Difficult Music

Looks at Books
I’m reading Rick Moody’s Garden State right now. It was his first novel, and in the foreword of this edition, he’s semi-apologetic about this fact. I can see why the belter had problems with the book; it’s not up to the standard of, say, Purple America. For the first time in my experience, the author seems mortal. He hasn’t found his style yet—where are the italics with which Mr. Moody shares a small joke with the reader?*—and I’m not finding any of the characters very interesting or likable. They’re sulky and they think they’re so cool, but they’re not cool because it’s like 1989 and nothing was very cool in 1989. They’re probably listening to Skid Row when they could be listening to Bleach.

The novel follows a close-knit group of twentysomethings who play in bands, have parties, and listen to speed metal. They have unsatisfying sex and do drugs and drive around aimlessly. While I’m reading I keep seeing an over-earnest Gen-X movie in my head, maybe starring Shue or Leigh or Fonda, and I think I’ve seen that movie too many times before.

I’m not giving up on the book, though, because I’m heading into the last third of it and there are a couple mysteries I want cleared up. All will be revealed soon, I hope.

*His use of italics functions as much more than that—it also asserts his narrative authority, I suppose—but that’s the best way I can describe it at the moment. I don’t got all day.