Top Ten-ish anyone? Well, that was the plan when I thought I could curtail my longwinded wordiness enough to encompass both my fiction and nonfiction choices all into one article. Alas and alack, I am unable to dress to the '09s today — but will be back to address the rest, at the top of the '10s.
by Thomas Pynchon
Thomas Pynchon once said that maybe his fiction is “not the world, but with a minor adjustment or two it's what the world might be." The late sixties psychedelic noir of Inherent Vice is definitely a portrayal of a life off-kilter, rambunctious fun but tinged with trademark oppressive paranoia and kaleidoscopic pop culture allusions – from Gummo Marx to Mike Curb. Throwing off some gravitas to chase a few rainbows, subplots and whatnots abound as the affable hippie-ish P.I. Doc Sportello, resourceful throwback to the “great old PIs – Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, the shamus of shamuses,” takes a case involving his old girlfriend Shasta, missing amidst the world of Mickey Wolfmann, a rich and married "real estate big shot” whose wife and lover want him institutionalized, though there are conspiracies galore in the course of getting to the people behind the people behind the scenes. So while Doc is wrestling with his feelings for Shasta he is lured into schemes with an ensemble of characters and entities that include his archenemy, a vindictive cop named Bigfoot Bjornsen; a surf band sax player and spy; and a mystical schooner called the Golden Fang which may also be a heroin cartel, an enterprise of "vertical integration," an international conspiracy, or a tax dodge set up by some dentists. Doc also confronts wildly entertaining dopers (“Watch your head” …”How ‘m I spoze to do that, man?”), counterfeiters, rockers, surfers, hustlers, and — in a persona ostensibly out to make Doc “overthink myself into brainfreeze” — an ex-con with a swastika tattoo and a soft spot for Ethel Merman. It’s a fast-paced and tautly written tale in an L.A. setting – no mean feat for a book so kitchen-sink-and-all full, as much a visionary variety fun-pack along the lines of a Tom Robbins or Carl Hiaasen escapist fare as it is a Pynchon imprimatur.
by Nick Hornby
As Nick Hornby remarks in his 1995 music shop schematic High Fidelity:
“Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. The unhappiest people I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music the most; and I don’t know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness, but I do know that they’ve been listening to the sad songs longer than they’ve been living the unhappy lives."
Now there’s cause for a new examination, from a different angle, about rock obsession and the need for emotional rescue – another illumination of “Lovers laughing in their amateur hour,” to cite Elvis Costello from his original “High Fidelity.” Nick Hornby’s newest novel Juliet, Naked sees one of the main characters Annie brooding as her childbearing years are dwindling in an English seaside town, but also sulking about her relationship – or lack thereof –with longtime boyfriend Duncan, who directs all his time, energy, and devotion to a website dedicated to reclusive has-been singer-songwriter Tucker Crowe. Storyline wheels are set in motion, though, when Annie posts a scathing pan of Juliet, Naked, a stripped-down version of Crowe's breakup masterpiece album. Just to make sure there’s no blood left on the tracks, an angry and threatened Duncan cheats on Annie with a new performing-arts instructor at the school where he teaches. Fiftysomething Crowe, unrecognizable and living in obscurity with his son Jackson in suburban Pennsylvania, and depressed about messing up his upteenth relationship with yet another model, emerges enough from his 15-year disappearing act to begin an email back-and-forth with Annie. The substantive and witty exchanges spark reciprocal feelings that each find appealing. Though there is little hope that Annie can meet with her correspondent, when a family drama brings Tucker to London, she sees an opportunity for… well, I don’t know if you'd call it silly love songs (not that there’s anything wrong with that: “Sentimental music has this great way of taking you back somewhere at the same time that it takes you forward, so you feel nostalgic and hopeful all at the same time." —High Fidelity). But in Juliet, Naked’s thematic linkage of music, love, and loneliness, there are certainly expectations from Hornby, the "maestro of the male confessional," of a relationship forged, adept humor expanded, and a decided depth of poignancy. In any case, maybe we'll see Tucker and Annie creating some new glory days instead of having to hide 'neath the covers and study their pain.