[NOTE: The reviewer discloses several personal acquaintances, and asserts his unequivocal subjectivity.]
A Few Moments of Sleeping and Waking
.
When I was a kid my parents had a no-censorship policy on my reading material. The only exception they ever made to this rule was when I wanted to read a book that my dad was reading, called American Psycho. This was sometime in the mid ’90s, when the book was out of print. Dad had gotten it from a woman who worked in his office, who herself had found it on a website that specialized in hard-to-find books—probably the first person we ever knew who had used the internet to actually get something. I remember asking him about it, and that my interest was immediately piqued by his no-doubt abridged description. I remember asking to read it, and how, after much deliberation (which was baffling in itself, because I hadn’t meant “can I” so much as “when can I”) he finally told me, not without evident regret, that he would not let me read the book. “It’s not the content itself,” he said, “so much as that I don’t think you have the context to understand the content for what it is.” I must have expressed some outrage—this was unprecedented, after all—and he, concerned I might sneak a peek despite the ban, hid the book so well that we never found it again, even years later, when we emptied that house out and moved.
I started college in the summer of 2000, a few months after the film version of American Psycho debuted at Sundance. Now the book was everywhere. You could just walk into the store and buy a copy—with Christian Bale’s face on the cover, no less. I didn’t go see the movie in theaters, but I went and got the book. And I’ll tell you something—my father was absolutely right. Even at eighteen I didn’t really understand the book for what it was, namely the darkest of satires, mostly because I didn’t know enough about what was being satirized: Wall Street culture, the ‘80s in general, etc. So I took the book absolutely seriously, and treating it in this way made for one of the single most disturbing reading experiences I had ever had before, or have had since.
Zachary German would have been eleven years old the year American Psycho was released in theaters, and though I don’t know whether he saw the film before he read the book, it’s highly likely that a trailer for the film alerted him to the book’s existence in the first place. He would have understood going in, then, that the ultra-violence was a kind of cartoonish excess, and that the whole thing was to be understood (on some level) as a comedy, but he would have probably been still too young to fully grok how (or even that) the pathological cataloging of brand-names was meant as an extension of the central “joke.”
I’m sure he understands that now, but first impressions die hardest, and often times not at all. I understood the film version of American Psycho as just that—a version, which is in itself the reason I didn’t go see it in theaters. I didn’t want to see some director’s weird re-conception of this monumental horror novel as a comedy. I wanted to experience the Real And Serious Book Itself. Consequently, I still cannot think about American Psycho without a shiver running down my spine, because what I remember is not the book itself, so much as my throwing it across my dorm room, and only later working up the courage to pick it back up and see it through to the end.
There was a segue that I was building towards, connecting my speculation about what the young Zachary German probably took at face value with the adult (albeit barely) Zachary German’s penchant for name-checking everything that catches his protagonist Robert’s attention in German’s debut novel, Eat When You Feel Sad. But wherever that connection has got off to, I can’t find it, and so maybe it never existed in the first place—or maybe it’s so obvious that I should just let you put it together (or not) for yourself. In any case, this um, tendency of German’s is just one of the things that makes Eat When You Feel Sad so very strange.
The book is written in a voice of militant composure. Only simple sentences are allowed, and each one consists of a subject, a verb, and then an object, in that order. Pronouns are allowed for humans (though they’re used sparingly), but are almost totally verboten for products and things. Paradoxically, this work of extreme minimalism rejects all forms of shorthand, and most of the colloquial. A can of “sixteen ounce Pabst Blue Ribbon beer” does not, once introduced, ever become “a beer.” It is referred to only by its full title, and so it goes with all the movies, books, songs, bands, albums, foods, drinks, and countless other items which are consumed throughout. Though actually, now that I think about it, I realize that “countless” is the absolute wrong word—and this mistake of mine is just one example of why (and how) this book and its author are both trickier than they first seem. In fact, each and every person and thing in the book is counted and catalogued, in an accurate and comprehensive index at the back of the book. In this gesture, German achieves some unfathomable level of triple-reverse irony normally only possible in laboratory settings for mere seconds at a time. Kudos to him for pulling this off—and to me for having figured it out.
Here are some selections taken at random from the text:
“Robert is in a community center. There is music” (11).
“Robert is lying on Alison’s bed” (21).
“Robert plays the song ‘Chickfactor’ by Belle & Sebastian. He turns off his bedside lamp. He thinks ‘My job is okay.’ He is asleep” (35).
“The DVD is Lost in Translation. Robert turns on the DVD player. He puts Lost in Translation into the DVD player” (57).
“Robert walks into his apartment. He walks into his bedroom. He lies down. He is asleep. Robert is awake. He takes a bath. He reads the story “Community Life” by Lorrie Moore. Robert rides his bike to Whole Foods. He buys arugula, broccoli, pasta sauce, portabello mushrooms and a baguette. Robert rides his bike to his building. He makes dinner. He eats dinner. He makes a video of himself eating dinner. He washes dishes. Robert uploads the video to YouTube” (71-72).
You could only be forgiven for reading these lines as excerpts from the diary of an autistic hipster, or for writing German off as the great Tao Lin impersonator nobody has been waiting for. But do yourself a favor, and don’t do either of those things, because they’re both wrong, and I’ll tell you why in a minute. First though, I want to be totally clear that these are representative passages; so, you know, caveat emptor and all that shit.
Speaking of Tao Lin, those of you playing along at home might have noticed that there’s a character named “Robert” in Tao Lin’s “nonfiction novella,” Shoplifting from American Apparel, published last fall by the same press German’s on (Melville House). Indeed, Lin’s “Robert” is based on—or, I guess it makes more sense to say, simply is—Zachary German. The two are good friends, now press-mates, and Lin’s blurb is the sole encomium adorning Eat When You Feel Sad. (The galley also had an ecstatic and heartfelt blurb from the great Dennis Cooper, absent from the finished copy for reasons that remain a mystery to me.) German doesn’t describe his novel as “nonfiction,” but the two writers obviously colluded on their stand-in names (Lin’s “Sam” even has a few brief cameos in Eat When You Feel Sad) which does not imply so much as confirm the connection between their two books. And hey, why not?
But what I really want to say about Tao Lin and Zachary German is that they are not, in the end, interchangeable. In fact, to read their same-press, same-sized books in succession is not to fall into repetition, but rather to discover beneath the surface-level likeness disjunction and distance where you might have reasonably presumed none existed. Many of their concerns are shared, ditto some of their obsessions, tics, and favorite foods, but in the end their prose-styles are not all that similar, and their fundamental visions of and relations to the world are vastly different. Lin’s books are all at least in part about misanthropy, inwardness, and a failure to acclimate properly: to culture, to friends and partners, to anything at all up to and including the author/protagonist’s own body and mind. German, on the other hand, is the smoothest of operators, one of those effortlessly cool people you knew in high school and could never decide if you would rather fuck or kill. (Though if you went to high school with German you would have had to act fast—he dropped out when he turned sixteen).
On the one hand, German’s Robert has sophisticated taste in music, food and fashion, and seems to possess at least intermediate cooking skills. On the other, if we take the book’s title at face value, every instance of eating is an instance of sadness, and so the relentless catalog of meals is really a detailed case history of Robert’s depression. He eats and eats—to say nothing of all the other stuff he consumes—but he cannot be satiated. He’s always starving for more of what will pass right through him: mp3s or cigarettes or friends or Chinese food or whatever else you’ve got. His consciousness is the bored finger circling the rim of the half-empty glass of his spirit. Or something.
And yet I find myself unwilling to settle for this reading of Robert, which feels not merely reductive to me, but in some way deceptive, like a half-truth or a lie by omission. There’s a version of Robert, call him “sad-Robert,” that Robert sometimes wallows in or exploits (it’s doubtful whether he can tell the difference) but this quality comes and goes. His sadness is a light with a dimmer, and I think that more often than not it’s Robert’s own hand working the switch. To take “sad-Robert” for Robert entire is to mistake the part for the whole, a sure sign that you’re falling for his schtick, and will soon be rolling him cigarettes, or sleeping in his bed while he checks his email and agonizes to himself about why the hell he let you stay over.
Despite what he’d sometimes have you think, Robert likes being alive. (To German’s credit—he does let Robert say so, from time to time, so the characterization of Robert is by no means a total snow job.) Robert takes genuine pleasure in the food he eats and the music he listens to, Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” and Jean-Yves Thibaudet’s The Magic of Satie no less than CocoRosie and Lil Wayne. He smokes pot and gets drunk not because of his spiritual emptiness, though I’m sure that it helps, but because smoking pot and getting drunk are really fun things to do, especially when girls are around—which for him they usually are. (He has more friends and love-interests than the reader will be able to keep track of; another good reason for the index.) Even in his moments of deepest weakness—questioning his sexuality; throwing up on himself at a party; having any number of existential crises—Robert still seems somehow almost too good at being himself, which may or may not be the Patrick Bateman connection I was looking for a thousand and a half words ago.
If you’re waiting for me to render a definitive verdict on Eat When You Feel Sad, you might as well stop. I’m not going to, or else I already have. I can’t tell you whether I think this is a “great book” or whether it will “last” (though I’m going to keep both my galley and my first edition in good condition, just in case). What I can tell you is that it is a real book, wholly original and complete unto itself, and that within the admittedly narrow scope of its ambition, it has been almost faultlessly executed, and is therefore a remarkable success on its own terms. The world will have to make of it whatever it can. For my own part, though, I want to say that I very much enjoyed reading Eat When You Feel Sad, spending time in Robert’s weird calm company, and thinking about it afterward has brought me at least as much pleasure again. Let me put it another way: in the time I spent working on this review (the bulk of two afternoons, and a part of a third), I could have done a lot of things, several of which are due in the very near future, and at least two of which come with checks attached. But I chose to ignore all of those things, because I wanted to do this.
Tags: bret easton ellis, Eat When You Fell Sad, melville house, Tao Lin, zachary german
Just bought it. Looking forward to it immensely.
Just bought it. Looking forward to it immensely.
This is a fantastic–and, I think, dead-on–reading of a book I very much enjoyed.
This is a fantastic–and, I think, dead-on–reading of a book I very much enjoyed.
just finished my review for bookslut. feel something like relief that others enjoyed it as much as i did.
just finished my review for bookslut. feel something like relief that others enjoyed it as much as i did.
I would like to imagine that your last sentence is indicative of more than what it is. What I mean is, I’d like to imagine that Eat When You Feel Sad has changed your life and from now on you will find yourself doing things you want to do more often than you do things you should do, though I realize it really only made you put off those things you should have been doing to work on something relating to it and probably hasn’t radically changed your prioritizing mechanics. That is a small victory, maybe not for the book (I doubt that Zachary German set out to write a book that would make people do things they want to do more often than they do things they should do, but then again who knows), but for yourself.
This comment is incomprehensible.
I would like to imagine that your last sentence is indicative of more than what it is. What I mean is, I’d like to imagine that Eat When You Feel Sad has changed your life and from now on you will find yourself doing things you want to do more often than you do things you should do, though I realize it really only made you put off those things you should have been doing to work on something relating to it and probably hasn’t radically changed your prioritizing mechanics. That is a small victory, maybe not for the book (I doubt that Zachary German set out to write a book that would make people do things they want to do more often than they do things they should do, but then again who knows), but for yourself.
This comment is incomprehensible.
This was a good review. It made me want to read the book.
This was a good review. It made me want to read the book.
This was a really good post. It is a wonderful novel. People need to undress and start reading it instead of scowling because of the lines that have been drawn off it.
This was a really good post. It is a wonderful novel. People need to undress and start reading it instead of scowling because of the lines that have been drawn off it.
[…] Taylor: Nice Dude Jump to Comments Justin Taylor wrote about Zachary German at HTMLGiant Justin thought the tone of that was a little too harsh. This shows a lot of caring on the part of […]
nice, justin. i really enjoyed the book as well.
nice, justin. i really enjoyed the book as well.
Yes.
Yes.
well-written review, too.
well-written review, too.
ZZZZIPP ENJOYED THIS REVIEW. HE DISMISSED THIS BOOK TOO QUICKLY (IN THE BOOKSTORE, IN THE AIR ABOVE THE DISPLAY TABLE, HAVING JUST READ SFAA AND SICK OF THAT PROSE STYLE).
ZZZZIPP ENJOYED THIS REVIEW. HE DISMISSED THIS BOOK TOO QUICKLY (IN THE BOOKSTORE, IN THE AIR ABOVE THE DISPLAY TABLE, HAVING JUST READ SFAA AND SICK OF THAT PROSE STYLE).
I am disqualified from commenting on this book but that’s okay. Meanwhile I slept for a while then tried to call my friend Amyjame but her phoe has been temporarily disconnected. It’s too bad because I felt like hearing her voice. She could have said almost anything. I’m displeased with a different friend of mine who won’t give me something that I want so I’m not calling that number instead of Amyjane’s. I’m really start to miss her prettty bad. I hope she’s not unhappy at the moment. She sent me a picture of herself wearing sunglasses a month ago or so. Notice that I’m not imitating German’s ‘style.’
Am I hungry? I don’t remember the last time I had anything to eat. Am I thirsty? Yes. Now I’m more thirsty than before. I think I’ll check my email and drink some green tea or something. No, china oolong, which sounds green but it’s not. It’s black. Sometimes I worry the company is going to go out of business because I don’t think this is a very popular tea. My mind just really wandered there and I didn’t type.
I am disqualified from commenting on this book but that’s okay. Meanwhile I slept for a while then tried to call my friend Amyjame but her phoe has been temporarily disconnected. It’s too bad because I felt like hearing her voice. She could have said almost anything. I’m displeased with a different friend of mine who won’t give me something that I want so I’m not calling that number instead of Amyjane’s. I’m really start to miss her prettty bad. I hope she’s not unhappy at the moment. She sent me a picture of herself wearing sunglasses a month ago or so. Notice that I’m not imitating German’s ‘style.’
Am I hungry? I don’t remember the last time I had anything to eat. Am I thirsty? Yes. Now I’m more thirsty than before. I think I’ll check my email and drink some green tea or something. No, china oolong, which sounds green but it’s not. It’s black. Sometimes I worry the company is going to go out of business because I don’t think this is a very popular tea. My mind just really wandered there and I didn’t type.
I started to look at my comment and I said ‘phoe’ instead if ‘phone.’ Shit. I’m not going to read the rest.
I started to look at my comment and I said ‘phoe’ instead if ‘phone.’ Shit. I’m not going to read the rest.
i enjoyed reading this post
i felt like working hard on a novel after reading this post
i enjoyed reading this post
i felt like working hard on a novel after reading this post
Fantastic review. I second Tao on the feeling it gave. Was always mildly fascinated in German’s ability to remain original despite the connection with Tao. Going to get the book now. Thanks.
Fantastic review. I second Tao on the feeling it gave. Was always mildly fascinated in German’s ability to remain original despite the connection with Tao. Going to get the book now. Thanks.
This is right on the mark: “within the admittedly narrow scope of its ambition, it has been almost faultlessly executed.”
Thanks especially for calling attention to the index which, far from being an afterthought or a joke, is I think actually a key to the work’s central structural element.
This is right on the mark: “within the admittedly narrow scope of its ambition, it has been almost faultlessly executed.”
Thanks especially for calling attention to the index which, far from being an afterthought or a joke, is I think actually a key to the work’s central structural element.
well written. felt exciting to read
well written. felt exciting to read
i enjoyed this post and was glad to see this book get a kind of full-treatment. the book is deserving. thanks.
i enjoyed this post and was glad to see this book get a kind of full-treatment. the book is deserving. thanks.
Wow, is HTML nice today. Must be hungover or something.
I actually would buy none of this “difference” from Tao Lin’s prose and content reading that excerpt. It’s so derivative to be almost funny, but not ha-ha funny.
BUT
I don’t judge a book on an excerpt (possibly a failing of excerpts, or me).
I actually buy Justin’s argument at this point because I have not read the book. (I will obviously have to buy the book to go any further–nothing annoys me like discussions of books by people who have not read said books.)
And, I just finished Salter’s Sport/Pastime novel. At first, I thought it was a joke: How can I more completely mimic Ernest Hemingway? But that was a weak reading.
Sport/Pastime is NOT Sun Also Rises, and is in fact–on a sentence level–much better.
So I’ll buy Justin’s argument here. The difference in the tone/sub-text, deeper issues.
Or: I’ll wait and see.
Good review. Made me want to read the book. And I will.
Wow, is HTML nice today. Must be hungover or something.
I actually would buy none of this “difference” from Tao Lin’s prose and content reading that excerpt. It’s so derivative to be almost funny, but not ha-ha funny.
BUT
I don’t judge a book on an excerpt (possibly a failing of excerpts, or me).
I actually buy Justin’s argument at this point because I have not read the book. (I will obviously have to buy the book to go any further–nothing annoys me like discussions of books by people who have not read said books.)
And, I just finished Salter’s Sport/Pastime novel. At first, I thought it was a joke: How can I more completely mimic Ernest Hemingway? But that was a weak reading.
Sport/Pastime is NOT Sun Also Rises, and is in fact–on a sentence level–much better.
So I’ll buy Justin’s argument here. The difference in the tone/sub-text, deeper issues.
Or: I’ll wait and see.
Good review. Made me want to read the book. And I will.
oh, i liked the part where you were looking the hidden American Psycho even years later, too, like your mind had caught on the hiddenness of the book.
oh, i liked the part where you were looking the hidden American Psycho even years later, too, like your mind had caught on the hiddenness of the book.
damn
“It’s so derivative to be almost funny”
I see it as an instance of a traditional style (minimalism), having been taken up by a small group of associated writers and developed by them in common to reflect the outlook of a contemporary milieu, being raised to an extremely pure (and possibly terminal) level of refinement.
damn
“It’s so derivative to be almost funny”
I see it as an instance of a traditional style (minimalism), having been taken up by a small group of associated writers and developed by them in common to reflect the outlook of a contemporary milieu, being raised to an extremely pure (and possibly terminal) level of refinement.
I think I’ve read plenty of minimalist writers. Ive never seen two this similar in sentence, pop culture references, POV, on and on.
Again. I’ll read the book. But even the K mart realists had more difference as they did their thing.
I’m hesitant to wade in here. I have not read the book. But saying minimalism wrote alike it true and untrue. Abstract painters work alike, too. And NOT.
I think I’ve read plenty of minimalist writers. Ive never seen two this similar in sentence, pop culture references, POV, on and on.
Again. I’ll read the book. But even the K mart realists had more difference as they did their thing.
I’m hesitant to wade in here. I have not read the book. But saying minimalism wrote alike it true and untrue. Abstract painters work alike, too. And NOT.
Also, in their defense, I don’t think it’s terminal. Could be a start, but that excerpt isn’t. I think this affect could spin all types of fantastic ways.
Also, in their defense, I don’t think it’s terminal. Could be a start, but that excerpt isn’t. I think this affect could spin all types of fantastic ways.
Sean, won’t you please accept my Facebook friend request?
Sean, won’t you please accept my Facebook friend request?
i can see why you’d initially think that about a sport and a pastime. to me, what i really like about those two books is how salter’s probably drawing on hemingway and kind of rewriting him, or making it his own. a sport and a pastime is a this voyeuristic fantasy. it’s the narrator’s construction of this intensely sexual and sensual relationship that exists almost solely in his mind: whatever really has transpired between those other two could very possibly be unknown to him. so, i’d almost say it’s the complete opposite of hemingway. where hemingway had this hole or vacancy of sex in the middle of his text, both literally and in terms of really getting into barnes’ mind about it (it’s all under the surface, etc), salter puts the sex and sensuality right on the surface. it’s a nice flipping of what hemingway did.
i can see why you’d initially think that about a sport and a pastime. to me, what i really like about those two books is how salter’s probably drawing on hemingway and kind of rewriting him, or making it his own. a sport and a pastime is a this voyeuristic fantasy. it’s the narrator’s construction of this intensely sexual and sensual relationship that exists almost solely in his mind: whatever really has transpired between those other two could very possibly be unknown to him. so, i’d almost say it’s the complete opposite of hemingway. where hemingway had this hole or vacancy of sex in the middle of his text, both literally and in terms of really getting into barnes’ mind about it (it’s all under the surface, etc), salter puts the sex and sensuality right on the surface. it’s a nice flipping of what hemingway did.
read it
pretty good book
read it
pretty good book
nothing like achieving great depth by barely skimming the surface of day-to-day life
great book
nothing like achieving great depth by barely skimming the surface of day-to-day life
great book
i liked this review
i liked this review
“I don’t think it’s terminal…. I think this affect could spin all types of fantastic ways.”
Well, that’s what I meant. Hopefully now that this seeming end-point has been reached we’ll get a fresh development.
I don’t think the style can be adeqautely represented in excerpts because its effect is cumulative.
“I don’t think it’s terminal…. I think this affect could spin all types of fantastic ways.”
Well, that’s what I meant. Hopefully now that this seeming end-point has been reached we’ll get a fresh development.
I don’t think the style can be adeqautely represented in excerpts because its effect is cumulative.
good point about there being a cumulative effect. although there are also ‘numerous’ scenes that are resonant all on their own, IMO.
good point about there being a cumulative effect. although there are also ‘numerous’ scenes that are resonant all on their own, IMO.
grok & roll
grok & roll
This is a well thought out and precisely written review. This also sheds light on the author as minimalist for character development.
This is a well thought out and precisely written review. This also sheds light on the author as minimalist for character development.
i really liked reading this
i really liked reading this
emergent minimalist figure
O O
emergent minimalist figure
O O
One thing for sure is that the comments are very enthusiastic.
Justin you wrote an interesting review but I’m not sure I understand it.
If I have the chance to read the book I will come back and re-read this review.
One thing for sure is that the comments are very enthusiastic.
Justin you wrote an interesting review but I’m not sure I understand it.
If I have the chance to read the book I will come back and re-read this review.
You’re a preeminent essay writer, Justin, and your stories came out peaches and cream, was impressed. Anyway am doubly hyped on Germain now, was Intrigued already, maybe distantly, but now… I feel like, well it’s funnny you mention Ellis so prominently, cause I feel like this is a bit like Lunar Park and the descriptions of the McInerny as the ‘Jayster’. Ha….Zach’s a subtle one, but I dig the key. Thanks, cheers, typing on the phone so…. Excuse dumbness, C
You’re a preeminent essay writer, Justin, and your stories came out peaches and cream, was impressed. Anyway am doubly hyped on Germain now, was Intrigued already, maybe distantly, but now… I feel like, well it’s funnny you mention Ellis so prominently, cause I feel like this is a bit like Lunar Park and the descriptions of the McInerny as the ‘Jayster’. Ha….Zach’s a subtle one, but I dig the key. Thanks, cheers, typing on the phone so…. Excuse dumbness, C
wow this was a great review. buying the book soon. thanks for this one justin
wow this was a great review. buying the book soon. thanks for this one justin
it’s a good book.
also, good job, justin.
it’s a good book.
also, good job, justin.
As far as I know, there’s no extraordinarily well-described buggery scenes in The Sun Also Rises. A Sport and a Pastime reminded me more of On the Road, but in Europe with Yale grads and lots of explicit sex description after page 70 or so — its main character is even named “Dean”
As far as I know, there’s no extraordinarily well-described buggery scenes in The Sun Also Rises. A Sport and a Pastime reminded me more of On the Road, but in Europe with Yale grads and lots of explicit sex description after page 70 or so — its main character is even named “Dean”
Great insightful review, Justin. I’m just now reading and loving your book. And really looking forward to this one.
Great insightful review, Justin. I’m just now reading and loving your book. And really looking forward to this one.
[…] * On Nigel Kneale. * On the Red Riding trilogy. * Twin Peaks celebrates its 20th anniversary. * On Zachary German. * Crap Parisian metro protest posters. * Childhood fantasies revisited. * Alain de Botton on work. […]
Yesterday I stared at a map for a total of twenty-three minutes without moving.
Yesterday I stared at a map for a total of twenty-three minutes without moving.
u guyz see this: http://www.papermag.com/?section=article&parid=3589 it’s nice
u guyz see this: http://www.papermag.com/?section=article&parid=3589 it’s nice