‘Vernon God Little’ by DBC Pierre is such a bitter bitter satire! I think this novel delivers the strongest high-end literary acerbic social commentary, in fact, powerful lemon-sucking strong commentary, on contemporary small-town life and cable news media I have ever read in my lifetime! But somehow there still is a lot of emotional warmth underlying the takedown!
Pierre won The Man Booker Prize of 2003 for ‘Vernon God Little’.
It’s a tight, fast-paced plot written all in fun. A rollicking comedy-drama! And a solid-gold wordplay tour de force! And best of all, emotions are not left behind in all of the high-powered literary Artistry.
Fifteen-year-old Vernon God Little finds himself convicted of murder in the eyes of his community, Martirio, Texas, looooooong before any investigation begins. Sixteen kids are shot dead by Vernon’s best friend Jesus on a schoolyard. Everybody knew Vernon and Jesus hung out together. Vernon inadvertently piles wood on the fire because of some statements he makes and a guilty demeanor. At least, that is how his actions seem to the neighbors, the authorities, his mother and her friends, and a TV repairman, Eulalio (Lally) Ledesma (TV repairman - symbolic, yes?). Lally masquerades as a cable news journalist and intensifies the town’s reactions through slanted reporting. This makes him a star reporter courted by CNN! Lilly’s video footage elevates the town’s suspicions of Vernon as a co-killer with Jesus.
When the police come for Vernon, he takes off for Mexico. Miraculously, he gets by border checks, but hello, he’s only fifteen, he has no money and he doesn’t know what the frick he is doing. Well. Things go way south (many puns intended - sex acts too). He isn’t free for long.
What happens to Vernon is a horrible miscarriage of justice, but the author squeezes the lemony goodness of satire down to a pulp(y) sh*tstorm. Laughing and crying at the same time, I found I couldn’t put the book down.
The artful use of language by the author is a writing gem! He takes writing to the furthest ends of what is possible using English as a playground of words.
Opening paragraph:
“It’s hot as hell in Martirio, but the papers on the porch are icy with the news. Don’t even try to guess who stood all Tuesday night in the road. Clue: snotty ole Mrs. Lechuga. Hard to tell if she quivered, or if moths and porchlight through the willows ruffled her skin like funeral satin in a gale. Either way, dawn showed a puddle between her feet. It tells you normal times just ran howling from town. Probably forever. God knows I tried my best to learn the ways of this world, even had inklings we could be glorious; but after all that’s happened, the inkles ain’t easy anymore. I mean - what kind of fucken life is this?”
Sample of a description:
“A shimmer rises off the hood of Pam’s ole Mercury. Martirio’s tight-assed buildings quiver through it, oil pumpjacks melt and sparkle along the length of of Gurie Street. Yeah: oil, jackrabbits, and Guries are what you find in Martirio. This was once the second-toughest town in Texas, after Luling. Whoever got beat up in Luling must’ve crawled over here. These days our toughest thing is congestion at the drive-thru on a Saturday night. I can’t say I’ve seen too many places, but I’ve studied this one close and the learnings must be the same; all the money, and folk’s interest in fixing things, parade around the center of town, then spread outwards in a dying wave. Healthy girls skip around the middle in whiter-than-white panties, then regions of shorts and cotton prints radiate out to the edges, where tangled babes hang in saggy purple underwear. Just a broken ole muffler shop on the outskirts; no more sprinklers, no more lawns.”
Scene during Vernon’s interrogation:
“A knock at the door saves my Nikes from fusing. A wooden hairdo pokes into the room. “”Vernon Little in here? His ma’s on the phone.””
“”All right, Eileena.”” [Deputy] Gurie shoots me a stare that says ‘Don’t relax’ and points her bone at the door. I follow the wooden lady to reception.
I’d be fucken grateful, if it wasn’t my ole lady calling. Between you and me, it’s like she planted a knife in my back when I was born, and now every fucken noise she makes just gives it a turn. It cuts even deeper now that my daddy ain’t around to share the pain. My shoulders round up when I see the phone, my mouth drops open like, duh. Here’s exactly what she’ll say, in her fuck-me-to-a-cross whimper, she’ll say, “”Vernon, are you all right?”” I guarantee it.
“”Vernon, are you okay?”” Feel the blade chop and dice.”
The wordplay holds up from first paragraph to the last. Reader, I was in heaven. Ecstatic doesn’t begin to describe my happiness with this novel’s inventive word wit and sentence construction. I lost the plot many times in my appreciation. But oh my, the plot is genius, too. I want to read the book again, for certain.
I highly recommend this forgotten, even buried, jewel of a novel. However, a reader’s knowledge of English and American culture needs to be very deep to decipher sentences as creatively innovative as in this book.