Book Reviews

Review of Ben Tanzer’s Orphans – by Lavinia Ludlow

695-2In Ben Tanzer’s novella, Orphans, the world is a violent dystopia beyond salvation. Natural resources have dissolved, homeless encampments flood the shores, and the planet is an industrial wasteland. Laborers are no longer essential to the workforce–they’ve been replaced by hot and sassy robots that can even satisfy one sexually, think the embodiment of Samantha from Spike Jonze’ “Her.” Human clones known as “Terraxes” tend to household duties when the breadwinners leave on business. “The Corporation,” a merciless version of “the man,” has eyes on everyone, and if civilians loiter too long on the sidewalk to beg for a job or protest government fascism, helicopters gun them down like enemy soldiers trying to cross no man’s land.

In the old city of Chicago renamed Sector Six, Norrin Radd embarks on the hopeless and self-defeating search for financial security, identity, and the ever-elusive American Dream. With a wife and son to support, he mans up and takes a job with Joyful Future Real Estate as a salesman who dupes the rich “1-percenters” into relocating to a planet with questionable potential and an unknown future.

Tanzer sets the mood well for his flawed protagonist, Norrin. He is haunted by mysterious traumas of his childhood–as a kid, he saw his father “snatched” by “The Corporation” and found his mother dead after she allegedly committed suicide. He’s treading through an economic recession–“I am tired of sitting down at the kitchen table every night and talking about which bill should be paid this week, and how that will be possible when there is no money,” and trying to stay alive in a merciless civilization that guns down civilians in cold blood and creates human clones for temp work and organs.

Like most of Tanzer’s work, chapters are fast-paced, succinct, and contain no fat, dead ends, or draggy dialogue. Background details unfold naturally through flashbacks and stream-of-consciousness inner monologue, and paint a vivid image of Norrin’s internal struggles:

“I should know what to say, loving someone means knowing what to say, or at least knowing how to fix something after you’ve broken it…Instead I am about to break something and I know it, but feel powerless to prevent it…because it’s easier to leave when you’ve fucked things up…I hate myself and my inability to express my fears to her, and this self-hatred quickly mutates into rage, and the rage needs an outlet, and she looks up at me, so sad and vulnerable, which makes me hate her more, and I suddenly want to punch her in her beautiful face, break it and break her…”

For the most part, Tanzer respects the sci-fi element by not overdosing on the bizarre. He writes about conflicts and struggles consistent with those that many deal with today: unemployment, poverty, marital strain, soul-sucking jobs, and personality disorders induced by early traumas. Tanzer also recognizes the social implications of introducing advanced technologies into a culture hardly mature enough for radical change, such as the distress and heartbreak that Norrin feels when he sees a Terrax acting as the husband and father figure in his own household. At times though, the story’s naming conventions come off as senseless and unintelligible. Titles like the “Joyful Future Real Estate” and the “Happiness Sector” make me question why a sophisticated society with commercial space travel and “Terraxes” would elect such asinine titles for its businesses and districts. If Tanzer was trying to mock society’s fall from grace, the inconsistent attempt falls flat.

Scene transitions are often disorienting (but unavoidable with flash-like chapters), and the ending feels like an anecdotal obligation jammed in a single wide-margin page. The stunted closing does no justice to the overall story given the futuristic setting and Norrin’s emotional state of mind, which Tanzer did such a phenomenal job developing throughout the novel.

All in all, Orphans is an imaginative and sobering tale of one man’s final attempt to rise above his inner demons, an economic collapse, and a floundering society. Highly recommended.

Check it out over at Switchgrass Books.

How to Succeed in Business without Really Crying

18209506Carol Leifer’s How to Succeed in Business without Really Crying hits the shelves in April. With countless twenty-somethings slated to graduate from college the following month, the timing couldn’t be better. Drawing on four decades of making a living in comedy, Leifer’s book offers solid advice on getting ahead in the professional world. While the advice itself is nothing new–focusing largely on tenacity, dedication, and love for one’s business, whatever it may be–the anecdotes Leifer provides bring the book to life. What’s more, they also offer an honest glimpse into the workaday world of show business that the general public rarely gets to see. Indeed, it’s the hard work that Leifer has put into her career day-in and day-out that makes this memoir-cum-handbook so compelling. Whether performing her standup act as an opener for Frank Sinatra or writing for Seinfeld, Leifer has made the most of every opportunity that came her way, and the lessons she’s learned from doing so make this entertaining read an excellent gift for anyone about to enter the professional world. All told, reading How to Succeed is like hanging out with a favorite aunt who’s done it all and lived to tell the tale.

SUBMIT TO PLEASURE

pleasurecover_905Look under “ABOUT” on the official Pleasure Editions website and you’ll find that “PLEASURE EDITIONS is a press founded in 2011 dedicated to fostering the furtherance of the international artistic underground via the publication of new and rediscovered art, literature, poetry and translation.” At first this claim comes off as ambitious, maybe lofty, maybe pretentious. Take a look at the content and you’ll find that, on the contrary, they’re being modest.

Any attempt to describe Pleasure’s mission otherwise than they describe it themselves would either fall short or sound stupid. It takes a statement as bold and broad as the one above to succinctly introduce a reader to the constellation of radically interrogative text and imagery that is their catalogue. This is a press that publishes new translations of Gherasim Luca (the forgotten Romanian surrealist poet once championed by Gilles Deleuze) one day and a madcap parody of a Jungian personality survey the next. This is a press that publishes serial installments of “Ill Tomb Era,” a mysterious meganovel that updates maximalist black humor for the age of annihilating post-punk cynicism, as well as new poems dubiously attributed to celebrity chef Eric Ripert. A Pleasure anthology of new writings collected under the theme “Music” promises essays that find seemingly unlikely points of contact between, for just one example, William Gaddis and Pussy Galore.

Beyond that, there’s form-defying prose and poetry, art that redefines the oldest and newest media, design that will leave the staff of any marketing startup baffled and salivating, and curation that suggests, indirectly and maybe even directly, that spirits beyond the grave (Yeats’, for one) might be lending a hand.

What will you make of however little or much of their published material you choose to explore? The better question is: what will it make of you? Pleasure doesn’t seek to contribute to, or even recognize, a consumer-oriented system of transaction and gratification. Instead, they create an immersive cultural exchange in which you will get hopelessly lost. But the rewards of this exchange are of a kind you won’t find anywhere else. If you dare, as the phrase once purposed by the press as a call for submissions demands, “Submit to Pleasure!”

Saving the Hooker

In his very funny sophomore novel, Saving the Hooker, Michael Adelberg takes swipes at academia, politics, publishing, and the media, all while telling the story of a young scholar caught in a downward spiral of lies and deceit. When the novel’s narrator and protagonist, Matthew Hristahalios, wins a grant to study the attitudes of prostitutes toward the Cinderella myth, he thinks he has it made. Describing himself as “more huckster than scholar,” however, Matthew soon finds himself in way over his head in his dealings with fellow scholars and their skepticism toward his work. Add to that a politically and socially conservative father who can’t, for the life of him, figure out what his son is up to, and Matthew’s life is one hot mess that can only get hotter and messier when he falls in love with one of the prostitutes he’s set out study.

That the woman’s name is Julia Roberts only adds to Matthew’s confusion over his feelings toward her, as repeated viewings of Pretty Woman (starring, needless to say, the actress of the same name) are largely responsible for inspiring his life’s work. Soon, Julia has Matthew spending money he doesn’t have, fighting for her affections, and experimenting with drugs. Meanwhile his personal life is falling apart — so much so that he has no choice, or so he believes, but to fabricate the results of his study. The result is a media circus in which reality and fantasy collide with devastating effects for the protagonist.

Throughout the novel, Adelberg demonstrates great skill as a social satirist yet never loses track of what makes his characters tick. Yes, the academics do ridiculous things like calculating popularity algorithms to give their children beneficial names, but they’re also genuinely concerned with their subjects of study. Likewise, Matthew’s father shoots off ridiculous weekly petitions to further his conservative agenda, yet he’s haunted by the death of Matthew’s mother. In short, Adelberg never places himself above his characters. Rather, he treats them humanely and allows all of their strengths to shine as brightly as their flaws. The result is a very funny novel composed of equal parts biting wit and bleeding heart.