If he didn’t telegraph his novel as fiction in the title, most readers, me included, might scramble to Google to find out more about the enigmatic Ms. Geffel. This is a testament to David Hajdu’s clever presentation. He disguises his narrative as oral history using multiple interviews about, but never from, his subject. The latter comes about because he stipulates at the outset that she mysteriously disappears at age 26 following a brief period of celebrity in the SoHo avant-garde music scene. On one level, Hajdu gives us the fascinating biography of a talented and troubled eclectic pianist and composer, who serves as the archetype for all of those other troubled and exploited artists whose tragic lives have been chronicled in musical biographies. One is reminded of the 27 club—those artists who experienced moments in the spotlight only to die at that young age, including Joplin, Hendrix, Cobain, Morrison, and Winehouse. Indeed, Hajdu seems to be posing a larger question: can great art be created by someone who is happy? On another level, he gives us a humorous take-down of the music industry and the self-involved people who inhabit it.
Hajdu’s plot is chronological starting with Adrianne’s childhood as a musical savant who hums along to tunes in her head that reflect her emotional state but clash dramatically when ambient music intervenes. In high school, she meets her lifelong true friend and partner, Barbara Lucher. Eventually she finds her way to Julliard, an institution that fails to nurture her talent and does not escape Hajdu’s biting satire. He portrays this renowned musical mecca as an old boy’s network where the faculty are deep into self-promotion and the students are only “required to practice their instruments, and beyond that, to be breathing.” During a brief period in a mental institution, Adrianne meets the second important influence in her life, a strange visual artist with the revealing moniker of Ann Athema. Ann’s non-existent art is beyond weird. Think of the emperor’s new clothes, and you will have it. This savvy friend recognizes Adrianne’s genius, consisting of “outbursts so vital, so mind-rattling, soul-fuckingly extreme that they burst out and fly straight through you and out of your room.” One can’t help but think of Hendrix’s rendition of the “Star-spangled Banner.” Ann helps Adrianne navigate the treacherous NY art scene; a milieu filled with short-sighted, manipulative self-promoters. Hajdu skewers everyone with his velvet blade. The despicable Biran Zervakis stands apart in this rogue’s gallery as a conniving promoter who excels in evasiveness, dishonesty, and smarminess. He masquerades as Adrianne’s friend but reveals himself as the ultimate self-promoter.
Hajdu is clearly well-acquainted with avant-garde art and criticism. He has delivered a canny and entertaining satire portraying the dark side of the music scene. One comes away with fresh insights into all of those tragic biographies of the members of Club 27. The wonder of Hajdu’s creation is that Adrianne ironically loses her musical appeal when she finds happiness but in so doing avoids the fates of her fellow club members.