Giving Up
I expected to have a book recommendation from March but I bailed on most of the books I set out to read last month (with the exception of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which I enjoyed but isn’t exactly something you need to hear about in 2023).
I have frequently heard people complain about a novel they’re reading—still reading, after hundreds and hundreds of pages of boredom or displeasure. To this I have always advised, emphatically, that they just give up. I will, without hesitation, put down a book after a single page, skip a song after a handful of bars, or walk out of a play at intermission. If a haiku can’t hook me in those first five syllables, you better believe I am getting up and leaving!
I am not advocating that people avoid a good challenge. Sometimes I give up on stuff that seems like too much work, but most of the time it’s the opposite—I sense that there’s nothing there to push back against, no friction, no stimulation. Usually I’m abandoning work that feels kind of basic or flimsy or manipulative or generic. Or I simply don’t like the artist’s personal vibe. I’ve spent over thirty years developing my idiosyncratic taste. Why waste a precious second on something that does not suit it? (Unless I’m on a plane or am very tired—then I’ll consume any garbage put before me).
10,000 gecs by 100 gecs
I really loved 1000 gecs, the debut album from dirtbag savants 100 gecs. It was wild, catchy, and weird. The lyrics and the production choices were genuinely funny to me. The videos were deranged and ugly in a good way. But after listening to it for a few months nonstop I wondered if I had everything I needed from them. I was so wrong, they have more to offer, so much more. They have returned with 10,000 gecs, a brash and goofy tribute to the disposable genres of the 90s and early aughts: pop punk, ska revival, 90s hard rock, 90s alt rock, 90s rap rock. To be clear, these are genres I would not consciously choose to listen to at this point in my life. But 100 gecs make the case that they can still be beautiful and joyous if tossed into a trash compactor and doused in lighter fluid. The above video of them setting off fireworks inside a crummy apartment does a good job of capturing their chaotic, stupid energy. It’s deeply primitive music that activates something teen inside you, especially if you saw New Found Glory, Sum 41, and Blink-182 at the Ottawa Civic Centre during the 2001 Edge Fest tour. Listen to it through headphones, while sitting in your home office reading emails, and you just might feel young again!1
Sticking With It
When I was 20 and worked at a bookstore I used to look at the copies of Don DeLillo’s Underworld on the shelf and think, no thanks! To me, DeLillo was synonymous with Thomas Pynchon, who I had also never read. I understood, vaguely, that both writers were “great” “post-modern” “geniuses,” which made me avoid them in favour of books that looked like they would be fun to read. Then a few years ago I took DeLillo’s White Noise out from the library and literally could not stop laughing. I felt a bit guilty, because my laughter was quite loud and relentless, and I do not live alone. Poor Annie would be reading her less funny book beside me, and I’d be cackling away. I couldn’t help myself—something on every page struck me as hilarious.2 I also found the book oddly moving. It was such a good experience I was a little afraid to read anything else by the man, but eventually picked up his most recent novel, The Silence. Whenever I see the phrase “minor work” I always roll my eyes. The Silence is a definitive minor work: well written and unique, but slight. Then, having started and abandoned a series of books last month, I decided to pick up my $2.99 used copy of Underworld and at last face my fears.
One thing that initially made the book so intimidating, aside from its author, is that it is very long—827 pages in its initial hardback. Also, just look at this cover:
Terrifying! This was after 9/11, and the sight of the Twin Towers and something with wings seemed not just ominous but suffocatingly depressing. The book is about, among other things, waste management and baseball and the Cold War, subjects that are theoretically interesting…
When an artwork is long and intimidating (and somewhat famous) a stubborn part of me kicks in and I can usually power through. This is the flip side of my “just give up” ethos, and what has gotten me through countless difficult books, movies, etc. Sometimes these marathons are worth the effort, other times not so much. I’m about a quarter of the way through Underworld and so far I’m really enjoying it. Will finishing it inspire me to read DeLillo’s Libra, a meticulously researched novel about the JFK assassination, something I really don’t care about? Maybe! We’ll see!
Shiva Baby
Released in 2020 this awkward, funny movie about a young, privileged, directionless New York woman whose romantic life is spiralling out of control is currently streaming on Netflix. That type of story might seem familiar to you, but Shiva Baby cleverly apes horror films to get inside its protagonist’s rattled mind. This elevates what is essentially a single location social comedy into something hilariously claustrophobic and nerve-racking. I laughed, I cringed, I kept cringing. If this reaction sounds appealing to you, do check it out. It stars iconic character actor Fred Melamed (pictured above). My fellow Mela-heads out there will know his presence makes Shiva Baby an immediate must-watch film.
To be honest their music also sometimes gives me a headache. It’s potent stuff.
I would avoid the recent Netflix adaptation of White Noise. I don’t think I laughed once.