#92: Imperial Bedrooms

Imperial Bedrooms, by Bret Easton Ellis

(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010)

Summary:
"Bret Easton Ellis's debut, Less Than Zero, is one of the signal novels of the last thirty years, and he now follows those infamous teenagers into a more desperate middle age.


"Clay, a successful screenwriter, has returned from New York to Los Angeles to help cast his new movie, and he's soon drifting through a long-familiar circle. Blair, his former girlfriend, is married to Trent, an influential manager who's still a bisexual philanderer, and their Beverly Hills parties attract various levels of fame, fortune, and power. Then there's Clay's childhood friend Julian, a recovering addict, and their old dealer, Rip, face-lifted beyond recognition and seemingly even more sinister than in his notorious past.

"But Clay's own demons emerge once he meets a gorgeous young actress determined to win a role in his movie. And when his life careens completely out of control, he has no choice but to plumb the darkest recesses of his character and come to terms with his proclivity for betrayal."

Opening Lines:
"They had made a movie about us. The movie was based on a book written by someone we knew."


My Take:
I've never read Less Than Zero, nor have I seen the movie it inspired. And frankly, after finishing Imperial Bedrooms, I'm not particularly inclined to do so. I've read and enjoyed books with unlikeable characters, even anti-heroes, before, but this ain't one of 'em.

The good, only because I feel compelled to say something positive about a novel heralded with such fanfare: Ellis's run-on sentences do succeed in creating the fast-paced, disorienting mood he seems to be striving for. An example, chosen purely by opening the book at random, is as follows:

"At Dan Tana's we're seated in the front room next to a booth of young actors and Rain tries to engage me, her foot rubbing against my ankle, and after a few drinks I mellow into acceptance even though a guy at the bar keeps glancing at Rain and for some reason I keep thinking he's the guy I saw her with in the parking lot at Bristol Farms, his arm in a sling, and then I realize I passed him on the bridge at the Hotel Bel-Air when I went to see Blair, and Rain's talking about the best way to approach the producer and director of The Listeners in terms of hiring her and how we need to do this carefully and that it's 'superimportant' she gets the part because so much is riding on this for her and I'm zoning out on other things but I keep glancing back at the guy leaning against the bar and he's with a friend and they both look like they stepped out of a soap opera and then I suddenly have to interrupt her."

I wish I could say that's exceptional but it's not. Annoying sometimes, yes, but I'll allow it as a deliberate literary technique.

What I can't get past, though, is the sheer, shallow, repulsiveness of the characters. Perhaps if I'd read Less Than Zero I'd feel some attachment to someone here, know some back story to make me care who lives or dies ... but I hadn't, and I didn't. I've said many times that any self-respecting sequel needs to work as a stand-alone novel, even if you know nothing about its predecessor, and Imperial Bedrooms fails on that score (if, indeed, LTZ was more engaging or the characters more likeable than I found them here). That, plus the fact that Clay is a sadistic rapist without even enough motive or complexity to be compelling in a Hannibal Lechter sort of way ... well, let's just say I'm glad the book was fast-paced and not all that long.

#65: An Inconvenient Woman

An Inconvenient Woman, by Dominick Dunne

(New York: Bantam Books, 1991 c1990)

Summary:

"Wealth. Beverly Hills billionaire, banker, and art collector Jules Mendelson and his elegant, aristocratic wife, Pauline, reign as the king and queen of West Coast high society. From their lavish mountaintop estate they preside over intimate dinner parties for ambassadors and art dealers, business tycoons and film stars. But L.A.'s royal couple is about to be dethroned.

"Murder. He's a smooth dancer with Latin charm, a member of an old Spanish Land Grant family that helped found the city, and Pauline's good friend. But when Hector Paradiso dies under the most sordid and distasteful circumstances, it's Jules who takes charge -- and takes steps to make Hector's murder look like suicide.

"Justice. Philip Quennell isn't part of their world. A young writer new to L.A., he finds observing the lives of the rich and famous fascinating. Until he discovers that the wealthy live by a different set of rules, rules that say if you have enough cash and connections you can stop a murder investigation cold. Now Quennell vows to expose those who'd let a killer go free.

"Passion. Flo March is Jules's enchanting young mistress. But between pillow talk and her own unquenchable curiosity, this beautiful redhead knows far too much about Hector's death -- and Jules's life. Soon, as intrigue threatens Jules's marriage, business, and reputation, events conspire to make Flo An Inconvenient Woman."

Opening Line:
"Later he was vilified and disgraced; Archbishop Cooning denounced him from the pulpit of Saint Vibiana's as a corruptor, and the archbishop's words spread throughout the land."

My Take:
I certainly haven't given up on Rise and Shine; truth be told, it'll probably be the more satisfying of the two, though Inconvenient Woman does promise to be guilty, Klondike-in-the-freezer, glass-of-wine-on-the-coffee-table fun for a small town homebody on her own in the big city. But I'm still not fully Kindle-ized yet, and can't quite bring myself to lie in bed with an e-reader when I want to flip through a quick chapter or 2 before going to sleep. Ergo, I'm breaking out one of the paperbacks I've had stacked on my desk for a month or so (can you tell this was one of my 25-cent finds at the library book sale) for bedtime reading. 

(tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock)

Sometimes you do get what you pay for. Inconvenient Woman wasn't bad enough for me not to finish -- it's the kind of fluffy, insubstantial thing that's perfect for reading at bedtime. The chapters are short enough that you can always make it through 1 or 2, the storyline doesn't require particularly close attention, and it's not compelling enough that you find yourself starting "just one more" chapter over and over till it's suddenly 2 am. 

And that's about all I can say for it. Perhaps its a period piece, but it seems something that would have been dated even in the early 1990s (though I didn't exactly move in LA high society at the time, so what do I know?) Sure, it was 20 years ago, but would the fact of Hector's being gay really have been so scandalous that no one acknowledged it? (His penchant for barely-legal PYTs and sex for money, OK.) It also doesn't help that few of the characters are especially interesting. Make that "one." Philip Quennell has potential, but we never really get under his skin enough to feel like we know what makes him tick. Yes, he's a recovering alcoholic; yes, he wrote an expose of a book before IW opens that made him some powerful enemies; yes, he's the only person in the novel who won't back down on questioning how and why Hector's death came to be labeled a suicide. (BTW, Dunne never fully clears up who did it, either, as the never-convicted killer identified at the book's end has an alibi that's never addressed.) Flo March is a runner-up, though her beautiful-but-naive working class waitress character seems a bit dated and predictable. But as for Jules and Pauline? Not just not likeable, but not particularly dislikeable or loathsome, either. He's a rich guy with powerful connections who can pull strings the rest of us can't imagine. She's a rich guy's wife with impeccable taste (of course, her bottomless bank account doesn't hurt) who initially seems more sympathetic but ultimately reveals that she's not above pulling a few strings of her own to retain her position of privilege. All in all, the book wasn't so bad that I'd be unwilling to give Dunne's take on the rich and famous another shot, especially for a quarter -- but The Nanny Diaries or a juicy, trashy Olivia Goldsmith romp it ain't.

#51: My Hollywood

My Hollywood, by Mona Simpson (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010)

Summary:
"A wonderfully provocative and appealing novel, from the much-loved author of Anywhere But Here and A Regular Guy, her first in ten years. It tells the story of two women whose lives entwine and unfold behind the glittery surface of Hollywood. Claire, a composer and a new mother, comes to LA so her husband can follow his passion for writing television comedy. Suddenly the marriage -- once a genuine 50/50 arrangement --changes, with Paul working long hours and Claire left at home with a baby, William, whom she adores but has no idea how to care for. Lola, a fifty-two-year-old mother of five who is working in America to pay for her own children's higher education back in the Philippines, becomes their nanny. Lola stabilizes the rocky household and soon other parents try to lure her away. What she sacrifices to stay with Claire and 'Williamo' remains her own closely guarded secret. In a novel at turns satirical and heartbreaking, where mothers' modern ideas are given practical overhauls by nannies, we meet Lola's vast network of fellow caregivers, each with her own story to tell. We see the upstairs competition for the best nanny and the downstairs competition for the best deal, and are forced to ask whether it is possible to buy love for our children and what that transaction costs us all. We look into two contemporary marriages -- one in America and one in the Philippines -- and witness their endangerment, despite the best of intentions. My Hollywood is a tender, witty, and resonant novel that provides the profound pleasures readers have come to expect from Mona Simpson, here writing at the height of her powers."

My Take:
Here I'd hoped for a variation on some of the same themes from The Madonnas of Echo Park -- rather a California-style Nanny Diaries with a bit more racial frisson thrown in. I didn't get it. In short, I found My Hollywood plodding and disappointing, with characters I just couldn't bring myself to care about. If this is Simpson at the height of her powers, I won't be seeking her earlier books out any time soon.

#50: The Madonnas of Echo Park

The Madonnas of Echo Park, by Brando Skyhorse (New York: Free Press, 2010).

Summary:
"'We slipped into this country like thieves, onto the land that once was ours.' With these words, spoken by an illegal Mexican day laborer, The Madonnas of Echo Park takes us into the unseen world of Los Angeles, following the men and women who cook the meals, clean the homes, and struggle to lose their ethnic identity in the pursuit of the American dream. When a dozen or so girls and mothers gather on an Echo Park street corner to act out a scene from a Madonna music video, they find themselves caught in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. In the aftermath, Aurora Esperanza grows distant from her mother, Felicia, who as a housekeeper in the Hollywood Hills establishes a unique relationship with a detached housewife. The Esperanzas' shifting lives connect with those of various members of their neighborhood. A day laborer trolls the streets for work with men half his age and witnesses a murder that pits his morality against his illegal status; a religious hypocrite gets her comeuppance when she meets the Virgin Mary at a bus stop on Sunset Boulevard; a typical bus route turns violent when cultures and egos collide in the night, with devastating results; and Aurora goes on a journey through her gentrified childhood neighborhood in a quest to discover her own history and her place in the land that all Mexican Americans dream of, 'the land that belongs to us again.' Like the Academy Award-winning film Crash, The Madonnas of Echo Park follows the intersections of its characters and cultures in Los Angeles. In the footsteps of Junot Díaz and Sherman Alexie, Brando Skyhorse in his debut novel gives voice to one neighborhood in Los Angeles with an astonishing-- and unforgettable--lyrical power."

My Take:
A solid, intriguing book - very enjoyable, and I'll even buy the Junot Diaz parallels. Highly recommended.

125 - The Dissident

Yikes. Got a little too overambitious, and ran down to the wire with a whole mess of library books right before they were due back. Ergo, even though I finished Nell Freudenberger's The Dissident (Ecco/ HarperCollins, 2006) last night, it's already back in the return bin. No dust jacket excerpts or quotes today.

Sooo ... if I were still rating books, this one would be a solid 3. As this New York Times review puts it, the story has potential, but never quite lives up to it. It tells the story of Yuan Zhao, a Chinese artist who's accepted a year-long fellowship/ residency at an exclusive private girls' school in L.A. His hosts are the wealthy but dysfunctional Traverses: psychiatrist Gordon, who's too obsessed with his pet genealogical research project to pay much heed to his family; his wife Cece, whose volunteer work at school and constant need to nurture (whether it's small stray animals or her typically difficult teenagers) belies a restless emptiness; their daughter Olivia, a dancer who just wants to fit in with the right clique at St. Anselm's; and son Max, by turns depressed and arrogant.

The story is told alternately by Mr. Yuan in the first person, and by an omniscient third-person narrator who focuses mainly on Cece. We learn about the now-vanished artists' enclave in Beijing, dubbed the East Village, where Yuan Zhao's cousin X (so dubbed to avoid political trouble, as he still lives in Beijing) was at the center, while he himself was more bystander than participant. We meet Yuan's old flame Meiling, pregnant by someone else at the time of his departure, for whom he still apparently carries a torch. We catch glimpses of his embarrassingly middle-class childhood, and his English-speaking mother -- both facts he allows both peers and American hosts to remain ignorant of when it adds to his exotic and mystique. We grapple with his sense of unease, his fear of being unmasked as an impostor ... and his troublesome fascination with June Wang, a misfit but exceptionally talented Chinese-American student in his AP art class.

When it comes to Cece, the story is much less satisfying. I found Mr. Yuan's tale a bit confusing at times, but I think that was deliberate: in the beginning, he's as inscrutable to the reader as he is to his California neighbors. The Travers family, though, has a whole bunch of plot points thrown in and then neglected or out and out dropped: Max's budding romance with fellow delinquent Jasmine; Gordon's sister Joan's increasing suspicion about who, exactly, Yuan Zhao is; Olivia's near-invisibility. A decent story, but I expected more in terms of tension or comedy.

Old Favorites, Redux

OK, a bit backlogged again, so these next few reviews will be quick. A few weeks ago, I had a kinda sucky day. Nothing disastrous, loyal readers; just the sort of low-grade, flat tire and cat barf nuisances that make you think you're walking around under a black cloud. It also inspired 2 cravings in me: the desire to just curl up in the safety of my living room with a good book until the @#$%^ day was over, and the desire not to further tax my feeble, grouchified brain with something I might actually have to focus on. The first thing I saw on my bookshelf that fit the bill was Bebe Moore Campbell's Brothers and Sisters (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1994) (#66), and so, well, here we are.

Set in Los Angeles just a few months after the early 1990s riots, Brothers and Sisters explores some complicated questions about the conflicts between our racial, gender, and class loyalties. It's also a darned good story. The protagonist, Esther Jackson, is a 30-something African American transplant from the South Side of Chicago who's clearly on her way up. She's got an MBA under her belt, has a successful career as a bank operations manager, and a nice home in a neighborhood she loves. Now, if only she could get into the more lucrative and prestigious lending side of the bank ... well, that, and find a man who won't drag her down. As she explains to her best friend Vanessa:

"'What's wrong with wanting to be with someone who has goals and aspirations that are similar to mine? Listen, I've dated Mr. Blue Collar. I've dated Mr. Starving Actor. I've even dated Mr. Unemployed. I'm sorry, the Jackson University for the Remedial Training of Brothers with Potential is closed. No more mismatches. This isn't about [unfaithful ex-boyfriend and doctor] Mitchell Harris. It's about me knowing what I want.'"

Over the course of the novel, two cases come up that call Esther's exacting standards into question. One is Humphrey Boone, a rising star in the lending world who's hired at Angel City in its efforts to promote diversity. Successful, involved in the black community, and easy on the eyes to boot, he just might be what Esther's been looking for. The only trouble is, he's partial to vanilla, and more interested in her white co-worker, Mallory (who doesn't return the favor). The second is Tyrone, who's hunky, ambitious, crazy about Esther to boot ... and a UPS driver. Much as she enjoys their time together, she insists that Tyrone's just something to do for now, not realizing until much later that "the man who was just 'something to do' might have his own agenda."

The above might make it sound like this is primarily a romance novel, but it's not. It's also the story of the wary friendships that form across racial lines. Esther and Mallory begin by celebrating the transfer of a sexist co-worker, but their bond is cemented when they run into Mallory's married lover having a wonderful time on a date with his wife, and Esther keeps Mallory from making a public scene. Later, when the arrogant but attractive Mitchell arrives on Esther's doorstep, and she sleeps with him in a moment of weakness, she calls Mallory instead of Vanessa, figuring she'll be more sympathetic ... and a tentative friendship develops. At the same time, what begins as a self-serving outreach from bank president Preston Sinclair toward Humphrey Boone becomes a genuine fondness, even withstanding the turmoil Preston's world is thrown into when his teenaged son is gravely injured. Esther takes a chance on hiring LaKeesha, a hard-working but unpolished single mom who's determined to get off welfare, for a teller's position, taking the extra time to mentor her even at the risk of sidelining her own career. Long-time teller Hector doesn't know how to take this. On one hand, he likes LaKeesha and can see that she's a hard worker; on the other, if blood is thicker than water, and it's only reasonable for Esther to help LaKeesha ... should he stand up for LaKeesha when the need arises, or seize the chance to bring his fiancee on board in her place? And then there are Esther's new neighbors, fresh off the boat from West Virginia: Harold, Carol, and their wild-haired daughter Sara. While they seem nice enough, and someone sure has to explain Sara's hair to Carol, PDQ, Esther just can't get past the irritation of seeing yet another black man with a white woman and make herself do the right thing.

OK, so much for a short review -- and I still have about 5 more to go (some time soon, anyway). A good read if you want to be entertained, but still think a little at the same time.