‘Ever feel’, the blurb on the back blurbeth, ‘like the only thing trickling down is sewage?’
Oh Yes, I do! Verily I do.
‘Any body who has felt the small, grey ordinary feeling which lies in ambush some mornings and tries to keep you from getting out of bed will enjoy Three Dollars’
Why yes, I’ve felt it, every morning in fact, and not just because London is foggy and grey in winter. Too true, uh hum.
‘Dolour is never far away and Perlman’s rage, rancour, even, is unmistakeable’
Well hallelujah, this be the book for me. A middle aged man wakes up one day with just three dollars in his pocket with his life down the pan. There is innuendo also about the failed social contract, depression, and the legacy of Reagonomics to boot.
Finally, I can feel better by reading about some miserable sod my age who’s been an even bigger failure at negotiating a capraesque life victory. As they say, everyone needs a smaller flea to pick on. I think I just found mine.
............
But No. NO and NO. I’ve been had: there is a legal term for that disingenuous blurb: false advertising: and it carries serious penalties. Whats the matter with Elliot Perlmann, he’s a barrister: he ought to know better.
First off, there is no rancour and rage: why should there be: said middle aged man, Eddie, is living the life of Riley with his beautiful wife and daughter: she is a professor at some university, he is a chemical engineer working for the government: they’ve been together for over twenty years and spend all day philosophising about the state of the economy, green issues, art, cinema, Keynesian economics vs. Libertarian laissez faire policies, some more on moral rectitude when it comes to life principles, and so on and on and on. Now, this simply cannot be true. I am going to check this guy out briefly on wiki...aha, as I suspected: just like a self righteous pontificating catholic priest dispensing advice on conjugals, Perlman happens not to be married . Still, has the man never ventured out in society, eaten out at restaurants: seen and observed those happily married for thirty years plus couples? Do they sit there critiquing the culture of greed in the late 80s as personified by Gekko? Hell, no they do not. They sit quietly and silently, albeit it contentently, eating their blanc mange and coulis, being at their most verbal at ‘ pass the salt phase’, which is now decidedly past, although I have heard some request it even so, just as a conversation piece.
Not that some major decompression doesn’t go down in Three Dollars: but Perlman is hell-bent on making sure his readers never gain the moral high ground. For instance, there is a bit of grey feeling spreading about: but it belongs firmly to Eddie’s wife Tanya, who succumbs to that old malady of middle age: ennui, and basically starts rolling about in bed in a ‘oh look at me woest me’ mode, whilst Eddie does everything in his power, bends over backwards, to make her feel better. Along with a small army composed of her best friend, mother , daughter, and pet caboose, all working in tandem and tiptoe around her. Well, maybe not the caboose, but still....what the hell is this? I am a middle aged woman (I’m pretty sure I am, but who knows, with people living past their sell by date these days) I have ennui, but am I allowed roll around in bed all day whilst a solicitous metro sexual empathetic man feeds me grapes and ambrosia? And a faithful army of sycophants bends with the remover when I tell them to remove? Can I , jeepers. I mean I’d like to. I could use a man just like that: in fact two. Possibly three. No, ok, lets not be too greedy. Two please. And a therapist on the side . Actually, whatever for? Why should I pay good money to have some balding Quasimodo nod all knowing at me? Can I not pay some less qualified but more aesthetically pleasing specimen to do just the same? After I finish this review I might look into dial-a-boy-toy.com
In all this miasma of feel-good-do-good-hug-a-tree tomfoolery, there is one unbelievable scene where Eddie, whose wife has just lost her job, and who appreciates that foreclosure is not a word from the sexual lexicon, basically self ejects from his job in some Pelican Brief super-ethic-hero fit over some potential environmental disaster he can’t stomach, and ends up unemployed along with weepy-myopic Tanya. But t hats OK, because, in the denouement of it all (by all I mean a generic phrase, as nothing much happens in this book really), she gushes all gooey like that ‘we’ll be OK, honey’.
Well, she might be OK, but I feel betrayed. I was supposed to bask in someone elses misery tonight, not listen to some happy clappy sugar coated right on spiel about a couple still talking on the eve of their pearl anniversary. As if.