Jennifer Egan’s A
Visit from the Goon Squad is that annoyingly near-perfect book that I
admire tremendously for its technical qualities but can’t quite find myself
loving because it feels too hermetically sealed. I’m sure you already know
about the book: it won a Pulitzer, a National Book Critics Circle award, and lots
of other honors. And one chapter of the book is written and presented in
PowerPoint form.
A Visit from the Goon Squad
strings thirteen stories, one of which is written in PowerPoint form, though
you already knew that, into a novel that zigs and zags between characters and
times, returning often to two core figures. Bennie is described on the back
cover as “an aging former punk rocker and record executive.” Sasha is “the
passionate, troubled young woman he employs.” Put in more direct terms: as a
kid, Bennie was in a band called The Flaming Dildos, which I take as a name
that refers to fakery and imitations of, ah, more real things, and Sasha is a
klepto who loves to keep and display what she steals.
During the course of the book, Egan introduces us to those
same Flaming Dildos, a bunch of San Francisco teenagers, including Bennie, who
want to be punks, and shows us how they and the people around them behave and age,
not always very gracefully. Time is the goon squad here and Egan neatly threads
this and other motifs, like Sasha’s stolen goods, through the stories.
Conformism and its “non” are everywhere, too: Bennie and his friends aren’t
much punkier than I was. Sure, I went to see the Dead Kennedys when a friend
decided to be a punk promoter one summer but my spikes were really a bracelet,
not something dangerous.
“Neatly” is my problem with A Visit from the Goon Squad: I enjoyed reading the book, looked
forward to reading it, and think it’s very, very good, but it feels a little
too much like how Bennie hears digitized music:
Too clear, too clean. The problem was precision, perfection; the problem was digitization, which sucked the life out of everything that got smeared through its microscopic mesh. Film, photography, music: dead.
The italics are Egan’s. And the voices in Goon Squad were a little digitized for me,
not quite gritty or distinct enough to make some of the chapter-stories in Goon Squad feel fully polyphonic or convincing. One of the most interesting chapter-stories was “Selling the
General,” which connects less to Bennie and Sasha than most of the other pieces
and describes the efforts of Dolly (a.k.a. La Doll), a p.r. specialist
attempting to improve the image of a dictator. I don’t think it’s coincidental
that the story is less connected and less music-related than most of the
others.
The final story-chapter, “Pure Language,” set in a future
New York City, imagines even more ubiquitous uses of mobile devices and txt
language than we have now (*shudder*) but the hero is the guy without an online
presence, “a guy who had lived in the cracks all these years, forgotten and
full of rage, in a way that now registered as pure. Untouched.” And there,
again, is my misgiving about the book, a misgiving that feels slight and churlish:
the book lacks real rage. That may be intentional but I can’t be sure because
the book felt so polished, so cleanly written and so careful, even a tiny bit high-flown.
In other words, it felt technically perfect but most of the tone and language
felt so smooth—too controlled, digitized, and ironic—that they crowded out the book’s
messages and characters for me.
Disclosures: I
bought my own copy of the book. I met Jennifer Egan, a college classmate I
never knew in college, at a reading in Portland several years ago. I’ve read and enjoyed most of her books, particularly Look
at Me.
Up Next: Eduardo
Halfon’s The Polish Boxer, another
book of linked stories.
