Noah Cicero's The Condemned is surely one of the most important books of the year. The Second to Be Published by the acclaimed author .. A series of unforgettable images of the Lives, Loves and Hates of many inhabitants of Youngstown Ohio.. Beautiful, Maddening.. Obscenely Funny!
It took me less time to read Cicero's book than it takes to watch a Blockbuster movie. About an hour. It was way cheaper too, since I found it on my friend's bookshelf, placed there by another reader/writer's recommendation. I took the book to the park down the street in Brooklyn and read it sitting alone listening to traffic and Puerto Rican children playing and waiting for the ice cream man.
The first 100 pages are about the days in a life of a pregnant stripper and the people interacting with her. Reading about her life of drugs and misery is a pornographic train wreck, but a compelling one nonetheless. It gives a glimpse of reality that most people try hard not to acknowledge in, perhaps, the avoidance of some chaotic feeling of dread in the face of disparity.
For people who have not experienced poverty, first or second hand, or a look into the life of 'the real working class' (aside from being serviced by them or not exchanging eye contact on the subway) this book will probably make you feel uncomfortable and maybe even read as vulgar, misogynistic, or asinine in some parts.
To others, like me, coming from a small town, witnessing first hand and learning to respect ways in which people survive with tools like drugs, sex, and/or hard work amidst the confusion of Christian conditioning, there's a sad familiarity in identifying with the characters; a familiarity which chips away defense mechanisms tempting to make life easier with subtle, or dramatic, renderings of denial. (It's good to know who we are in order to become better people as a whole, or individually, which also leads to a better whole.)
The rest of Cicero's novel was just as interesting, but not recommended for people who are only into pop radio, or men who spend too much time comparing the girls they date to their mothers.
I know I'm inviting a lot of criticism by saying this, but I think the work of Cicero and similar writers ("new minimalists" or whoever) who always par down the language to the lowest common denominator (instead of, say, the lowest word count) could really benefit from using language that would come closer to saying what they mean. I think Cicero is wise and I think what he has to say is sometimes more nuanced than "Rich people don't love anything," or "But fuck, if you're going go somewhere weird. You should be weird too." Although, I hope these adages soon become "age-old." When his craft catches up to his content, he will be unstoppable.
...And at the moment of my birth, a man came and pointed a gun right at my head. They knew the whole time the gun was there, but they gave birth to me anyway. Because the gun was pointed at their heads also.
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Perhaps prostitution wouldn't exist... [i]f women and men were apprenticed by their parents and society to enjoy sex as an activity, not an institution.
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When a person screams in pain, the actual pain is only half the noise they make. The other half is the terror at being forced to accept that they exist.
My fav of Noah's books I've read so far. Sex, drugs, and money but without any glorification. People without self-esteem, purpose/meaning, or love. Everything seems bleak. The final story, Civilization, is a beautiful montage of hopelessness. I like Noah best when his political/philosophical/whatever content is blended/integrated smoothly with the voices of his characters (it can sound preachy/lecturey when they are more separate). That's what he does here
I liked this because it showed how people without power or money find dignity and pleasure. I particularly liked the parts where Carmen Capri got fucked in the ass and sucked cock.
We lived in Youngstown, Ohio too. It was obvious from the government and economic conditions no one cared how we lived or what we did anyway. So why should we care about our behavior.
I was a little disappointed by this book. If it hadn't been so short (116 pages), I don't think I would have finished it. I'd call it a series of vignettes and monologues, which often focus on sex and/or drugs, and how people with harsh lives must resort to those kinds of things. However, during much of the book, it just felt like episode after episode of the narrator picking up hookers, dudes in adult theaters, etc . . . It just kind of sucked. I think ultimately my problem may have been that the writing just wasn't as good as I thought it would be. Little subtlety or color, and too repetitive. That was probably on purpose, but I think it made for a weaker read.
While I hate to deride any author who makes a serious effort, and try to avoid books not to my tastes, several people I respect recommended this, but I just cannot find the genius alleged within these pages. An extreme minimalist style, one sentence per paragraph, like reportage. She does this. He says that. It's foul and full of the unlikable characters of its namesake. While it does have scattered moments of insight in its brevity, to me it mostly just reads like adolescent misanthropy, relying too much on shock value.
I really wanted to like this book more. Although the subject matter was a little twisted I was surprised and disappointed that the underlying voice was incredibly cliche and I just couldn't get past that.