Here we are, back again, dear readers.
(I'm afraid this might be a very deep, sentimental Drunk Book Review. I have a lot of thoughts on this book, which I'm afraid are not going to come across below, as well as a lot of wine in my system. I apologize if this gets too sad and too real.)
Tonight, we have a wonderful installment, with a review of The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner. It was a NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER, WHAT! And a top ten best book of The New York Times Book Review in 2013. AND a National Book Award Finalist.
But enough acclaim, let's get down to brass tacks. This book is fucking fabulous. I felt like, from the second I picked it up to two weeks after finishing it (and beyond), that I was sucked into a whirlwind. The writing is superb. The story is ingenious. The characters are very real and very relatable. I loved this book so much, that after a week's break and 150 pages of reading, I decided that I "couldn't remember what was going on" just so I could start it over again. In fact, several times throughout the book, I'd use that excuse and re-read passages. To say this is one of the most impactful books I've read in recent history, that would be an understatement.
So, this book is super great. It's basically a coming of age story, one in which I felt like I was going through my own coming of age while reading it. The book follows this young woman, Reno, throughout her first year in Manhattan. She just graduated art school and moves to New York to become an artist of the West. She's interested in land art, motorcycles and incorporating her speed into her art. She falls in with a group of artists through her much older boyfriend Sandro, who is the heir to a major Italian motorcycle company, Valera. Through his connections, she returns West to race across the salt flats and ends up crashing her motorcycle. She injects herself with the Valera crew while recovering and ends up racing for them to break the female speed record. They hire her as a model for the company. She returns to New York and Sandro is unhappy with her new role and disapproves of her plans to join the company in Italy. Ultimately they decide to go, tragedy strikes and she ends up following a Valera employee through the riots in Rome, forcing Reno to begin to think for herself and grow the fuck up.
The story is crazy captivating. In the beginning it goes back and forth between the history of the Valera family and Reno's arrival in New York. There's also this really cool mixture of fact and fiction that makes this all feel so real. And having lived in New York as a young woman, fresh out of college, I felt like I could relate. Particularly to the beginning. The author has a perfect way of describing the loneliness of moving to a big city when you're young and lost. Every moment has the opportunity to become something, the city surging around you, while you're completely isolated.
Another aspect of this book that I very much loved was the relatability to Reno. She's this young girl that's still finding herself, and despite the author's strong voice, is very passive. I felt insanely frustrated with her, as I've been with myself throughout my life. She kind of lets these situations happen to her, follows these men into both success and imminent danger and acts as more of a silent observer in her own story. Finally, in the end, she begins to realize that she has her own voice and takes control of her life. The narrative kind of takes on this idea, interrupting her story frequently to jump back to a man's story. Even in the end, her boyfriend Sandro hijacks the narrative and tells his side of the story. As a feminist, I hate this, but I also see the point of it and love the stylistic choice.
(Speaking of feminism, this is a side rant. I read this article that talked about how some consider this book to be a Great American Novel, while others trivialize it, simply because it's a woman writing it. A great point is brought up that when women write about certain themes, they're considered not worthy, but when men write about them, they're celebrated. (Like love.) Total and utter bullshit. This novel is a great american one. It absolutely speaks for a generation, who gives a fuck about whether that generation is mostly women. Don't women take up a majority of the population anyway? (Check out the article: http://www.salon.com/2013/06/05/rachel_kushners_ambitious_new_novel_scares_male_critics/))
Back to the novel. The men in this book are all big giant idiots. But also very common in real life, I know oh so many of them. All the characters, really. I think this is my favorite part about the book, that I know every single character mentioned here. I've met them, fell in love with them, hated them.
The pretentious artists. The New York Characters (with a capital C).
Giddle, the best friend and enemy. The one-woman show.
Sandro, the older gentleman that is looking for someone that is completely and utterly devoted to him. The man that is manipulative and secretive, and as Kushner puts it, "A man who apparently loved women so much he had cheated on [them] the moment it was convenient to do so."
Ronnie. He's my favorite. The self centered man-child that only thinks of himself. He treats his lovers as indisposable things and refuses to think of them as anything other than objects. The most hurtful thing that I've ever read in literature, and only because it's a reality with these types of men:
Sandro was looking at a snapshot of a woman staring intently at the camera, young and blond, and clearly smitten with her picture taker.
"That's not part of my show."
"Just something for you to look at," Sandro said.
"Something for me to look at. Pretty in the face, as they say... I'm keeping her on layaway," Ronnie said, "a layaway plan. She's on reserve, held for me, and I pay in small increments."
It was heartbreaking to follow such a smart young woman remain a secondary character in her own story. It was killer to follow her losses, her missteps, her heartbreaks. There are so many instances throughout the novel where Reno is simply observing and listening to men talk about their thoughts and ideas. Being within her head, the reader is able to see that she has much smarter thoughts and ideas than any of these men. Watching this character grow up through the course of close to 400 pages, I think has helped me to do so as well. I'd like to be more active in the story of my life. And isn't that what a great novel is supposed to do? Keep you captivated, impart some knowledge, and change your life?
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