I loved this novel so much. I read it in 2 days. It is unputdownably funny and smart and truly filled me with the horror of - Good God, What is going to happen next?? Oh NO! What now??
Pure Cosmos Club (PCC) follows a NYC visual artist, Paul, and his best friend, the disabled dog Blanche, through his shenanigans in the art world of NYC, which lands him in a cult- naturally!
One must love and pay profound attention to a thing one viciously mocks. This is satire. A love-hate, love-ridicule thing. Binder loves his characters, loves art, loves NYC. What we love always disappoints us, and everything is corrupt and hilariously so. Part Greek Tragedy, part Shakespearean Comedy, PCC, the cult where Paul lands, is where we all land eventually. Desperate and helpless in the face of our desire to matter, and ultimately failing miserably to do so.
Paul, naive and romantic, oblivious and perceptive, is a seeker, believing that great art can change the world. One could write an entire PhD thesis about Paul's relationship to Blanche, who although anthropomorphized, is also understandably his dearest companion. Dogs are a man's best friend, because, cliche as it is, people suck. And yet. We need each other! We love each other. Badly.
Paul starts out in gentrifying, farflung Brooklyn, with his dear friend (though not as dear as Blanche) and fellow artist Danny: "Back when Danny bought the warehouse from a retired mechanic who used it as a chop shop for stolen BMWs, the neighborhood was a colorful place, where one constantly found oneself embroiled in all manner of adventure. A stray bullet once shattered the studio's window and put a hole through the canvas I was painting. Another time, I was held up at knifepoint over a box of porkbuns."
Setting up the tone of the book is in - The Details! The chop shop for stolen BMWs! Porkbuns! As a reader, I was so IN this crazy world, a world lovingly portrayed, because Paul loves the world. And yet, where do all this love and ambition and purpose lead him? To fashion items made out of dead cat skins, and to the titular cult, run by the cult leader James, one populated -natch-with celebrities and politicians, many on drugs, all of them bonkers.
The subject matter is indeed grand, but the actual novel is grounded where Paul is grounded. At one point, this happens to be an attic of a large mansion where the cult does cult things. Paul, ever observant explains:
"A mischief of mice scurry away when I turn on a flashlight. Even on my hands and knees, my face gets caught in a spider's web. The attic stretches out in all directions. It must be as large as a football field. All around me are the forgotten treasures of past generations- a stuffed lion's head, a signed first edition of Whitman's Leaves of Grass, an eighty year old embroidered Nazi uniform."
Who doesn't want to be along with this ride? I mean, it's amazing. It's real and it's insane.
At one point, Danny asks Paul:
"...just how far does your loyalty to James extend?"
Paul responds:
"If he were to order me to enter a gladiator's ring to battle with a tiger, "I say, and sip my tea, "I would do so without a word."
And isn't this Paul just living out the Human Truth? Don't we all desire to believe in someone, something, with all our heart and soul, for whom and which we would gladly lose an eye, an arm- our life? Risk it all? Paul's journey is utterly unique, being a special snowflake that we all actually are, and as old as existence ourself. Whatever it is- art, money, love, salvation- we all need to worship something. I worship this novel.