#HOW ARE YOU GONNA BE FIXATED ON A SHOW THAT REFEREENCES SO MUCH CLASSIC LITERATURE

[zukkaoru]

i'm going to be so insufferable once i finish beast. i still have one volume left but i've already decided that no one else in this fandom has any correct opinions about it

[kindergarchy]

You Too Can Have A Body Like Mine by Alexandra Kleeman

On the book jacket’s sleeve, Kathleen Alcott (not sure who she is, presumably an impt/well-known figure in contemporary literature) praises this book: “A terrifying and elegant talent you will not soon forget.” In contrast, I do actually want to forget about this book…. and I did, until I remembered that I have not penned down my thoughts abt this book.

I thought the book was weird, maybe you can manage to imply good interpretations - maybe the issues she is trying to raise are impt - body image, the mechanism of a cult, noise caused by an endless tirade of commercials and advertisement, consciousness, a sense of self + belonging, etc… but all of these are drowned in a foggy sea of plain weirdness.

Tbh, I did really like some parts, I did go wow that’s rly well-written. It made me think of tao lin’s taipei, like small revelations of things, things that people dismiss - these things are not a ‘big deal’, nevertheless it makes you think that ok so it’s not just me. Maybe I do have a bit of social anxiety, that’s why I can find traces of me in A, but most of the time this seething, electric sense of connectedness is eclipsed by the extreme alienness of sensations the character is experiencing. I also like parts where the narrative keeps questioning A’s sense of self, sometimes it rubs off on me, especially after reading Sam Harris’ Waking Up

Ok I’m gonna paste its synopsis on goodreads here:

“A woman known only as A lives in an unnamed American city with her roommate, B, and boyfriend, C, who wants her to join him on a reality dating show called That's My Partner! A eats mostly popsicles and oranges, watches endless amounts of television, often just for the commercials— particularly the recurring cartoon escapades of Kandy Kat, the mascot for an entirely chemical dessert—and models herself on a standard of beauty that exists only in such advertising. She fixates on the fifteen minutes of fame a local celebrity named Michael has earned after buying up a Wally's Supermarket's entire, and increasingly ample, supply of veal.

Meanwhile, B is attempting to make herself a twin of A, who in turn hungers for something to give meaning to her life, something aside from C's pornography addiction. Maybe something like what's gotten into her neighbors across the street, the family who's begun "ghosting" themselves beneath white sheets and whose garage door features a strange scrawl of graffiti: he who sits next to me, may we eat as one.”

I was reading it on the sleeve of the book jacket and thought… ummm. Weird. And sometimes it happens when I read a synopsis, so I thought of it as nothing - the impression dissipates as soon as I savor the book and have a good taste of what the book is trying to portray/drive at - replaced by a relief, a sense of familiarity. I thought I would arrive there, so I waited and it never came, not even on the last page. Like… the weirdness did not feel bizarre in a way that makes you wonder (I’d like to think of myself as having a good tolerance for strange things), it felt forced and synthetic… again maybe this is due to the fact that I do not have extreme paranoid tendencies, I think it’ll be good to have real ppl who do experience paranoia to testify whether the scenarios laid out are plausible, if they do, then probably my unfavorable view of this book emerged not out of the book’s lack of merits, but my incapability to absorb something I can’t relate with well enough

I liked this part where A mentions to her boyfriend C about a weird sighting of her neighbors, which C dismisses almost instantly. C is often capable of convincing her effortlessly, perhaps even unintentionally, that everything is fine, normal. I felt that this is done semiconsciously by C out of convenience, he does not want to bother entertaining probable, but seemingly ludicrous possibilities (low-level paranoid thoughts) - and A likes that, because it makes her think less crazy thoughts, nevermind that it leads her into thinking that she is the crazy one, and without her realizing creates an imbalance in their relationship’s dynamic (ie A needs C more than the reverse):

“Okay,” C said thoughtfully, as though he had made a decision. He put his phone in his pocket and pulled himself up to a standing position. “You are a sensitive person, you saw something weird, you feel spooked. No pun intended. There are plenty of reasons why what you saw might have happened, and some of them are weird. But some of them are just boring. You know? That family could have been going to some kind of school pageant. Or a birthday party. So you can ask yourself: Do I live in a weird town, or a boring town?”

I blinked at him.

“I’d say boring,” he added, nodding and then raising both eyebrows expectantly.

I loved his face, his bland white good-looking face. I believed in him and therefore in the boringness of my town. C was good at handling me. He made things suddenly, instantaneously normal, just by explaining them. He was like a magnifying glass, I only had to look through him to see the world in crisp detail. And he had a really nice smile and good teeth.

This is one of those “not a big deal” moments, and how the narrator jumps from C’s ability to his physical appearance, like his positive quality has a halo effect on his physical appearance (or maybe it’s the other way round), this thought process seems very natural, how your mind jumps from one thing to another, following a pattern

I also think this is very well written, how A describes her gaze direction which relies on her boyfriend’s - a subtle hint at the commensalistic tendencies their relationship is developing:

I went over and got under the blanket with him. I tucked my feet in under his things and looked where he was looking.

Also this kind of self-inquiry, the idea that your sense of self is constantly evolving, it assumes and loses its shape constantly - reminiscent of Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend, only here told directly and real-time instead of being inferred through a nostalgic rewind:

Think this through, I said to myself. Just because you weren’t the person he thought you were doesn’t mean that you won’t be that person at some other time, someday. It doesn’t mean you’re not you.

And this separation between inner and outer lives, which to some might seem like an act of hypocrisy:

What bothered him, what seemed filthy, was the emotional aspect, the way I had dictated the personal. “You need them not only to be doing something for you but also feeling some specific way about it,” C said. A begging quality had entered C’s voice. C said: “Why can’t you just let people have their own inner lives, as long as they’re doing pretty much what they’re supposed to do with their outer lives?”

Plus substituting your object of desire as a coping mechanism, citing classic sociology studies:

Baby monkeys taken from their mothers will form attachments to fake mothers made of cloth or electrified wire, ducklings with no parents will imprint on a cardboard box with an alarm clock ticking inside of it. Wanting things was a substitute for wanting people, one of the best possible substitutes.

And lastly, what keeps you from going batshit crazy (like in Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, it is a very thin thread we are holding on to with all our might):

“Are you one of those people who acts normal, but is secretly about to chuck their lives and disappear?” I asked. If that were the case, I wasn’t going to waste my time getting to know him. I knew that we’d be dating for a while, at least, when he laughed several times, loudly, and kissed me for what was then the third or fourth time ever.

“Yeah, right. No way. Neither are you,” he said. “I’ve seen that on TV, those dads, and it is nuts. No way. Everything’s worked out great for me since whenever, I don’t have any plans to make it complicated. Besides, I’m attached to my material goods.”

What material goods? I wondered. Then I followed the arc of his arm pointing to a location across the room. He had been referring to his collection of DVDs, heaps of horror and comedy and porn, stacked together in a pile the size of a small love seat.

But these parts are more or less detached from the main crux of the story, I found myself slowly growing a particular dislike toward Kandy Kat’s commercials, and the ridiculous (not absurd) appeal of the cult…. Idk, it felt like the narrative invents a problem then attempts to solve it, instead of borrowing one from real life and emphasizing it

So yeah, I’m open to read more of Kleeman’s stuff, she nails interesting observations, and this book is fun to read at times, despite my complaints