and off over the course of about a month, which is a long time for me and a book); on the other, i can see that it’s daring and smart and that there’s very good stuff in it.
i held off on this one a long time. mostly because i don’t buy hardcovers unless i’m convinced i have to have a book, but also because, and let me admit my hypocrisy here, i had read the new york times‘ review (negative) when it came out, and though the premise sounded interesting, i decided if what the times said was at all correct, i would hate the book.
oh me of little faith. the times‘ review was not at all correct, and i didn’t hate the book even a little.
reading back over said review, the quibble seems to be that the book is shallow and lacks focus. i would submit that this is the daring part of maazel’s program.
context: it’s been a big decade for apocalyptic narrative. the two undeniably brilliant examples that come to mind right now are the road, by cormac mccarthy (spooky — my brother called me to talk about this right after i wrote this paragraph), and jamestown, by matthew sharpe. the common denominator between the two (aside from, you know, the apocalypse)? both depict humans struggling to survive after a great disaster.
in maazel’s book, fewer than 4,000 people die in the superplague that’s supposed to destroy the world. yes, as the times pointed out, this could work as an analogue to the number of people who died on 9/11, which is safe to make analogues about now because, even though it was a tragedy that changed each and every one of us forever, it was about a thousand news cycles ago.
but i wasn’t thinking about a thousand news cycles ago while reading last last chance, because i read it only a few news cycles after the most recent tragedy that would change each and every one of us forever. that’s right, y’all: flying pigs. maazel is either wise or has done her research or both, because her apocalypse is a lot more like the apocalypses i’ve lived through.
you can see the weakness of a man right through his iris
but here’s the conflict:
i liked the road and jamestown better.
(is this because i’m a dude?)
that means almost nothing as an aesthetic evaluation considering those might also be my two favorite books of our young century, but it does point to what i might point to as a flaw in the book, which is that the addiction narrative that runs parallel to the plague narrative overshadows the plague narrative, not as in, the former is more important than the latter, but as in, the former makes you forget the latter.
see, i would have been fine with just the former or the latter, and the way she uses the relationship between the two as a reference/update/hommage to boccaccio’s decameron is really, really clever, but the balance feels off. while this is justifiable intellectually and probably very realistic (given the self-loathing/egotism paradox inherent to addiction), it wasn’t, ultimately, satisfying to me personally. however, i can’t imagine a way, aside from just finding 75-100 (maybe not necessarily that much, but the book is definitely too long) pages to cut from the book, that it could be more satisfying to me personally, despite the fact that i still like maazel’s program. hence my conflict.
one thing’s for sure — fuck any review that calls the past life regression sections “unreadable.” maazel really swaggers in those passages, and novels could use more shepherd’s pie.
come to think about it, all of the prose swaggers. here is a randomly chosen sample:
Sigrid Hoffman reads some Old Icelandic poetry, which I love. The way the stanzas work, they are always dropping the shoe at the last moment. This simulates a unique sound in nature, which I also love. I guess it’s a thunk. Maybe a thud.
obviously, if this were third person it would be a mess. the “which i love” could refer either to the poetry or the reading of it; the “which i also love” could refer to the sound or the simulation, etc. but in first person it’s pure character. the second sentence in there is the clincher for me. but then the last sentence and also the fragment. they’ve got tons of rhythm and a unique perspective that makes me believe in the possibility of the character.
one quibble that has nothing to do with fiona maazel, but may have something to do with the publishing industry — what the fuck is up with the cover? i do not want rainbows on my books (it can’t be just because i’m a dude). it occurred to me that this could have been an attempt to hedge bets (maybe people will think it’s chick lit-ish?). also, the dimensions of the book itself made it unpleasant to hold, which, i’m not joking here, can really interfere with my take on a book. which is not to say i’m hedging here.
so you know i’m not hedging: i will probably buy maazel’s next book in hardcover.
