A subtly wicked, almost Southern Gothic tale of existential angst told by 18-year-old Kit Biddle, an anti-Gumpian southern boy struggling with the complexities of life. The story unfolds against a backdrop of painful chaos: Kit’s revered uncle, Nathaniel Tyler Biddle, Jr., has sacrificed his only son on direct and specific orders, according to Rev. Biddle, from God himself. As Kierkegaard has suggested, the comic and the tragic converge on Kit’s desperate search for meaning in a willy-nilly world of opaque walls and filtered light.
The enigmatic Anna appears with all the attributes of Kit’s yearning and imagination and then, just like that, she disappears like a phantom in a fog, only to be replaced by the enigmatic Sarah who reverses the roles and projects onto Kit all her desires and imaginings. Standing on one leg in the darkness, Death beckons to Kit with a promise of light and comfort but instead leaves him lying in his own blood on hot pavement with neither clarity nor relief. Who is Kit Biddle? He may actually be Nathan Biddle but who in the world is that?
When the fog dissipates—if the clarity he seeks finally appears—does Kit really want the answers he finds?
My Rating:
Favorite Quotes:
Newt is blessed with a mass of unruly blond hair, an engaging smile, and a con man’s gift of schmooze. He has found little difficulty convincing women that he is misunderstood; he has had some difficulty getting them to remain convinced for more than a year, sometimes even less than that.
The “general theory of cranial calibration,” as Lichtman and I formulated it, is that the size of a girl’s brain is inversely proportional to the size of her boobs.
“He thinks he’s a wit,” I said testily. “He’s only half right.”
An exquisite random squib had appeared in the dark of my life, and I was grateful. I can’t remember some things and I’m sure I’m going to forget some more, but I’ll bet I won’t ever forget Cassandra prancing on that log wearing her plain cotton panties and a devilish grin. Maybe the really beautiful things are like that: little glowing sparks in the mundane darkness of everyday existence.
He has become my mother’s “special friend” whose specialness I have unfortunately failed to appreciate.
He all about booze and self-pity. He caught tragedy and now he spreads it like a virus.
Newt says he and Uncle Nat fought a lot, and he stopped shaving and bathing and looked and acted like Bigfoot on a moonshine binge.
She’s pretty, but she’s not bright. Lichtman described her perfectly. He said Dayla is built like an Italian sports car but her engine sputters. If you mention something more complicated than shoe size or the weather, she’ll stare at you like you’ve said something in Swahili.
My Review:
I am conflicted about how to rate this one. I struggled with this book, and valiantly I might add. I had even considered a DNF but there were pros and cons to pushing forward and I’m honestly glad I did, but it was an arduous and challenging read. I found it cleverly amusing and wittily insightful for the most part but I also felt oddly annoyed and aggravated and it took considerable effort to push through the various characters’ cerebral postulating as well as the stratospheric level of vocabulary used. I typically read a book a day, yet this one took me three.
The main character of Kit had an odd childhood and bizarre family who obviously had a surfeit of intelligence but didn’t know what to do with it. Kit was floundering and exasperating. He was also unfocused, lazy, obsessive, uncommitted, aimless, and besotted with a girl who clearly and repeatedly told him she wasn’t interested. His teenaged angst and general malaise had me appreciating the fact I no longer have to work with adolescents. Retirement is sweeeeet!
The premise and storylines were oddly compelling while cast with a quirky collection of characters who, other than the lovely Sarah, were disturbingly repellent and truly ghastly creatures. I reveled in the humor of his descriptions and observations of others, but I was often felt bogged down in the prose. The author either has a treasure trove of unusual words circling his cranium or wrote with a thesaurus in his lap. I just know I am thankful I read on a Kindle with a built-in dictionary. I love words and while being far from mentally deficient I felt as such as I wore the battery down on my beloved device while frequently required to halt my perusal to look up the meanings of words like pluperfect, opacity, and lagniappe. Uncommon words I will most likely have to look up again if I ever run across them a second time.
But my main source of discontent was the ending, there wasn’t one. I am still stamping my little foot in pique; I need a semblance of closure and don’t have it. However, when I looked back at my highlighted and favorite passages, which were significantly pared down in this review, I was awed by the author’s craft and am determined to respect his process.
