Part fiction, part earnest mockumentary, AMBIENT PARKING LOT follows a band of musicians as they wander the parking structures of urban downtown and greater suburbia in quest of the ultimate ambient noise--one that promises to embody their historical moment and deliver them up to the heights of their self-important artistry. Along the way, they make sporadic forays into lyric while contending with doubts, delusions, miscalculations, mutinies, and minor triumphs. This saga peers into the wreckage of a post-9/11 landscape and embraces the comedy and poignancy of failed utopia.
Pamela Lu is the author of Ambient Parking Lot (Kenning Editions, 2011), Pamela: A Novel (Atelos, 1998), and The Private Listener, a chapbook from Corollary Press. Her writing also appears in the anthologies Bay Poetics and Biting the Error, and has been published in periodicals such as 1913, Antennae, Call, Chain, Chicago Review, Fascicle, and Harper's. She lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area.
One of those many great books that works precisely because it shouldn’t. For as much as I loved Pamela Lu’s eponymous first novel, I kept expecting this novel to choke on its own first-person plural perspective, to slip into a void of grand but ultimately meaningless proclamations, to in short become what those less charitable than I might refer to as “pretentious.” Lu makes art out of sitting on that precipice, coming just short of declaring herself a major generational voice, stopping about a yard shy of buying into her own bullshit. She’s sort of like Roberto Bolaño in that, and like Bolaño, she skates out of trouble by pinpointing the exact moment where she will deflate her narrators and the mythology they build up around themselves. This is quite funny, first off; she’ll give her narrators whole paragraphs to buy into their own bullshit and then snatch it away. But it also creates this real tonal complexity, a certain discomfort based on the self-perception/self-actualization gaps, and to hear the earnest and well-meaning and high-flung and arrogant narrators she so loves to craft get themselves in trouble and dig themselves out again creates a wild emotional ride, made even crazier by the fact that you feel it in real time. There’s one section about a man’s time with opera singers that, despite featuring some of the same things I’m drawn to here, drags on about ten pages too long, but otherwise this is On the Road for anyone who once loved and then grew disillusioned with On the Road.
one of my favorite books judging by how often i think about it. I read it in 2019 and would like to do so again soon. a sprawling world packed into a modestly sized book. i suspect you could read the chapters out of order but that’s not saying the story’s disjointed
This book is brilliant. And I truly mean by that statement that this book was crafted from a mind with an intelligence several standard deviations above the average. Undoubtedly. I can't remember the last book I read where each and every sentence required so much of my attention because they were crafted with such attention and necessity and then double-fried in a boiling vat of wit. She captured with satirical PERFECTION, with these obtuse sentences, the psychological motivations and musings of a contemporary musician. Knowing that Pamela Lu works like that, that she can fabricate a character who thinks like this, I know this: I want to spend days and days with her, listening to her thoughts, if only to be in her orbit (knowing I'd be dull company for her, unable to keep pace -- not only with her vast vocabulary but her insightful grasp on the world in all its facets -- from politics to pop culture to personality psychology). I can turn to any page in this book, no need for deep searching to pull an example -- as I will right now -- to offer evidence of these complex (and mind-blowing!) sentence configurations:
"Born parenthetical subjects of a myopic regime, we strived to represent an unspoken sensibility, a nascent and covert counterculture -- not the part of the culture that catered to us, but the part that ached, hungry for the dismantling of the complacencies that made daily life bearable but false. But first we had to relinquish the fantasies of the tragic solo artist and rock-'n'-roll suicide. We had to resist the urge to equate ironic lyrics with political protest and nihilistic ballads with revolution." (p. 35)
The reason I gave it four stars rather than five (though note: I did put it on my 'Top Shelf') is because it was a laborious read. It was challenging and exhausting -- as it HAD to be to make this character so perfectly convincing. (It also took me so long to read it because I began it as an ebook. Once the hardcopy arrived in the mail, my pace picked up. I do loathe ebooks.)
I read this book concentrating most specifically on the theme of 'infrastructure' over others that might be highlighted within it and I think keeping my mind conscious of that thread amplified the meaning and intent of this book. Viewing this book from the lens of turning our minds on to the infrastructure around us (that we make use of daily but without conscious acknowledgement of) gave a profundity to the character (who was, arguably, psychologically woke to the ambience but less so to his own self) and message of this book, both.
I wanted to pretend the band was just one crazy person with delusions of grandeur, but then members departed, which sure seems like an actual band.
This is tedious in a way I did not expect. I didn’t expect straightforward narrative from something titled “Ambient Parking Lot” that “follows a band of musicians as they wander the parking structures of urban downtown and greater suburbia in quest of the ultimate ambient noise,” but the word ‘quest’ implies some sort of action/narrative. Also, the word “saga” is used on the back cover.
Does anyone take themselves so seriously? But also, this is meant to be mocking, right? Tonally, comes out messy.
The satire could be accomplished much better in a short story.
A lot of this is written quite well too: “we affixed price tags to stacks of identical T-shirts waiting to outfit the youth of America.” Which is more frustrating than the overall structure. There’s enough good to make me keep reading, but not enough to make me happy.
These new perspective/different narrator chapters should be a welcome change of pace, but this is equally tedious.
I think the absurdity of the self-serious and aggrandizing voice of the narrator is fantastic. I think that the last paragraph of the book serves as not only a perfect ending, but also a perfect mission statement for what the novel's absurdity points out. Art is worthless, and self-aggrandizing art is worth less than that. I don't know if it's the timing of my reading or what, but I just couldn't connect with what was happening. Conceptually, the book is fantastic, I just didn't feel tied to anything happening. The book is witty, it's smart, it's funny, I just don't think I'm maybe all in on the joke. I think the lack of any drama kind of pulled me out of it as well. There weren't really any peaks or valleys and there was no place for suspense. I just felt half-way in the entire reading.
Silence is golden and sometimes shutting up is the smartest thing to say. Amid the mechanized racket of capitalism’s perpetually accelerating decline and the migraine-inducing din of the art world’s endless puffery who can blame Pamela Lu for wanting a little peace and quiet? But the entertainment of reading someone yell “It’s all shit!” starts to wane at about page 20, and pretty much depletes itself by page 40, so it’s a real shame that Ambient Parking Lot goes on for another 150 after that.
Quite a remarkable experience. Packs a lot into a short book. Some reviews and the back cover blurb comment on the sneering tone it sometimes adopts, but there is a real care and tenderness through the whole thing, which is extremely compelling. Zooms, scales and travels in weird ways that I've never read in another work. Sometimes the language feels a bit detached or indelicate but I think the stylistic textures it presents mesh very well.
Excellent 2000s hipster anthropology. This Is Spinal Tap meets the Beat poets meets the most annoying Godspeed You! Black Emperor fan you know. 3/5 because it’s about twice as long as it should be.
Thursday Afternoon, one of Brian Eno's (many, many) albums, is a single track running about an hour, consisting of sporadically plinked piano keys sprinkled over a cloud of continuous sound, which might be strings or a wind instrument or something else entirely. It is the finest album of its kind--ambient perfection.
Pamela Lu's Ambient Parking Lot reflects the loose structure and peculiar composition of that album (which is also a perfect reading companion). The plot follows the Ambient Parkers, an ambiguously genre'd group of musicians who traverse across American urban landscapes. They record the sounds of parking lots, collaborate with dancers to create a torturous performance piece, grappling with a need to find their sound and stick with it.
Lu is a tremendously talented writer. She skilfully balances a tone of ironic condescension towards her pretentious main characters ('Like resident convicts, we marked the passing of our school days') with poetic prose, a sincere celebration of music and artistic dedication ('As the concert progressed, her mouth became a kind of cavern from which she projected an ancient noise, half-ruined and half-holy').
The majority of the book is written from the rarely used 'We' pronoun, as if it were penning a manifesto. This causes the band to merge into one character, whose presence is determined by their singular vision. It feels jarring at first but it becomes trance-like and almost addictive. Lu handles it in a way that proves few other writers could. A few sections including a lengthy letter from a music critic, a radio interview and a hilarious section in which a detective jots down the every move of a distrustful band member provide a break from the style, but each section communicated to readers by the Ambient Parkers.
Occasionally Lu's prose is wordy and feels empty, especially when she heaps adjectives onto a concept revealed to be shallow when its unearthed. Moments like this are saved by its cynical tone, serving as a reminder that this novel doesn't take itself as seriously as it might appear.
Though the aggressive, urbanised sounds of the Ambient Parkers might reflect drone-ambient artist Tim Hecker (with a dash of Radiohead for good, socially conscious measure) its prose is a literary sibling of Eno's ambient works. This is a novel entirely in its own league, and Lu is as strange and iconoclastic as any artist ought to be.
Pamela Lu is such a good writer that it's easy to forgive her for her long bouts of taking the piss out of her main characters... and for the strange fact that nearly all the musical vocabulary/lingo in this book is used wrong. (It's so consistently just-slightly-wrong that I wonder if she's doing it on purpose.)
As with Pamela: A Novel, I read it delightedly and was perplexed pleasantly more often than unpleasantly. And the two long chapters of this book (one a letter, one an interview) create a really interesting formal friction with the prevailing parade of predecessor-negating paragraphs.
I really didn't set out to alliterate like that. It just happened.
How could a person have written this scripture I think it exists as a separate world somewhere we just have to find it Ambient Parking Lot
The summary on the back seemed contrived, but then I finished reading the book and it makes Perfect Sense
THE AMBIENT BARKERS, one of the highlights of the book: "Our scouts were locked in a standoff with a gang of student activists who were wielding baguettes baked in the shape of peace signs."
8.3/10 The sheer absurdity of Pamela Lu’s mockumentary on making music from the sounds of light traffic and finding success in it is enough to warrant a recommendation. It’s the humor and tenacity of the novel that pushes it into greatness.