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Wonderland Quartet #2
I ricchi
Una Cadillac gialla si accosta al marciapiede di Labyrinth Drive. È una mattina di gennaio: c'è neve sulla strada e sull'erba. L'aria è fragrante, crepita come una lastra di ghiaccio sotto la pressione di un tacco a spillo. Dalla Cadillac scende una donna: ha una sciarpa di visone intorno al collo e occhiali da sole che scintillano nella luce invernale; il suo incarnato è quello di una bambola di porcellana: pallido, puro, perfetto. La donna si chiama Natashya Romanov Everett, Tashya per tutti, Nada per suo figlio Richard. Il povero Richard, il grasso Richard, l'ombroso, schivo Richard che non si sente una persona ma uno dei comprimari nei romanzi della madre: i romanzi che hanno reso lei immensamente popolare e ricca, e lui sempre più schivo, sempre più ombroso. Qualcosa di oscuro si agita dietro gli abbaini della villa di Labyrinth Drive, e nessuno steccato bianco, nessun filo di perle, nessun cocktail party può nasconderlo: è il cuore nero e pulsante dell'America più irreprensibilmente wasp, l'America democratica e progressista, l'America di Kennedy e di Carter, l'America delle magnifiche sorti e progressive, l'America che cela, dietro le sue medaglie al valore, un volto sinistro. L'America che Joyce Carol Oates conosce in modo così intimo, l'America che ha già raccontato in "Una famiglia americana" e che qui viene deformata in una maschera carnascialesca, tanto più inquietante quanto più grottesca. Nel secondo capitolo dell'epopea americana, Joyce Carol Oates si allontana dai toni drammatici del "Giardino delle delizie" per inscenare una commedia nera degna di Vladimir Nabokov e Edward Albee; una pantomima in cui il riso non è mai sciolto dall'amarezza del pianto, una satira acida e corrosiva che dissolve impietosa, davanti agli occhi del lettore, i colori pastello del sogno americano.
329 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1968
364 people are currently reading
3,059 people want to read
About the author
Joyce Carol Oates
829books8,940followersJoyce Carol Oates is an American writer. Oates published her first book in 1963, and has since published 58 novels, a number of plays and novellas, and many volumes of short stories, poetry, and nonfiction. Her novels Black Water (1992), What I Lived For (1994), and Blonde (2000), and her short story collections The Wheel of Love (1970) and Lovely, Dark, Deep: Stories (2014) were each finalists for the Pulitzer Prize. She has won many awards for her writing, including the National Book Award, for her novel Them (1969), two O. Henry Awards, the National Humanities Medal, and the Jerusalem Prize (2019).
Oates taught at Princeton University from 1978 to 2014, and is the Roger S. Berlind '52 Professor Emerita in the Humanities with the Program in Creative Writing. From 2016 to 2020, she was a visiting professor at the University of California, Berkeley, where she taught short fiction in the spring semesters. She now teaches at Rutgers University, New Brunswick.
Oates was elected to the American Philosophical Society in 2016.
Pseudonyms: Rosamond Smith and .
Oates taught at Princeton University from 1978 to 2014, and is the Roger S. Berlind '52 Professor Emerita in the Humanities with the Program in Creative Writing. From 2016 to 2020, she was a visiting professor at the University of California, Berkeley, where she taught short fiction in the spring semesters. She now teaches at Rutgers University, New Brunswick.
Oates was elected to the American Philosophical Society in 2016.
Pseudonyms: Rosamond Smith and .
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January 12, 2024
Le persone responsabili dei disastri sono sempre quelle che desiderano, ma non sanno cosa e men che mai come ottenerlo
Credo di sapere che cosa farò con gli ultimi due capitoli dell'epopea americana, ne leggerò solo le postfazioni. Sono state scritte dall'autrice in occasione delle ristampe, e sono più interessanti dei libri stessi (almeno le prime due).
Se vi dicessero di un romanzo in cui il narratore ventenne colloquia con i lettori raccontando le gesta di sé decenne, sareste interessati? Se aggiungessero che le vicende si svolgono in America (non ricordo se mid, up, east o west) negli anni 60 e che quel narratore è mentitamente un maschio (perché si tratta di Joyce Carol Oates) ciò aumenterebbe il vostro interesse?
Fornisco queste informazioni perché se ne fossi stato in possesso non avrei messo il libro in lettura.
C’� una falsa partenza, occorreranno alcuni capitoli prima dell'incipit vero e proprio.
Una Cadillac gialla si accosta al marciapiede di Labyrinth Drive.
Si parte male e non si procede meglio, i capitoli sono corti, è vero, ma lo spreco dei caratteri è ingente. Digressioni, digressioni... digressioni forti, non importa se la vita sarà breve..
-Il figlio Richard Everett
Frutto di una gravidanza indesiderata, cresciuto in mezzo ai traslochi e ai contrasti fra genitori
-Il padre Elwood Everett
Piagnucoloso e costernato dirigente d’azienda, ricco di famiglia, una decina di anni più vecchio della moglie.
-La madre Natashya Romanov
Povera, bella e ammaliatrice della quale padre e figlio sono perdutamente innamorati. La scrittrice che ha voluto con tutta sé stessa entrare far parte del giro dei ricchi, avere il suo riscatto.
-Il giro dei ricchi
con le case tudor, gli ampi giardini, le scuole private, i cocktail party
Di fronte alle rare meraviglie dell’America ricca uno scrittore può fare ben poco: le sue «critiche» sono solo frutto dell’invidia, lo sanno tutti. Ma cosa può farci? Piccoli orticelli, utilitarie, statue biancogrigiastre seminascoste nei cortili interni, imprenditori in giacche di tweed grigie che scendono baldanzosi dalle loro macchine, i volti arrossati dalla felicità e da accurate rasature antisettiche, giardinieri che spingono costosi tagliaerba dai loro furgoni fino in strada sopra grosse tavole di legno e pittori che si sfregano gioiosamente il naso osservando i tre piani della casa squadrata che costerà al proprietario 3000 dollari di tinteggiatura�
JCO afferma di aver voluto dare un'idea di un certo tipo di America dai valori corrotti e certamente lo ha fatto, resta da stabilire se nel modo migliore. A mio avviso no, per quanto particolare sia la struttura del libro, i punti vacui sono troppi ed essa traballa. Il finale ve lo risparmio, me lo sarei risparmiato volentieri anch’io. È in sintonia con la falsa partenza da squalifica. Chiunque volesse leggere L’epopea Americana farà meglio a non guardare le copertine, sono di una bruttezza rara, scoraggiano più di recensioni sfavorevoli come questa.
Credo di sapere che cosa farò con gli ultimi due capitoli dell'epopea americana, ne leggerò solo le postfazioni. Sono state scritte dall'autrice in occasione delle ristampe, e sono più interessanti dei libri stessi (almeno le prime due).
Se vi dicessero di un romanzo in cui il narratore ventenne colloquia con i lettori raccontando le gesta di sé decenne, sareste interessati? Se aggiungessero che le vicende si svolgono in America (non ricordo se mid, up, east o west) negli anni 60 e che quel narratore è mentitamente un maschio (perché si tratta di Joyce Carol Oates) ciò aumenterebbe il vostro interesse?
Fornisco queste informazioni perché se ne fossi stato in possesso non avrei messo il libro in lettura.
C’� una falsa partenza, occorreranno alcuni capitoli prima dell'incipit vero e proprio.
Una Cadillac gialla si accosta al marciapiede di Labyrinth Drive.
Si parte male e non si procede meglio, i capitoli sono corti, è vero, ma lo spreco dei caratteri è ingente. Digressioni, digressioni... digressioni forti, non importa se la vita sarà breve..
-Il figlio Richard Everett
Frutto di una gravidanza indesiderata, cresciuto in mezzo ai traslochi e ai contrasti fra genitori
-Il padre Elwood Everett
Piagnucoloso e costernato dirigente d’azienda, ricco di famiglia, una decina di anni più vecchio della moglie.
-La madre Natashya Romanov
Povera, bella e ammaliatrice della quale padre e figlio sono perdutamente innamorati. La scrittrice che ha voluto con tutta sé stessa entrare far parte del giro dei ricchi, avere il suo riscatto.
-Il giro dei ricchi
con le case tudor, gli ampi giardini, le scuole private, i cocktail party
Di fronte alle rare meraviglie dell’America ricca uno scrittore può fare ben poco: le sue «critiche» sono solo frutto dell’invidia, lo sanno tutti. Ma cosa può farci? Piccoli orticelli, utilitarie, statue biancogrigiastre seminascoste nei cortili interni, imprenditori in giacche di tweed grigie che scendono baldanzosi dalle loro macchine, i volti arrossati dalla felicità e da accurate rasature antisettiche, giardinieri che spingono costosi tagliaerba dai loro furgoni fino in strada sopra grosse tavole di legno e pittori che si sfregano gioiosamente il naso osservando i tre piani della casa squadrata che costerà al proprietario 3000 dollari di tinteggiatura�
JCO afferma di aver voluto dare un'idea di un certo tipo di America dai valori corrotti e certamente lo ha fatto, resta da stabilire se nel modo migliore. A mio avviso no, per quanto particolare sia la struttura del libro, i punti vacui sono troppi ed essa traballa. Il finale ve lo risparmio, me lo sarei risparmiato volentieri anch’io. È in sintonia con la falsa partenza da squalifica. Chiunque volesse leggere L’epopea Americana farà meglio a non guardare le copertine, sono di una bruttezza rara, scoraggiano più di recensioni sfavorevoli come questa.
January 12, 2024
Secondo volume della tetralogia “Epopea americana� (/series/2587...) dove si ironizza sulla narrazione mitizzata del sogno americano.
Quattro volumi - pubblicati tra il 1967 ed il 1971- che possono essere letti indipendentemente l’uno dall’altro.
Contesti totalmente diversi ma con un comune denominatore: quello dell’ambiente famigliare disgregato tanto da diventare un incubo.
Così accade anche ne , dove la voce narrante del diciottenne Richard Everett ci racconta della sua altolocata famiglia tornando indietro all’anno in cui stava per compiere undici anni.
Loro i genitori sono una coppia improbabile anche agli occhi di un bambino:
Elwood Everett e Natashya Romanov, non solo hanno tredici anni di differenza ma sono diversi in tutto.
Fisicamente (lui: ”� un vero orso, con i nervi sepolti sotto strati di grasso e muscoli, lei: � magra, liscia, deliziosa�), professionalmente (lui un impegnato dirigente aziendale, lei una scrittrice di nicchia) e caratterialmente.
Un racconto nevrotico e quasi grottesco che ci trascina tra le aule di una rinomata scuola privata agli eleganti salotti dove si passa da un cocktail party ad un altro.
Maschere, ipocrisie e, soprattutte, anafettività diffusa..
Non mi hanno colpito e/o affascinato né i protagonisti né i personaggi di contorno;
ho trovato il ritmo di narrazione trascinato e la trama per nulla accattivante.
Per me solo confusione tradotta in noia.
Illuminante la nota finale dell’autrice che, tuttavia, non ha cancellato il mio giudizio negativo.
Insomma, prima o poi doveva succedere, con un’autrice che stimo molto (se non erro questo è il 14° libro che leggo).
Molto ( ma molto) più meritevoli gli altri tre titoli della serie soprattutto .
Quattro volumi - pubblicati tra il 1967 ed il 1971- che possono essere letti indipendentemente l’uno dall’altro.
Contesti totalmente diversi ma con un comune denominatore: quello dell’ambiente famigliare disgregato tanto da diventare un incubo.
Così accade anche ne , dove la voce narrante del diciottenne Richard Everett ci racconta della sua altolocata famiglia tornando indietro all’anno in cui stava per compiere undici anni.
Loro i genitori sono una coppia improbabile anche agli occhi di un bambino:
Elwood Everett e Natashya Romanov, non solo hanno tredici anni di differenza ma sono diversi in tutto.
Fisicamente (lui: ”� un vero orso, con i nervi sepolti sotto strati di grasso e muscoli, lei: � magra, liscia, deliziosa�), professionalmente (lui un impegnato dirigente aziendale, lei una scrittrice di nicchia) e caratterialmente.
Un racconto nevrotico e quasi grottesco che ci trascina tra le aule di una rinomata scuola privata agli eleganti salotti dove si passa da un cocktail party ad un altro.
Maschere, ipocrisie e, soprattutte, anafettività diffusa..
Non mi hanno colpito e/o affascinato né i protagonisti né i personaggi di contorno;
ho trovato il ritmo di narrazione trascinato e la trama per nulla accattivante.
Per me solo confusione tradotta in noia.
Illuminante la nota finale dell’autrice che, tuttavia, non ha cancellato il mio giudizio negativo.
Insomma, prima o poi doveva succedere, con un’autrice che stimo molto (se non erro questo è il 14° libro che leggo).
Molto ( ma molto) più meritevoli gli altri tre titoli della serie soprattutto .
May 18, 2019
Read. Finally.
I have saved many places in the book that interest me, so let me try to explain my thoughts.
Firstly, that it feels pretentious, but that's okay, because it's supposed to.
Secondly, what is this book about, other than the very intriguing first line? ("I was a child murderer.") It's easily about wealth, and frequently talks about freedom, but its at the core a "memoir" of a young murderer.
One of the themes that really hit me was how the author feels that everything in his life is replaceable with money. And although he protests internally, he is outwardly quiet.
Everything, everything is replaceable. Richard goes to multiple schools, lives in multiple houses, has interchangeable servants, watches his parents have adulterous flings in replacing each other, and even his dog/dogs Spark emphasize the point (pg 125). Even Nada, who comes and goes, and is different each time she comes back, falls into this category. When she comes back, late in the book, Richard almost doesn't recognize her. Nada says "You didn't tell him about me?" (pg 129) when they see each other, almost as if she's a new girlfriend who's disappointed that her boyfriend didn't tell his kid he was dating again.
The Veals most emphasize the replacability of people on pages 134-135 when Nada and Father can't remember if they died or not. Father saw a couple that looks exactly like them. Nada and Father eventually decide it doesn't matter of they died or not.
Then there's this strong connection between Richard and pests. Early on we get this quote: "I sat waiting to leave, distracted from Nada's animated face by a furtive movement back in a corner--a shy cockroach trying to ascend the gold-papered wall." (pg 67) Nada also says she wants Richard to "stink" of freedom, a sort of thing Richard equates with commoners and kids on the street. Nada herself doesn't want to be a part of it, saying "I'm clean of its stink and crap," (183-184). Later Father is seen killing rodents in the basement (pg 165-166), to which Richard feels a strong sense of sorrow. But although Richard sees himself as a rodent (and his parents as well, who wanted to abort him), he is much more "civilized" than either of his parents, having a higher IQ than Nada and saying of Father: "Father had requested Mozart... I put on Barók knowing that Father wouldn't notice the difference." (pg 130)
Richard sees himself as smarter than many people, but silenced by his parents. There's the clever use of the word muffler on pg 68: "I took off my muffler miserably and hung it in the closet." Which emphasizes his feeling of being silenced. Other examples that are more opaque can be found throughout the book, especially in the fact that the book is written as a suicide-memoir, at last saying all the things he could never tell his parents.
Anyway, this book is full of stuff you could write college papers about, but ultimately it's a fictional, slightly-rambling, memoir of a young murderer.
I have saved many places in the book that interest me, so let me try to explain my thoughts.
Firstly, that it feels pretentious, but that's okay, because it's supposed to.
Secondly, what is this book about, other than the very intriguing first line? ("I was a child murderer.") It's easily about wealth, and frequently talks about freedom, but its at the core a "memoir" of a young murderer.
One of the themes that really hit me was how the author feels that everything in his life is replaceable with money. And although he protests internally, he is outwardly quiet.
Everything, everything is replaceable. Richard goes to multiple schools, lives in multiple houses, has interchangeable servants, watches his parents have adulterous flings in replacing each other, and even his dog/dogs Spark emphasize the point (pg 125). Even Nada, who comes and goes, and is different each time she comes back, falls into this category. When she comes back, late in the book, Richard almost doesn't recognize her. Nada says "You didn't tell him about me?" (pg 129) when they see each other, almost as if she's a new girlfriend who's disappointed that her boyfriend didn't tell his kid he was dating again.
The Veals most emphasize the replacability of people on pages 134-135 when Nada and Father can't remember if they died or not. Father saw a couple that looks exactly like them. Nada and Father eventually decide it doesn't matter of they died or not.
Then there's this strong connection between Richard and pests. Early on we get this quote: "I sat waiting to leave, distracted from Nada's animated face by a furtive movement back in a corner--a shy cockroach trying to ascend the gold-papered wall." (pg 67) Nada also says she wants Richard to "stink" of freedom, a sort of thing Richard equates with commoners and kids on the street. Nada herself doesn't want to be a part of it, saying "I'm clean of its stink and crap," (183-184). Later Father is seen killing rodents in the basement (pg 165-166), to which Richard feels a strong sense of sorrow. But although Richard sees himself as a rodent (and his parents as well, who wanted to abort him), he is much more "civilized" than either of his parents, having a higher IQ than Nada and saying of Father: "Father had requested Mozart... I put on Barók knowing that Father wouldn't notice the difference." (pg 130)
Richard sees himself as smarter than many people, but silenced by his parents. There's the clever use of the word muffler on pg 68: "I took off my muffler miserably and hung it in the closet." Which emphasizes his feeling of being silenced. Other examples that are more opaque can be found throughout the book, especially in the fact that the book is written as a suicide-memoir, at last saying all the things he could never tell his parents.
Anyway, this book is full of stuff you could write college papers about, but ultimately it's a fictional, slightly-rambling, memoir of a young murderer.
January 11, 2025
“My memoir is not a confessión and it is not fiction to make money; it is simply...I am not sure what it is. Until I write it all out I wont even know what I think about it.�
Tercera novela de JCO publicada originalmente en 1968, y segunda de la serie de su Cuarteto de las Maravillas (Wonderland Quartet). Ya comenté en la reseña de Un jardin de placeres terrenales que esta serie se concibió como una forma de critica de America, de la cultura americana y de sus valores, en la que la misma autora comenta que lo que quería era confrontar esas ambiciones románticas del sueño americano con la realidad más cruda. La empieza en la Gran Depresión y la terminará con la experiencia de la guerra del Vietnam y para ello usará a jóvenes desde su voz interior para ayudarnos a entrar en sus historias. Ese Wonderland con el que titulará esta serie también tendrá sentido porque estará íntimamente conectado con lo que se esconde tras la realidad, y es esa visión casi alucinatoria y surrealista a través de la voz narrativa de sus protagonistas. El caso es que me ha venido bien sumergirme en este Cuarteto como proyecto para el 2025 porque exceptuando algunos de sus cuentos, no estaba yo familiarizada con las obras iniciales de JCO porque he descubierto que incluso comparando estas primeras obras con aquellas por las que es más conocida, o con esta última etapa, realmente sigue siendo fiel sobre todo a esa narración en la que es difícil establecer el límite entre lo real y lo imaginado en la mente de sus personajes, porque en la Oates casi que es más importante lo que se esconde en la mente de sus personajes que la realidad cotidiana, y sumergiéndonos en sus flujos de conciencia llegaremos a confundir lo que imaginan sus personajes con la realidad, o mejor dicho, casi que pone al mismo nivel la experiencia alucinatoria o imaginada con la realidad ¿hasta qué punto lo que nos llega del personaje es real o una historia que ha construido en su mente y nos quiere colar? Este será siempre un dilema en sus historias que supondrán un reto para el lector que no puede permanecer como un observador pasivo, la Oates lo obligará a participar y estoy viendo que esto lo hacía ya en sus primeras obras. “Richard let me assure you of this: hallucinations are as vivid as reality, and I respect everything you say. I know that you are suffering just as much as if you had …�
“It took me years to start to writing this memoir, but now that I’m started, now that those ugly words are typed out, I could on typing forever.�
En esta novela la Oates nos sumerge en la mente de un asesino niño y la verdad es que la comienza contundemente, lanzándonos directamente en el ojo del huracán, sin prepararnos, desde la primera cita está sentando la base de la historia: “I was a child murderer. I dont mean child-murderer though thats an idea. I mean child murderer, that is, a murderer who happens to be a child, or a child who happens to be a murderer. You can take your choice.� Richard Everett quiere dejar claro que no es un asesino de niños, sino que es un niño asesino, y a partir de aquí al igual que hizo Nabokov en su Lolita, nos llevará por un camino en el que repite una y otra vez que esto no es una novela, sino unas memorias en las que intentará verter y analizar su propia infancia mal gestionada por unos padres obsesionados en emular el sueño americano. Richard que desde el primer momento en el que nos introduce en sus memorias nos hace partícipes del egocentrismo de sus padres, del componente artificial de sus vidas en el que las apariencias lo son todo e incluso la mentira de una pretenciosa educación privada en la que todo es postureo, volcará en estas memorias su visión de unos adultos inadaptados. Su padre, a primera vista un ejecutivo de éxito, y su madre, Natashya, de ascendencia rusa, socialite y escritora de minorías, es la Expensive People del titulo de la novela, una clase en la que las apariencias lo significarán todo, y no tanto por lo tienen sino por lo que suponen de cara a la galería, aparentar ser gente cara será mucho más importante que descifrar si ese lujo es real o no. Lo que más me llama la atención de esta novela será el tono que decide usar JCO porque al igual que Un jardin de placeres terrenales era una novela casi épica sobre el ascenso de una mujer de la pobreza a cumplir este sueño americano, en Expensive People hay un tono de sátira social y mucho humor negro aderezado de socarronería en el que el niño observador que será Richard estará cuestionando continuamente este mundo de lujo con unos padres que se han reinventado a sí mismos pero cuyo hijo, Richard, y él es perfectamente consciente, no parece que vaya a cumplir las expectativas sociales que ellos esperan de él.
“Nada, Father, and I, a happy family even though we had the look of being three strangers who have met by accident on a walk and are waiting for the first chance to get away from one another.�
Richard es un niño de once años pero cuya mente funciona como la de un adulto con una madurez que supera a la de sus padres, por lo menos la lupa en la que los disecciona, nos dará una idea de que la vida familiar que llevarán los Everett no es demasiado estable. Su madre, Natashya (a la que llama Nada) tiene periodos de ausencia en los que dejará solos a su marido e hijo, y cuando regresa meses después, su padre se comportará como si no hubiera ocurrido nada, aunque el monólogo interior del niño sí que nos está haciendo ver que algo en esta familia no funciona bien, aunque él, de cara a la galería, tenga que aparentar que son una familia en la que todo discurre normalmente. La presión que esto ejerce en el niño es la esencia de esta novela, porque no nos olvidemos que son unas memorias en las que un Richard ya con dieciocho años nos está describiendo como fueron los hechos en su infancia.
“It was in Fernwood that I began to disintegrate as a child. You people who have survived childhood dont remember any longer what it was like. You thing children are whole, uncomplicated creatures, and if yu split them in two with a handy ax there would be all one substance inside, hard candy. But it isnt hard candy so much as a hopeless seething lave of all kinds of things, a turmoil, a mess. And once the child starts thinking about this mess he begins to disintegrate as a child and turns into something else, an adult, an animal.�
Y Richard cuenta como cuando llegaron a Fernwood, un suburbio privilegiado del Medio Oeste, fue la etapa en la que empezó su desintegración y lo difícil que resultó sobrevivir a la infancia con unos padres que no parecían especialmente interesados en el hijo exceptuando quizás por el hecho de lo que pudiera suponer la imagen de Richard de cara a la galería: “I think my own problems about life, about what is real and what is fiction in my own life, in this memoir, might come from her, though I dont want to blame her for anything.� Al igual que en la Lolita de Nabokov, estas memorias pueden servir como justificación a los errores de una vida porque llegado un punto JCO hace un ejercicio quizás de homenaje a su adorado Nabokov en la medida en que no llegaremos a saber hasta qué punto estamos siendo manipulados por el relato de Richard�, es ese limite que teje tan bien siempre en torno a la sútil linea entre realidad y ficción, entre la verdad y la mentira como manipulación hacia el lector:
“One thing I want to do, my readers, is to minimize the tension between writer and reader. Yes, there is tension. You think I am trying to put something on you, but that isnt true.�
El mismo Richard nos está advirtiendo que el lector puede sentirse manipulado y se adelanta al hecho de que igual no queremos creernos su historia y en este aspecto, no voy a revelar más sobre el argumento, pero la violencia ejercida por Richard en un momento dado de la historia, que lo convierte en un asesino no sabremos nunca hasta qué punto él es el protagonista de los hechos ocurridos en el acto de violencia, porque solo tendremos estas memorias como única perspectiva y cómo siempre, JCO nunca sobreexplica, nunca nos ofrece los hechos digeridos sino que tendrá que ser el lector quién decida la solución al posible misterio. Richard le habla al lector en sus memorias, quiere minimizar el posible conflicto que pudiera tener este lector, y sobre esta base, ya ha empezado la manipulación...
“There is nothing personal, never anything personal in freedom, Nada went on, freedom is just a condition one has to achieve. It isnt a new place or a new way of living. It is just a condiction like the aire that surrounds the earth. We cant breathe without it it but…�
Nada, la madre, es el centro de Expensive People. Una mujer hermosa acostumbrada a ser el centro de la atención, con una exuberante vida social, y que sin embargo por sus periodos de ausencia es evidente que acabaron afectando profundamente a su hijo, pero claro, no nos olvidemos que Richard nos está sugestionando con su único punto de vista. Hay momentos en que este niño de once años se ve como un adulto frente a unos padres que se comportan como niños inmaduros e inestables y es esta mirada de Richard, la que veremos entre lineas, el auténtico milagro de una novela en la que JCO ya tiene sentadas las bases sólidas de su temática que mantiene fiel hasta hoy en día: el destino de las mujeres en el arte, en este aspecto en la literatura personificada en Nada, la madre, en continuo conflicto entre su vida familiar y su vida artística, y la influencia que esto tendrá en su entorno, en este caso en su hijo. Joyce Carol Oates disecciona esta cultura suburbana de la década de los años 60 en la que la América perfecta era aquella en la que la casa de muñecas y sus habitantes ofrecieran siempre una imagen impecable, aunque luego al ahondar en los entresijos, todo se estuviera tambaleando. Sátira y novela de terror al mismo tiempo, eso sí, con un toque de ironía de humor negrísimo. Una Joyce Carol Oates ya magnífica en esta primera etapa de su carrera.
“How can you describe a creature that is lodged forever in your brain? Its all impossible, a mess�
Two Nadas existed, the one who was free and who abandoned me often, and the other who has become fixed irreparably in my brain, an embryonic creature of my own making, my extravagant and deranged imagination, and I loved them both.�
˫♫� ˫♫�
July 24, 2018
Hmph. This was a disappointment. The opening line � “I was a child murderer� � effectively hooks the reader and the first few chapters are well written, but the story quickly spirals out of control. This is a “memoir�, as told by a mentally ill eighteen-year-old, which is a concept I love . . . unfortunately, said character makes Holden Caulfield look sympathetic.
Expensive People is a cutting satire of �60s suburban life, and it is a meta look at the writing process. Some passages herein are successful, while whole chapters ramble and meander. It would help if these characters were likable, but they’re not. At all. There is nothing to latch on to: everyone, and everything, in this novel is plain wretched.
Still, this is Joyce Carol Oates � and she has a certain writing prowess that cannot be denied. The opening and closing chapters of this slog are as good as anything she has ever written, and for that I did not give this one star.
Expensive People is a cutting satire of �60s suburban life, and it is a meta look at the writing process. Some passages herein are successful, while whole chapters ramble and meander. It would help if these characters were likable, but they’re not. At all. There is nothing to latch on to: everyone, and everything, in this novel is plain wretched.
Still, this is Joyce Carol Oates � and she has a certain writing prowess that cannot be denied. The opening and closing chapters of this slog are as good as anything she has ever written, and for that I did not give this one star.
August 9, 2017
Completamente differente lo stile della Oates nel secondo capitolo dell'Epopea americana, ambientato negli anni 60, gli anni della costruzione e dell'ostentazione del benessere economico, e focalizzato sui tre personaggi che costituiscono una tipica famiglia wasp americana: bianchi, ricchi e pseudointellettuali
Ma il narratore qui è un ragazzo che si definisce, fin da subito, un "bambino assassino" e che ripercorre nel racconto la parabola distruttiva e autodistruttiva del suo rapporto nevrotico con la madre: una madre bella, insoddisfatta, arrivista, ansiosa di migliorare il proprio status, percorsa allo stesso modo dalla brama di sedurre e dalla brama di scrivere e ascendere così all'olimpo degli autori più significativi della nuova narrativa americana.
Padre (businessman, sbruffone, bulimico), madre e figlio (Richard, il narratore, drasticamente infelice) sono un trio sufficientemente squilibrato per prevedere la catastrofe.
Con qualche sorpresa nel finale, però.
L'impressione è che l'esperta Oates abbia nel suo carnet un numero sufficiente di coup de théâtre per ammaliare il suo pubblico. Ciò che probabilmente tende a compensare la consueta mancanza di ogni possibilità di empatia con alcuno dei suoi personaggi.
Ma il narratore qui è un ragazzo che si definisce, fin da subito, un "bambino assassino" e che ripercorre nel racconto la parabola distruttiva e autodistruttiva del suo rapporto nevrotico con la madre: una madre bella, insoddisfatta, arrivista, ansiosa di migliorare il proprio status, percorsa allo stesso modo dalla brama di sedurre e dalla brama di scrivere e ascendere così all'olimpo degli autori più significativi della nuova narrativa americana.
Padre (businessman, sbruffone, bulimico), madre e figlio (Richard, il narratore, drasticamente infelice) sono un trio sufficientemente squilibrato per prevedere la catastrofe.
Con qualche sorpresa nel finale, però.
L'impressione è che l'esperta Oates abbia nel suo carnet un numero sufficiente di coup de théâtre per ammaliare il suo pubblico. Ciò che probabilmente tende a compensare la consueta mancanza di ogni possibilità di empatia con alcuno dei suoi personaggi.
February 4, 2022
Su Oates mano santykis toks sudėtingas: viena vertus, po jos knygų jautiesi kaip po emocinės treniruotės - net jei ji ir pasijuokia, ir patraukia per dantį, ir pasišaipo, vis tiek išsunkia iki paskutinio lašo. Kita vertus, jos kalba tokia gyva, tokia ypatinga, tokia intelektuali, kad jautiesi laimingas, jei pasiseka bent akimirkai pajausti bendrystę su autore - tikrai užplūsta toks intelektualinis pakylėjimas.
Ši savo apimtimi visgi tobulai tinka pirmai pažinčiai - jei, pavyzdžiui, baisiai vilioja Blonde, bet nežinot, ar pajėgsit - Expensive people gali būti gera pradžia. Man ji labai priminė R.Yates ir jo Revolutionary road - su snobų problemomis iš pirmo žvilgsnio gali pasirodyti labai sunku sutarti ir atrasti bendrą sąlyčio tašką, tačiau galiausiai ateina bendražmogiškumo ir visiems suprantamų skaudulių pojūtis. Tobulai tinka į mano "Blogos mamos, blogi tėvai" lentyną, tačiau tam, kad santykis atsiskleistų, reikia nepatingėti knygą iš visų pusių pakankinti - daug joje nutylėjimų, daug skaudulių, pridengtų po šypsenomis. Turiu įspėti, kad ir šiaip Oates ne jautrių nervų ir greitai įsižeidžiančiam skaitytojui - vietos pasišlykštėti šičia gausu. Bet tikrai skaitysiu daugiau JCO knygų - toks amerikietiškos kasdienybės vaizdavimas man ypač prie širdies.
Ši savo apimtimi visgi tobulai tinka pirmai pažinčiai - jei, pavyzdžiui, baisiai vilioja Blonde, bet nežinot, ar pajėgsit - Expensive people gali būti gera pradžia. Man ji labai priminė R.Yates ir jo Revolutionary road - su snobų problemomis iš pirmo žvilgsnio gali pasirodyti labai sunku sutarti ir atrasti bendrą sąlyčio tašką, tačiau galiausiai ateina bendražmogiškumo ir visiems suprantamų skaudulių pojūtis. Tobulai tinka į mano "Blogos mamos, blogi tėvai" lentyną, tačiau tam, kad santykis atsiskleistų, reikia nepatingėti knygą iš visų pusių pakankinti - daug joje nutylėjimų, daug skaudulių, pridengtų po šypsenomis. Turiu įspėti, kad ir šiaip Oates ne jautrių nervų ir greitai įsižeidžiančiam skaitytojui - vietos pasišlykštėti šičia gausu. Bet tikrai skaitysiu daugiau JCO knygų - toks amerikietiškos kasdienybės vaizdavimas man ypač prie širdies.
March 13, 2012
"Expensive People" (the second book in the "Wonderland Quartet") is a dark social comedy with well-off suburbia as a stage and a cast of unlikeable, larger than life characters who make an appearance of being regular folks, but they are monsters of their making. When the story ends, I found myself wondering if this kid hallucinated the whole ordeal as the unstable mind of this particular young man is fertile ground for such things...it is a haunting book. I really like JCO's early work more than her most recent, at the same time they're brilliant, complex, and spellbinding, there's that rawness about them that is just...brutal. I think one of the things I really love about her writing as a whole is it's all fearless, she digs in to tell it like it is (even when the "like it is" is so horrible it's unbelievable.)
"The reality would be hell, but then reality is always hell." (from page 77)
"The reality would be hell, but then reality is always hell." (from page 77)
February 3, 2020
„Minden, amit legépelek, hazugsággá változik, egyszerűen azért, mert nem az igazság.�
Diszfunkcionális kapcsolat két szeretettelen szülővel, akik úgy néznek rá nap mint nap egy szem gyermekükre, mintha csodálkoznának, mit keres még itt egyáltalán. Aztán persze időnként robbanásszerűen kompenzálják ezt a hidegséget, amivel csak kezelhetetlenebbé teszik a helyzetet. Ugye Tolsztoj óta tudjuk (hogy Tolsztoj előtt tudták-e, arról nem szól a fáma): a boldogtalan családok mind különbözőek, amit az írók köszönnek szépen, mert ezzel az irodalom kimeríthetetlen tématárát teremtik meg. Oates könyve is egy félresikerült, mérgező családmodell felvázolása, de nem ez adja specialitását, hanem az elbeszélés milyensége. Hogy adott egy krónikás (a fenn említett egy szem gyermek), aki a regényidő felét azzal tölti, hogy biztosítja olvasóját önmaga tökéletes őszinteségéről, arról, hogy amit elmond, az úgy és csakis úgy történt meg, IGAZ, amennyire csak egy személyes interpretáció igaz lehet. Közben meg ez a küzdelem szélmalomharc, hisz az olvasó jól tudja, a borítóra az vala írva: Joyce Carol Oates, magyarán amit a kezében tart, tőrőlmetszett fikció. Vajon meg tudja-e győzni egy nyilvánvaló fikció főhőse saját olvasóját, hogy ő nem is fikció? Ha igen, az aztán brutális irodalmi bravúr: egy, a valósággal egyenértékű irodalmi tér megteremtése. És Oates elég közel jár ehhez.
Úgy nagyjából 100 oldalig úgy véltem, ez biza öt csillag lesz. Aztán később kicsit elkezdtem unni. Nem veszettül unni, inkább csak úgy mondanám, az unalom alig kivehető dohszaga kezdett terjengeni az olvasmányélmény piciny szobácskájában. Gondolkodtam is, miért. Talán azért, mert miután az ember megértette, mire megy ki a játék, mire ez a metaregénykedés, valahogy maga a játék veszít jelentőségéből � ilyenkor kéne a történetnek átvennie az irányítást. De nem veszi át. A cselekmény mintha végig másodlagos lenne az írói bravúrkodás mögött. Legalábbis ennek tudom be, hogy a végkifejlet nálam nem katarzisba torkollt, legfeljebb langyos elismerésbe.
Diszfunkcionális kapcsolat két szeretettelen szülővel, akik úgy néznek rá nap mint nap egy szem gyermekükre, mintha csodálkoznának, mit keres még itt egyáltalán. Aztán persze időnként robbanásszerűen kompenzálják ezt a hidegséget, amivel csak kezelhetetlenebbé teszik a helyzetet. Ugye Tolsztoj óta tudjuk (hogy Tolsztoj előtt tudták-e, arról nem szól a fáma): a boldogtalan családok mind különbözőek, amit az írók köszönnek szépen, mert ezzel az irodalom kimeríthetetlen tématárát teremtik meg. Oates könyve is egy félresikerült, mérgező családmodell felvázolása, de nem ez adja specialitását, hanem az elbeszélés milyensége. Hogy adott egy krónikás (a fenn említett egy szem gyermek), aki a regényidő felét azzal tölti, hogy biztosítja olvasóját önmaga tökéletes őszinteségéről, arról, hogy amit elmond, az úgy és csakis úgy történt meg, IGAZ, amennyire csak egy személyes interpretáció igaz lehet. Közben meg ez a küzdelem szélmalomharc, hisz az olvasó jól tudja, a borítóra az vala írva: Joyce Carol Oates, magyarán amit a kezében tart, tőrőlmetszett fikció. Vajon meg tudja-e győzni egy nyilvánvaló fikció főhőse saját olvasóját, hogy ő nem is fikció? Ha igen, az aztán brutális irodalmi bravúr: egy, a valósággal egyenértékű irodalmi tér megteremtése. És Oates elég közel jár ehhez.
Úgy nagyjából 100 oldalig úgy véltem, ez biza öt csillag lesz. Aztán később kicsit elkezdtem unni. Nem veszettül unni, inkább csak úgy mondanám, az unalom alig kivehető dohszaga kezdett terjengeni az olvasmányélmény piciny szobácskájában. Gondolkodtam is, miért. Talán azért, mert miután az ember megértette, mire megy ki a játék, mire ez a metaregénykedés, valahogy maga a játék veszít jelentőségéből � ilyenkor kéne a történetnek átvennie az irányítást. De nem veszi át. A cselekmény mintha végig másodlagos lenne az írói bravúrkodás mögött. Legalábbis ennek tudom be, hogy a végkifejlet nálam nem katarzisba torkollt, legfeljebb langyos elismerésbe.
November 18, 2014
Hmpf. I don't know. It started great, went very well for some while. I started liking the characters, the scene and the plot. Then suddenly came two or three intermezzi (chapters with totally different plot and style...why?) and after this I somehow got lost and couldn't connect with the characters anymore. Hm, nope, sorry.
September 6, 2017
Il mondo dei ricchi visto con gli occhi di un bambino problematico. Con genitori molto assenti e troppo preoccupati di apparire in società, Richard sviluppa un morboso attaccamento alla madre, che finirà per smarrirlo completamente e farà di lui un infelice. Nonostante il tema possa sembrare particolarmente drammatico e cupo, il registro narrativo di J.C.Oates è brillante e ironico, la scelta di usare un bambino troppo maturo per la sua età per descrivere questa coppia squinternata è perfetta. Ci sono molti momenti divertenti e alcuni episodi irresistibili (la storia dello sfigatissimo cagnolino Spark è un gioiellino di comicità). Cosa penseranno di noi i nostri figli viene da chiedersi.
Il finale (già suggerito fin dal principio) è decisamente surreale, ma forse poi nemmeno tanto se si pensa a certi fatti di cronaca (penso al nostro ricco nord-est).
Il finale (già suggerito fin dal principio) è decisamente surreale, ma forse poi nemmeno tanto se si pensa a certi fatti di cronaca (penso al nostro ricco nord-est).
January 29, 2009
From promising beginnings, it ... drags on. This novel may have been more significant and ground-breaking when it first came out. We know how suffocating suburbia is by now, countless other books and movies have taught us this. The portraits painted are exquisite but leave me unaffected: no one is particularly compelling. We pity the narrator but we don't like him. The narrative style entertains in the beginning but like the narrator himself suggests, yes, the digressions do annoy
February 27, 2024
Lei sempre tanto brava ma qui non al suo massimo.
August 13, 2012
After thinking about it, I decided to change this book from a 4 to a 5. It was a really powerful story written in the '60's about disillusioned wealthy youth which could've been written today. It's a little scary to think that not much has changed, but like Catcher in the Rye, the movie The Graduate and other artistic endeavors with this theme...one realizes the cycle just keeps on rolling no matter what the century is. The story of a very rich boy from a dysfunctional family (although this is done so much better than the usual fare) who is obsessed with his beautiful mother, Joyce Carol Oates has gone above and beyond the usual. As always, she shines. This is the last book I've read in the Wonderland Quartet, about American people changing in the mid 20th century and altho they can be read out of order and stand on their own, I read this last....altho it was #2. JCO never disappoints even when I don't love her work. She is always good. So you're in for a treat with Expensive People. I suggest that all 4 books should be read in the Quartet....you will be pleasantly surprised if you have never read this prolific and talented author.
September 23, 2018
I have only read a novella of this author's previously but have been intrigued enough to acquire a few novels which appeared in charity shops - this is the first I've tried. I found it interesting but rather distancing and disengaging - probably intentional as it is told by the archetypal unreliable narrator.
Richard is an obese 18 year old embarking on a memoir about his earlier life and in particular the events that occurred when he was around 11 years old and a skinny asthmatic child. He tells the reader at the start that, while still a child, he committed murder, and eventually it becomes clear that .
His parents are odd and he struggles with his love for them despite their destructive relationship and acting out which draws him in. His mother Nadia is supposedly of impoverished Russian extraction and is a minor though recognised literary writer, but she lives a life of trivial suburban social climbing which she constantly gets 'wrong' - she admires those who, even her son can see, the local 'society' looks down upon. Despite her writing success, her whole existence is entwined around having a materialistic comfortable life, so she ignores current events and history, or even the troubles besetting her own child. Yet it becomes clear as time passes within the story that she doesn't actually know what she wants - as shown by her continual affairs behind her husband's back - which Richard becomes privy to - and her occasional departures with a packed suitcase when her suburban existence and the presence of husband and son become too suffocating. But each time she returns to fall into the same round of trivia, parties and casual affairs which became too much for her previously. Despite her disdain for 'real' life, she lacks reality herself: as Richard says, "Every word of hers, every gesture, was as phony as hell". She turns aside any interest that others show in her literary career, becoming the archetypal suburban middle class wife: a symptom of her own disintegration into different selves.
Richard's father is a successful senior manager at a succession of companies and yet often lapses into drunkeness, even descending into making public scenes at dinner parties etc, has a hail fellow well met backslapping attitude which appears to be a cover over agression and his own depression, and has a mutual hatred but fascination with his wife. Although he dresses in expensive suits, they are always crumpled so that he looks more like a tramp than the executive he is in reality.
One telling detail which struck me from the beginning is that Richard's name for his mother - for she refuses to be called mother - adopted at a young age when he could not pronounce her actual name, is Nada, which means 'nothing'. His increasingly desperate attempts to please his parents, and particularly Nada, are made in spite of his awareness of her flaws and her careless attitude towards him and eventually his realisation that to her he is a minor character. This desperation eventually leads to extreme behaviour - or perhaps that is only imaginary, because when at least one of the incidents he narrates takes place, he admits that a teacher said he was in school at the time. He is aware during the memoir that he has suffered a progressive disintegration - that he has, in effect, become 'mad'.
One oddity in this story is the inclusion of a short story by his mother - because he becomes obsessed with reading everything she has written - which is also about disintegration of a child narrator's sense of self. I found out after finishing the book that this is in fact a real short story of the author's. Richard is writing his memoir to pin down the 'truth', but he admits that there is more than one truth and that he cannot really be sure what happened. The style is also very over the top at times, with imagery involving food, vomit - a memorable sequence is when he throws up while trying to do an entrance exam - and the anthropomorphism of buildings, advertising balloons and other inanimate objects.
The book is well written as one would expect from this author. However, the characters are so grotesque that ultimately none are likeable, so personally I can only rate it as 3 stars.
Richard is an obese 18 year old embarking on a memoir about his earlier life and in particular the events that occurred when he was around 11 years old and a skinny asthmatic child. He tells the reader at the start that, while still a child, he committed murder, and eventually it becomes clear that .
His parents are odd and he struggles with his love for them despite their destructive relationship and acting out which draws him in. His mother Nadia is supposedly of impoverished Russian extraction and is a minor though recognised literary writer, but she lives a life of trivial suburban social climbing which she constantly gets 'wrong' - she admires those who, even her son can see, the local 'society' looks down upon. Despite her writing success, her whole existence is entwined around having a materialistic comfortable life, so she ignores current events and history, or even the troubles besetting her own child. Yet it becomes clear as time passes within the story that she doesn't actually know what she wants - as shown by her continual affairs behind her husband's back - which Richard becomes privy to - and her occasional departures with a packed suitcase when her suburban existence and the presence of husband and son become too suffocating. But each time she returns to fall into the same round of trivia, parties and casual affairs which became too much for her previously. Despite her disdain for 'real' life, she lacks reality herself: as Richard says, "Every word of hers, every gesture, was as phony as hell". She turns aside any interest that others show in her literary career, becoming the archetypal suburban middle class wife: a symptom of her own disintegration into different selves.
Richard's father is a successful senior manager at a succession of companies and yet often lapses into drunkeness, even descending into making public scenes at dinner parties etc, has a hail fellow well met backslapping attitude which appears to be a cover over agression and his own depression, and has a mutual hatred but fascination with his wife. Although he dresses in expensive suits, they are always crumpled so that he looks more like a tramp than the executive he is in reality.
One telling detail which struck me from the beginning is that Richard's name for his mother - for she refuses to be called mother - adopted at a young age when he could not pronounce her actual name, is Nada, which means 'nothing'. His increasingly desperate attempts to please his parents, and particularly Nada, are made in spite of his awareness of her flaws and her careless attitude towards him and eventually his realisation that to her he is a minor character. This desperation eventually leads to extreme behaviour - or perhaps that is only imaginary, because when at least one of the incidents he narrates takes place, he admits that a teacher said he was in school at the time. He is aware during the memoir that he has suffered a progressive disintegration - that he has, in effect, become 'mad'.
One oddity in this story is the inclusion of a short story by his mother - because he becomes obsessed with reading everything she has written - which is also about disintegration of a child narrator's sense of self. I found out after finishing the book that this is in fact a real short story of the author's. Richard is writing his memoir to pin down the 'truth', but he admits that there is more than one truth and that he cannot really be sure what happened. The style is also very over the top at times, with imagery involving food, vomit - a memorable sequence is when he throws up while trying to do an entrance exam - and the anthropomorphism of buildings, advertising balloons and other inanimate objects.
The book is well written as one would expect from this author. However, the characters are so grotesque that ultimately none are likeable, so personally I can only rate it as 3 stars.
November 23, 2021
While the first book in Joyce Carol Oates' "Wonderland Quartet" was a fairly somber book about a woman so driven to escape a life of poverty that she probably loses more than she ever gained, in the next book in the series she decided to take a lighter tone and . . . write about a child murderer. Oh boy.
I should stress its kind of a funny book about a child murderer and I should also stress that it is not about someone who murders children (as the narrator himself points out very early on) but a kid who happens to also kill at least one person before the book is over. Ha? You wonder what kind of stories she tells at parties.
But yeah, this is the lighthearted one in the sequence (unless "Wonderland" itself is a riot, because "them" sure as heck isn't) featuring some pretty savage social satire in the guise of a smart overweight child who is spending the book telling us what led to him killing someone . . . imagine "Revolutionary Road" told entirely by Frank and April's neighbor's emotionally disturbed son and you have some idea of the vibe here. Its not nearly as emotionally devastating (very little could be) but Oates has the scalpels out regardless even though here it feels like she's less of a surgeon than someone who decided to switch from being a surgeon to a coroner in the middle of the operation without telling the patient first. Needless to say, the extra blood on the floor isn't necessarily a problem so much as it means extra paperwork.
Richard Everett is our narrator and he's using us as a sounding board for his confession, depicting the events that led him to the point where he's telling us the story, with the kind of sardonic humor that only those who understand they have nothing left to lose can possibly have. Right from the beginning he's teasing us, letting the details dangle out little by little without ever coming right out and saying it. But as soon as he starts talking about his parents, you start to have some idea how this is going to all end up . . . still, knowing isn't the same thing as knowing how, and with Oates its clear she's going to take us on a ride to get there, with all hands and legs kept nicely inside the vehicle. Or else.
Inside of starting in the Depression era, the way the last book and the next one will, she sets the story already in that most memorialized of eras, the late sixties, where being successful meant putting on a suit and having a fancy title and having lots of things was how everyone said they loved each other. Because everyone loved having things. Dear Richard is a smart child with some . . . quirky parents. His dad is often a vice president of some company and thus kind of swoops in and out of Richard's life, sometimes trying to be Richard's best friend and sometimes barely acting like he's even alive. Most of that depends on how he feels about Richard's mother, who also alternates between doting on Richard and being utterly self-absorbed to the point where you start waiting for her to start pulling objects over her event horizon.
In case you haven't figured it out, they're decently rich, or at least very privileged. Richard, in the time honored tradition of Joyce Carol Oates characters, is coming steadily unglued. His time in private school doesn't go so well and when his parents are together they seem to fight each other a lot. They move from plush suburb to plusher suburbs, just like places you always saw in Douglas Sirk films, only turned up to an extra degree of ridiculous. Everyone seems to have an alcohol problem, or is extraordinarily gossipy, or is overall just living a plastic life and telling themselves that, by golly, they're really living. And they are happy. Well, except Richard.
Generalizing about Oates is probably a lost cause because unless you've read the majority of her output but I'm going to slightly go out on a limb here and suggest its not too often she seems to have this much fun writing a novel. Richard reminds me of a dry run for Iain Banks' messed up kid in "The Wasp Factory", where the tone is more sardonic than serious. Richard clearly enjoys toying with the reader, at one point printing fake reviews of his own book from major newspapers, but by the same token he analyzes the absolute crap out of his environment, seemingly the only person who realizes how fake everything but unable to do anything about it until he decides that violence is the answer. The short length of the book makes everything feel compressed and yet as Richard describes the path his life takes to get him to the actions we experience toward the end of the novel it feels oddly more natural than Swan's psyche imploding violently toward the end of "A Garden of Earthly Delights". Maybe because this one is pitched more satirically, its an easier sell? Perhaps, but the length also means she doesn't waste any time and even when the story is pages of introspection it feels like we're moving toward an inevitable place, teased out little by little.
If anything, though, the veneer of satire makes this one hit a bit less hard than "A Garden of Earthy Delights" did . . . true, bad things are happening here but when everything is a degree of absurd you start to find it more interesting than visceral. Even though her trademark dark, dark violence is present and accounted for it doesn't feel tragic as much as the only logical response to a world where the values are so cockeyed the only reasonable move one can make is to start breaking stuff. That none of it seems to matter only heightens the absurdity. If nothing else, the guided tour metaphor I hinted at earlier is probably the best way to think of this book . . . its Oates' funhouse trip into the messed up mentalities of the era that got buried under all the cheerful conformities and the stock "Keeping up with the Joneses" refrains, with Richard as your guide to the consumer stuffed madness. You don't take it seriously, even when its being serious. It skewers and it draws blood, at least once in the literal sense, but there are moments when the blood feels like stage blood, bright and colorful but not totally real. Maybe its there for show, but you can still be hurt even when the wounds are applied with makeup. And you can still make a point with a stage knife, you just have to press down a little harder.
I should stress its kind of a funny book about a child murderer and I should also stress that it is not about someone who murders children (as the narrator himself points out very early on) but a kid who happens to also kill at least one person before the book is over. Ha? You wonder what kind of stories she tells at parties.
But yeah, this is the lighthearted one in the sequence (unless "Wonderland" itself is a riot, because "them" sure as heck isn't) featuring some pretty savage social satire in the guise of a smart overweight child who is spending the book telling us what led to him killing someone . . . imagine "Revolutionary Road" told entirely by Frank and April's neighbor's emotionally disturbed son and you have some idea of the vibe here. Its not nearly as emotionally devastating (very little could be) but Oates has the scalpels out regardless even though here it feels like she's less of a surgeon than someone who decided to switch from being a surgeon to a coroner in the middle of the operation without telling the patient first. Needless to say, the extra blood on the floor isn't necessarily a problem so much as it means extra paperwork.
Richard Everett is our narrator and he's using us as a sounding board for his confession, depicting the events that led him to the point where he's telling us the story, with the kind of sardonic humor that only those who understand they have nothing left to lose can possibly have. Right from the beginning he's teasing us, letting the details dangle out little by little without ever coming right out and saying it. But as soon as he starts talking about his parents, you start to have some idea how this is going to all end up . . . still, knowing isn't the same thing as knowing how, and with Oates its clear she's going to take us on a ride to get there, with all hands and legs kept nicely inside the vehicle. Or else.
Inside of starting in the Depression era, the way the last book and the next one will, she sets the story already in that most memorialized of eras, the late sixties, where being successful meant putting on a suit and having a fancy title and having lots of things was how everyone said they loved each other. Because everyone loved having things. Dear Richard is a smart child with some . . . quirky parents. His dad is often a vice president of some company and thus kind of swoops in and out of Richard's life, sometimes trying to be Richard's best friend and sometimes barely acting like he's even alive. Most of that depends on how he feels about Richard's mother, who also alternates between doting on Richard and being utterly self-absorbed to the point where you start waiting for her to start pulling objects over her event horizon.
In case you haven't figured it out, they're decently rich, or at least very privileged. Richard, in the time honored tradition of Joyce Carol Oates characters, is coming steadily unglued. His time in private school doesn't go so well and when his parents are together they seem to fight each other a lot. They move from plush suburb to plusher suburbs, just like places you always saw in Douglas Sirk films, only turned up to an extra degree of ridiculous. Everyone seems to have an alcohol problem, or is extraordinarily gossipy, or is overall just living a plastic life and telling themselves that, by golly, they're really living. And they are happy. Well, except Richard.
Generalizing about Oates is probably a lost cause because unless you've read the majority of her output but I'm going to slightly go out on a limb here and suggest its not too often she seems to have this much fun writing a novel. Richard reminds me of a dry run for Iain Banks' messed up kid in "The Wasp Factory", where the tone is more sardonic than serious. Richard clearly enjoys toying with the reader, at one point printing fake reviews of his own book from major newspapers, but by the same token he analyzes the absolute crap out of his environment, seemingly the only person who realizes how fake everything but unable to do anything about it until he decides that violence is the answer. The short length of the book makes everything feel compressed and yet as Richard describes the path his life takes to get him to the actions we experience toward the end of the novel it feels oddly more natural than Swan's psyche imploding violently toward the end of "A Garden of Earthly Delights". Maybe because this one is pitched more satirically, its an easier sell? Perhaps, but the length also means she doesn't waste any time and even when the story is pages of introspection it feels like we're moving toward an inevitable place, teased out little by little.
If anything, though, the veneer of satire makes this one hit a bit less hard than "A Garden of Earthy Delights" did . . . true, bad things are happening here but when everything is a degree of absurd you start to find it more interesting than visceral. Even though her trademark dark, dark violence is present and accounted for it doesn't feel tragic as much as the only logical response to a world where the values are so cockeyed the only reasonable move one can make is to start breaking stuff. That none of it seems to matter only heightens the absurdity. If nothing else, the guided tour metaphor I hinted at earlier is probably the best way to think of this book . . . its Oates' funhouse trip into the messed up mentalities of the era that got buried under all the cheerful conformities and the stock "Keeping up with the Joneses" refrains, with Richard as your guide to the consumer stuffed madness. You don't take it seriously, even when its being serious. It skewers and it draws blood, at least once in the literal sense, but there are moments when the blood feels like stage blood, bright and colorful but not totally real. Maybe its there for show, but you can still be hurt even when the wounds are applied with makeup. And you can still make a point with a stage knife, you just have to press down a little harder.
January 23, 2024
Another intriguing novel, but closer to 3.5* than a full 4*.
A child of 1960's suburbia myself, and having moved back and forth between city and suburbia for my whole life (barring an anomalous two year interlude in an odd corner of the Midwest), I don't feel Oates has truly illuminated the distinctive patterns of this aspect of American life, but rather has illustrated (well-illustrated) all of the typical Pleasant Valley Sunday All Made of Ticky Tacky statements that have preceded and succeeded her. Yes, the people are shallow, materialistic, don't recognise true culture are status obsessed and nothing good can come out of it.
Well, I did!
But putting that aside I still enjoyed the mix of odd characters who are mysteries to themselves and to each other, the corporate executive doing a job that no one else can understand, the writer who hides her brilliance and feels unsuited to her childhood family, her suburban Paradise, her occasional escapes to New York City and to her roles as Mother and Wife.
And although it has been done before many times, the various meta-fictional devices of commenting on the intentions and role of the writer of this fictional memoir, the inserted reviews, the story by Natashya add an enjoyable complexity to the novel.
It will be on to Them, the next book in the series, although not right away.
A child of 1960's suburbia myself, and having moved back and forth between city and suburbia for my whole life (barring an anomalous two year interlude in an odd corner of the Midwest), I don't feel Oates has truly illuminated the distinctive patterns of this aspect of American life, but rather has illustrated (well-illustrated) all of the typical Pleasant Valley Sunday All Made of Ticky Tacky statements that have preceded and succeeded her. Yes, the people are shallow, materialistic, don't recognise true culture are status obsessed and nothing good can come out of it.
Well, I did!
But putting that aside I still enjoyed the mix of odd characters who are mysteries to themselves and to each other, the corporate executive doing a job that no one else can understand, the writer who hides her brilliance and feels unsuited to her childhood family, her suburban Paradise, her occasional escapes to New York City and to her roles as Mother and Wife.
And although it has been done before many times, the various meta-fictional devices of commenting on the intentions and role of the writer of this fictional memoir, the inserted reviews, the story by Natashya add an enjoyable complexity to the novel.
It will be on to Them, the next book in the series, although not right away.
April 19, 2019
Fascinating and funny and engaging. The opening is one of the best I've ever read and the finale is grand and unsuspected (at least I did not see it coming, not in that way).
December 30, 2020
A compact, beautifully written, fake autobiography that plays on the lies and betrayals of 60s suburban life, struggles to adapt to motherhood, the demands put on children by parents, and the transient nature of life in general.
May 27, 2008
I think this was the first Oates novel that I've read and haven't liked all that much -- mainly because of the narrator. I'm not a huge fan of things written from the viewpoint of an unreliable narrator, and so that was one of the problems. Another thing that bothered me was the narrator's constant references to the fact that he was writing the account -- even going to far as to frequently talk about how poorly written it was, and how many digressions there were, and how the last three chapters really could have been cut out, etc. There was just too much of it, and it was too pathetic and ingratiating for my taste. (Normally the self-referential narrator doesn't bother me, but I don't think I've encountered it being done so heavily before.)
I think that the plot itself would have made a wonderful novella or short story -- there was enough going on that you'd have characters that were fully-developed enough for that purpose, but to my mind there wasn't enough development for a novel-length work (some of the room given to the narrator going on about how he couldn't write would have been put to better use if it was used for character development).
I read the original version of this, not the Modern Library re-release (Oates has gone through those and edited her young self). I can't help but wonder if my dislike of this book is because she wrote it so early in her career, before she really found her voice and her style. Who knows. If I liked it a little bit more I might immediately read the Modern Library re-release . . . but I don't, so there will be no comparison.
I think that the plot itself would have made a wonderful novella or short story -- there was enough going on that you'd have characters that were fully-developed enough for that purpose, but to my mind there wasn't enough development for a novel-length work (some of the room given to the narrator going on about how he couldn't write would have been put to better use if it was used for character development).
I read the original version of this, not the Modern Library re-release (Oates has gone through those and edited her young self). I can't help but wonder if my dislike of this book is because she wrote it so early in her career, before she really found her voice and her style. Who knows. If I liked it a little bit more I might immediately read the Modern Library re-release . . . but I don't, so there will be no comparison.
September 2, 2016
This was such a surprise after my disappointment over them.
There are similarities for sure, as they are part of the same series. But what disappointed me about them was mostly missing in this book: The character and narrative were consistent and made me care; there was a minimum of the "I don't know what's going on and I'm wandering around in a mist" first-person narrative (well, it was still there in this book, with the protagonist feeling as if he were "asleep" or "waiting" for most of his life, but it was consistent with his personality and didn't feel forced, nor did it get in the way of the story or the character exposition); and the book doesn't get lost halfway through and meander around trying to find the trail again.
Consistently though, the story deals heavily with a lot of the same themes. Richard, the protagonist, is discovering, through heartbreaking revelations, the omnipotence of class structure in America. His struggles with reality also culminate in a terrible act of violence. And Oates still examines the place of women in society in relation to man's, drawing parallels over and over again between women's sexuality and violence. To be honest, reading this book and coming across the same themes, presented (in my opinion) much more successfully, made me appreciate them more, and I actually went back and changed my rating of that book.
There are similarities for sure, as they are part of the same series. But what disappointed me about them was mostly missing in this book: The character and narrative were consistent and made me care; there was a minimum of the "I don't know what's going on and I'm wandering around in a mist" first-person narrative (well, it was still there in this book, with the protagonist feeling as if he were "asleep" or "waiting" for most of his life, but it was consistent with his personality and didn't feel forced, nor did it get in the way of the story or the character exposition); and the book doesn't get lost halfway through and meander around trying to find the trail again.
Consistently though, the story deals heavily with a lot of the same themes. Richard, the protagonist, is discovering, through heartbreaking revelations, the omnipotence of class structure in America. His struggles with reality also culminate in a terrible act of violence. And Oates still examines the place of women in society in relation to man's, drawing parallels over and over again between women's sexuality and violence. To be honest, reading this book and coming across the same themes, presented (in my opinion) much more successfully, made me appreciate them more, and I actually went back and changed my rating of that book.
August 4, 2011
Seven years following the death of his mother, 18-year-old Richard Everett bluntly tells his audience that he was a child murderer. A severely obese recluse, Richard never fit in with the images of grandeur put forth by his father, a boastful professor and mother, a beautiful and mysterious writer. Further isolated at his pretentious private school, Richard becomes deeply troubled. His psychosis reaches dangerous heights when his beloved mother proves deceptive and vain, obsessed with maintaining social status. This book proves chilling and thought-provoking as the closely-observed narrator offers a compelling glimpse into the mind of a seemingly normal kid turned violent. It also offers an important lesson to suburban families, candidly stating that material wealth and social status cannot compensate for love and support.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 27, 2012
As the second of Oates' four-part, loosely-connected series on American life, Expensive People is her "romance with novel-writing itself." Part meta-fiction, part satire of 1960's Suburban culture, this memoir of a child murderer (not to be confused with a child-murderer) explores solipsism, the meaning of freedom, women's roles/responsibilities -both bodily and societal-, and obsession through the eyes, and typewriter, of a minor character of the world in which he lived.
"'When there is no longer any point in lying, no one will lie': that would make a good epitaph for a novel. But in life there are no epitaphs, no reason for emphasizing one remark over another, and so I refuse to emphasize that, right? The hell with that." ;D
"'When there is no longer any point in lying, no one will lie': that would make a good epitaph for a novel. But in life there are no epitaphs, no reason for emphasizing one remark over another, and so I refuse to emphasize that, right? The hell with that." ;D
April 28, 2010
Fascinating, darkly funny character study of a disturbed upper middle class boy trapped in a very particular brand of upper middle class suburban dysphoria. Like the other 3 books in Joyce Carol Oates's loosely-linked Wonderland quartet, this one was hard to put down, featuring an unforgettable protagonist.
Read
May 4, 2021'9. I observe much parallelism of paragraphing and sentence structure as I dare, (Note that each of these remarks begins with "I." or did you already notice it, you clever son-of-a-bitch?'
This is the first novel by Joyce Carol Oates that I've read, and I had no idea where to begin (after all, she's written over 40 novels... a little intimidating for the Oates novice), so I just yanked 'Expensive People' off of our shelves at the Seward Park Library. I'm glad I did!
Obviously, I can't speak comparatively of 'EP' in relation to her other work, but this... this was pure gold. It accomplishes so much in 220 pages. I don't even know where to begin with this one.
So, with an attempt to start, I will begin where Oates-as-Richard does�'EP' is about a child murderer (that is, a child who murders) writing a memoir about his life growing up in a couple of affluent suburbs in the midwest in post war America. Apart from being extremely well executed and funny as hell, 'EP' illustrates the restlessness of America in the 1960's, an anguish which was up against a post-war confidence which had by this point seen its more robust years come and go. About Fernwood, the first suburb in question, Oates as Richard Everett (our dubious hero and twisted child-memoirist), writes,
'Fernwood itself was a dream, and everyone in it dreaming the dream; all in conjunction, happy, so long as no one woke up. If one sleeper wakened, everything would have been stretched and out of focus, and so... the end of Fernwood, the end of Western Civilization!'
A passage which, in-and-of-itself is not all that stunning in the shadow of, say, Jackson, Yates, & al. who had been writing on this topic, and very well, since the late 40s and 50s. Yet, Oates framing of framing of this topic from the point of view of a vengeful adolescent is divine...
The book begins with a confession to murder, but is less about murder than an elaboration between the relationship of Richard Everett and his mother 'Natashya Romanov Everett' otherwise affectionately known as 'Nada', and his Father (or 'Daddy'), 'Elwood., who strongly reminds be of Daria Morgendorfer's father, of MTVs 'Daria', and their relationship to suburbia.
As I see it, Richard's father is the reference point to which Nada and Richard are always falling short. Comparatively speaking, Richard and Nada are sufferers, people who are society's discontents, those who can do nothing in society of the formulaic question-and-answer but make a mess of it all. Natashya (who is not so Russian and tormented as she lets on... but I won't ruin this for you, gentle reader) is someone who fluctuates between wanting to live a life of artistic fodder, that is, the storm and stress of existence, and wanting to live a life of comfort. Richard? Well, he merely wants to live a life his own gorgeous mother would approve of, which eventually drives him to murder (of who, you ask? Read the freakin' book).. So, I don't want to reveal too much, but I guess this is as much of a spoiler which a book that begins as a confession to murder could contain : Taking cues from Nada's reliability and revolt, that through taking up a rifle and opening fire, Richard eventually becomes the sickness in this airtight society of suburban America. Richard's opening fire eventually becomes the shot heard 'round suburbia, and leads to a pandemic of true murder.
And why not tell this story as a memoir? After all, society of this sort has put a premium on the "I" in individual freedom at all costs. Nada must have everything she wants, even if it is never enough. His father must throw himself into his own work to escape the vapidness of daily existence, that is, this, apart from getting into 'existential' foreign films, and eventually using his half baked intellectualism to talk down a leftist literary critic and friend of Natashya's critique of American society with the simple statement of the obvious, by saying,
'Freedom for me might be not freedom for you—in the meanwhile, what's left?
[...]
"Who care about understanding the world? We're going to *change* the world!" Yessir, we Americans have changed the world forever, you can bet your last dollar!'
to which the leftist critic is rendered speechless, simultaneously by the disarming truth and pigheadedness of the statement. Deadlock!
Nada seems to be in a similar deadlock. She wants all of the comforts of post-war America, yet struggles with the lack of struggle her life allows for her. And to think, she's a writer! In a conversation Richard overhears with a composer friend of hers, this passage illustrates this conundrum wonderfully,
'She began to cry in ugly, jagged gasps. "What do you want from me?" she said. "I'm trying to survive. Should I sink down in the dump heap and suffocate, like my people, my ancestors, everybody's ancestors? Most of the world is swimming in a cesspool, trying to keep their heads up, and I'm sick of it, I'm sick of knowing it, God, how I'm sick of living and thinking and being what I am! But I won't live any other way. This is Heaven. *This* is Heaven, I've found it, they don't torture you or back you into ovens here, in 1960—what more can we ask? [...] Well, I'm Natashya Everett and I am out of history, I'm clean of its stink and there is no one to thank for it, no one but myself and good luck You son-of-a-bitch, to criticize me for being out of the crap pile! To criticize me for not suffocating in it!"'
The "I" removed from history, from memory from obligations... so European, so passe. Let's leave it all behind! The American dream!
Richard eventually realizes himself as a minor character in his mother's life. What is most painful about this is he is a minor character of a minor literary figure (Nada), one who can do nothing but make messes, who wants nothing more but to suffer if only within the confines of herself and her small circle. As the world gets larger, we all get smaller too, and our lives more relative to an anonymous mass. No longer a part of history, no longer a part of a grand cultural narrative, just the individual, flailing about in a vacuum of meaningless consumption and 'natural' freedom. Natural, HAH! A naturalness that certainly doesn't come easy for American Blacks in Oatses' tale, these, shall we say, 'inexpensive people'.
Richard eventually sees murder as the only way out. Murder to seal fate, to write the lives of others, to design history, even if the media isn't interested in the truth. The most Richard can do is challenge this is world of self referential paradox, with a gun. While this may not be the stuff of world revolution, its all he feels he has claim to.
I don't want to bore you with anymore of this rambling (and, as always, kudos to anyone who has actually read the far—thanks for reading!) not do I want to get into any 'spoiler zones', but I gotta say, this was a damn good book. A real knock-out at a mere 220 pages. What's holding you back?? I am looking forward to reading more from Oates...
This is the first novel by Joyce Carol Oates that I've read, and I had no idea where to begin (after all, she's written over 40 novels... a little intimidating for the Oates novice), so I just yanked 'Expensive People' off of our shelves at the Seward Park Library. I'm glad I did!
Obviously, I can't speak comparatively of 'EP' in relation to her other work, but this... this was pure gold. It accomplishes so much in 220 pages. I don't even know where to begin with this one.
So, with an attempt to start, I will begin where Oates-as-Richard does�'EP' is about a child murderer (that is, a child who murders) writing a memoir about his life growing up in a couple of affluent suburbs in the midwest in post war America. Apart from being extremely well executed and funny as hell, 'EP' illustrates the restlessness of America in the 1960's, an anguish which was up against a post-war confidence which had by this point seen its more robust years come and go. About Fernwood, the first suburb in question, Oates as Richard Everett (our dubious hero and twisted child-memoirist), writes,
'Fernwood itself was a dream, and everyone in it dreaming the dream; all in conjunction, happy, so long as no one woke up. If one sleeper wakened, everything would have been stretched and out of focus, and so... the end of Fernwood, the end of Western Civilization!'
A passage which, in-and-of-itself is not all that stunning in the shadow of, say, Jackson, Yates, & al. who had been writing on this topic, and very well, since the late 40s and 50s. Yet, Oates framing of framing of this topic from the point of view of a vengeful adolescent is divine...
The book begins with a confession to murder, but is less about murder than an elaboration between the relationship of Richard Everett and his mother 'Natashya Romanov Everett' otherwise affectionately known as 'Nada', and his Father (or 'Daddy'), 'Elwood., who strongly reminds be of Daria Morgendorfer's father, of MTVs 'Daria', and their relationship to suburbia.
As I see it, Richard's father is the reference point to which Nada and Richard are always falling short. Comparatively speaking, Richard and Nada are sufferers, people who are society's discontents, those who can do nothing in society of the formulaic question-and-answer but make a mess of it all. Natashya (who is not so Russian and tormented as she lets on... but I won't ruin this for you, gentle reader) is someone who fluctuates between wanting to live a life of artistic fodder, that is, the storm and stress of existence, and wanting to live a life of comfort. Richard? Well, he merely wants to live a life his own gorgeous mother would approve of, which eventually drives him to murder (of who, you ask? Read the freakin' book).. So, I don't want to reveal too much, but I guess this is as much of a spoiler which a book that begins as a confession to murder could contain : Taking cues from Nada's reliability and revolt, that through taking up a rifle and opening fire, Richard eventually becomes the sickness in this airtight society of suburban America. Richard's opening fire eventually becomes the shot heard 'round suburbia, and leads to a pandemic of true murder.
And why not tell this story as a memoir? After all, society of this sort has put a premium on the "I" in individual freedom at all costs. Nada must have everything she wants, even if it is never enough. His father must throw himself into his own work to escape the vapidness of daily existence, that is, this, apart from getting into 'existential' foreign films, and eventually using his half baked intellectualism to talk down a leftist literary critic and friend of Natashya's critique of American society with the simple statement of the obvious, by saying,
'Freedom for me might be not freedom for you—in the meanwhile, what's left?
[...]
"Who care about understanding the world? We're going to *change* the world!" Yessir, we Americans have changed the world forever, you can bet your last dollar!'
to which the leftist critic is rendered speechless, simultaneously by the disarming truth and pigheadedness of the statement. Deadlock!
Nada seems to be in a similar deadlock. She wants all of the comforts of post-war America, yet struggles with the lack of struggle her life allows for her. And to think, she's a writer! In a conversation Richard overhears with a composer friend of hers, this passage illustrates this conundrum wonderfully,
'She began to cry in ugly, jagged gasps. "What do you want from me?" she said. "I'm trying to survive. Should I sink down in the dump heap and suffocate, like my people, my ancestors, everybody's ancestors? Most of the world is swimming in a cesspool, trying to keep their heads up, and I'm sick of it, I'm sick of knowing it, God, how I'm sick of living and thinking and being what I am! But I won't live any other way. This is Heaven. *This* is Heaven, I've found it, they don't torture you or back you into ovens here, in 1960—what more can we ask? [...] Well, I'm Natashya Everett and I am out of history, I'm clean of its stink and there is no one to thank for it, no one but myself and good luck You son-of-a-bitch, to criticize me for being out of the crap pile! To criticize me for not suffocating in it!"'
The "I" removed from history, from memory from obligations... so European, so passe. Let's leave it all behind! The American dream!
Richard eventually realizes himself as a minor character in his mother's life. What is most painful about this is he is a minor character of a minor literary figure (Nada), one who can do nothing but make messes, who wants nothing more but to suffer if only within the confines of herself and her small circle. As the world gets larger, we all get smaller too, and our lives more relative to an anonymous mass. No longer a part of history, no longer a part of a grand cultural narrative, just the individual, flailing about in a vacuum of meaningless consumption and 'natural' freedom. Natural, HAH! A naturalness that certainly doesn't come easy for American Blacks in Oatses' tale, these, shall we say, 'inexpensive people'.
Richard eventually sees murder as the only way out. Murder to seal fate, to write the lives of others, to design history, even if the media isn't interested in the truth. The most Richard can do is challenge this is world of self referential paradox, with a gun. While this may not be the stuff of world revolution, its all he feels he has claim to.
I don't want to bore you with anymore of this rambling (and, as always, kudos to anyone who has actually read the far—thanks for reading!) not do I want to get into any 'spoiler zones', but I gotta say, this was a damn good book. A real knock-out at a mere 220 pages. What's holding you back?? I am looking forward to reading more from Oates...
August 19, 2023
Joyce Carol Oates once again aims her perception into the mind of a killer, a juvenile named Richard. His mother, however, is ironically nicknamed Nada by her son, and she appears to be housing a few troubling demons. A dark indictment of the generational vivisection occurring in America during the 1960s, Expensive People happens to be a metafictional memoir by Richard himself, years later, looking back on his crimes. It's the deterioration of suburbia, of the class system approaching civil and spiritual war concerning its mores. Oates' fascination with this fringe aspect of Americana is quite poignant many decades down the road and I can't quite feel amazed nor saddened by that notion. It's a haunting work, one that shows Oates' imaginative prowess when it comes to the United States and its penchant for insanity and violence and pathology like no other.
When I was finishing up with the last pages I was listening to Nine Inch Nails' The Downward Spiral and the last lyrics of the final track, "hurt", felt it suited to the essence of this novel: if I could start again a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way.
When I was finishing up with the last pages I was listening to Nine Inch Nails' The Downward Spiral and the last lyrics of the final track, "hurt", felt it suited to the essence of this novel: if I could start again a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way.
March 2, 2024
Expensive People is about Richard Everett, his mother, father, and their lives in 1960's suburbia. There is an Oedipal element to Richard's relationship with his mother- he adores her, fears her, and wants only to please her. He feels indifferent to resentful of his father. Most of the novel follows Richard's journey through private school and a life of privilege afforded by his parents, particularly his novelist mother who uses her literary success to propel Richard, herself and her husband through suburban housewife hierarchy. Expensive People is told in first person, through the eyes of a "child murderer." JCO introduces her narrator using this unusual moniker, which captured my attention at the start and it only waned as the novel continued. Richard is clearly troubled and spoiled, but his actions towards his parents, classmates, and teachers seem devoid of any deeper purpose than to move the plot forward and get to the end of the book. JCO also makes the choice to have her narrator constantly address the reader, which always feels corny to me. I have already vowed to complete the Wonderland quartet at some point, but I wouldn't be surprised if this was my least favorite book of the series.
If you have to begin your life with a sentence, better make it a brave summing up and not anything coy
a dizzying truth about human beings: they don’t care. No, they don’t care, and it means something irreparable to know that.
The story seemed to me very confusing but “artistic.� Was it confusing because it was artistic, or artistic because it was confusing?
If you have to begin your life with a sentence, better make it a brave summing up and not anything coy
a dizzying truth about human beings: they don’t care. No, they don’t care, and it means something irreparable to know that.
The story seemed to me very confusing but “artistic.� Was it confusing because it was artistic, or artistic because it was confusing?
October 14, 2021
Joyce Carol Oates is one of my favourite authors, especially when she dives into weird fiction. This book says A Tale of Gothic Horror on the cover, which it absolutely is not. This book is her love letter to Nabokov. From the first pages you hear his cadences in the narrator's voice. Just on a first reading I found nods to Lolita and Pale Fire. There is also some interesting meta fiction going on behind the scenes which only becomes clearer as you go through the book. Who is writing whom? Who is the real narrator? Should you believe the story? As I said earlier the setting also is familiar to me. An upscale suburb. The same places Humbert and Kinbote foul with their secrets and vices. I will reread to get every last drop of joy from this one.
February 14, 2021
Certamente più delirante (in senso buono) de Il Giardino delle Delizie, questo libro parla dei "personaggi secondari" dell'America degli anni '60.
Inizialmente pensavo fosse un po' la stessa zuppa del libro precedente, ma mi sono dovuta ricredere da metà romanzo in avanti; a tratti un po' American Psycho, a tratti un po' Mad Men, questa storia funziona perché è a suo modo vera.
Insomma: viva i personaggi secondari.
Inizialmente pensavo fosse un po' la stessa zuppa del libro precedente, ma mi sono dovuta ricredere da metà romanzo in avanti; a tratti un po' American Psycho, a tratti un po' Mad Men, questa storia funziona perché è a suo modo vera.
Insomma: viva i personaggi secondari.
June 13, 2021
Laugh-out-loud funny in a dark way. You really feel invited into the bizarre world of the moderately rich in the 1960s.
I was disturbed by the treatment of black characters, though.
I was disturbed by the treatment of black characters, though.
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