According to the previous post, I have the option of writing about my homegrown herbs, my disappointing and my better-than-real friends, or Chuck Klosterman’s foray into fiction writing. To avoid boring you, my faithful audience, or offending you, my disappointing friends, I’ll say a few words about CK. And being that I just finished the novel on today’s lunch break, it’s probably most relevant.
Though I did just water the parsley. No? Ok.
So let me establish validity. I purchased CK’s Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs on a whim in the summer of 2005, just before I took my summer campers on a sleep-away weekend. I remember getting completely absorbed into this guy’s insights and idiosyncrasies, and I was simultaneously obsessed with and insanely jealous of him. I spent the next few years acquiring everything he’s written – at least what can be bound and put on my shelf. And it’s not much, I realize. Four collections and one novel. And about a zillion articles I’ve perused in that time. Since that summer, I think about him constantly, always questioning “What would CK have to say about that?” when any inane pop culture reference is made. I think like him, in bullet points, sentence fragments and curse words; this infuriates me, because I think that sometimes if I would just get over myself and put my shit on paper, I could be a lot like him.
Now, I’d heard a great deal about Downtown Owl, the novel in question. As Chuck’s first fiction piece available to the masses, I was not so much curious as I was wary. This can’t add up, I thought. I waited to buy it – waited nearly a year after its release in fact – when I could pick it up free at Book Expo. And, as an added bonus, I’d get to say Hi to Chuck while he signed the book.
The story itself isn’t much of a big deal here; sort of like there’s not really ever a “big picture” in Klosterman’s books, but the premise is this: 1980s small town, lots of nicknamed drunks, high school athletes struggling with self identity, old men philosophizing. A small-town lover for the ages, I’m thrilled to find these things in a novel. So far, so good.
The style is his signature: bulleted lists, conversation outlines, myriad ‘80s pop culture references. This, I’m afraid, might be a little distracting. Now, for people familiar with CK, you pretty much know going in that you’re not going to catch or understand every reference. You blink, and you read on. But when he uses a relatively unknown Lou Reed album or a track from “Rock of Ages” to make a point, some drive-by Chuck-ers may find themselves Googling Velvet Underground discography or downloading Lita Ford instead of learning about Julia, the 23-year-old Social Studies teacher who likes gin, I daresay, more than I.
At the same time, if you’re reading Downtown Owl and you aren’t already familiar with Chuck, then maybe that’s your own damn fault. Just an opinion. That’s all this is.
Now, I loved the story. I loved his references and I liked that it seemed to take his first book, Fargo Rock City, and just turn it into a story – Owl Rock City. At times it felt semi-autobiographical. It was completely relatable. I felt sad with Horace, the old man who possessed so much old-man wisdom that he shared most of with only the narrator.
And really, even if a reader doesn’t catch all the cultural references, Klosterman knows people. He knows how we think; he’s a writer. He includes supreme dialogue and inner conflict and makes the characters your friends – or that asshole you knew that one time. The most important thing about capturing small-town life is capturing the nature of the humans in that isolated universe. You see brilliant guys do it every now and then – check out Empire Falls. And then you have guys like Klosterman, who I don’t call brilliant, but I do call ingenious, and he’s fucking spot on with this. He nails the characters, he nails their thoughts and their behaviors and every flaw. He nails it so well I actually fear he overthought it in a few places. Because we are talking about Klosterman, the king of overthinking. Herein lies the book’s flaw.
CK has a big ol’ brain. I mean, personally, I have a zillion thoughts. I remember random details of most people I meet, even if it’s just once. I know insane amounts of random trivia. I’m an ideal journalist, because I have the stickiest, clearest memory and capacity for thought than most people I know. I’m not gloating; I sincerely believe this to be true. But Chuck’s mind? Damn. If my brain is the size of the Earth, then CK’s is the size of Jupiter, and can hold 1,400 of mine, or whatever it is.
So he thinks, and he thinks, and he puts all of these expansive thoughts about these vastly different characters in a span of 275 pages and it’s all these people can do not to collapse in on themselves. He’s fucking smart, guys. He just doesn’t need to use one solitary piece of fiction to prove it to us. And this swelling of information and overloaded pages may have led him to finish the book with the only outlet he could have imagined to attempt to cease all thought. Sorry, Chuck, but I think the ending was kind of a copout. But who knows? Maybe it still hasn’t processed enough for me.
Klosterman’s overthinking has never been an issue; it’s pretty much what makes him who he is – though I’m sure he calls it “analysis.” In the case of Downtown Owl, however, it tripped him up a few times. Despite all of this, I can never NOT recommend Klosterman. He’s got an enticing town, your friends at the bar, and your thoughts in every stage of your life. It’s worth taking a trip to Owl, North Dakota.
