One of Carl Van Vechten's most intriguing, ironic novels: The long-unprinted book is considered an authentic portrait of the 1920s and explores the eternal search for happiness
First published in 1925, Firecrackers centers around Paul Moody, a man who finds his life utterly tedious and uneventful in New York City. However, that is until he encounters the mysterious, yet exuberant, Gunnar O'Grady.
Moody tries to uncover the mystery of his young friend, while also desperately seeking his own purpose in the world. Though, little does he know that his life and the lives of those around him are about to be changed forever.
Humorous, poignant, and ironic, Firecrackers boldly stands as one of the most definitive portraits on the excesses and recklessness of the Jazz Age.
Bruce Kellner, "Successor Trustee" to the Estate of Carl Van Vechten, says the republication of Firecrackers is important, because the book "bolsters our understanding of [the twenties]" and "comes closest to depicting the Jazz Age in all its variety."
The book also uniquely explores the true meaning of happiness and the eternal search for self-identity, through humorous, thoughtful, and often poignant characters. Though, Kellner believes what makes Firecrackers truly unique is that the book "anticipates the frantic desperation . . . when the stock market crash brought the twenties to a thudding halt."
Carl van Vechten (B.A., University of Chicago, 1903) was a photographer, music-dance critic, novelist, and patron of the Harlem Renaissance who served as literary executor for Gertrude Stein.
Van Vechten was among the most influential literary figures of the 1910s and 1920s. He began his career in journalism as a reporter, then in 1906 joined The New York Times as assistant music critic and later worked as its Paris correspondent. His early reviews are collected in Interpreters and Interpretations (1917 and 1920) and Excavations: A Book of Advocacies (1926). His first novel, Peter Whiffle (1922), a first-person account of the salon and bohemian culture of New York and Paris and clearly drawn from Van Vechten's own experiences, and was immensely popular. His most controversial work of fiction is Nigger Heaven (1926), notable for its depiction of black life in Harlem in the 1920s and its sympathetic treatment of the newly emerging black culture.
In the 1930s, Van Vechten turned from fiction to photography. His photographs are in collections at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and elsewhere. An important literary patron, he established the James Weldon Johnson Collection of Negro Arts and Letters at Yale.
Edmund Wilson ("The Twenties") refers to the Vogue of Van Vechten, which repped the epitome of sophistication, like the decade itself. This merriment -- well, merry to me, perverse to you --suggests a comic ballet by Jerome Robbins, with music by Satie. Published 1925 (same year as "Gatsby" & "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes") it chronicles love's labor of Upper Bohemians, glands on overtime, as they pursue a studly figure -- waiter, florist, acrobat, repairman. A strangely detached fellow, everybody pursues him, nobody catches him. The youngest of the lot, Consuelo, a lost child who wears sable and orchids, sobs on the last page: "I can't bear to lose him again." Elinor Wylie, deep sigh, found the book, despite its veneer of frivolity, "almost unbearably tragic."
CVV has the virtues of a Restoration writer - he refuses to assume a reverent attitude toward the ideals of life -- along with a gift for brittle irony. Always you'll find a shot of poignancy. Upon finishing this novel, his fourth of seven, he wrote Mabel Dodge Luhan, "My intention is to create moods, to awaken unconscious echoes of the past, to render shadows their real importance. My books are about a man who is alone in the world and very sad." Here he shows that life itself is insecure and incomplete. People are undependable and unreasonable. Further, morality changes with fashions of the day.
With continuing characters like charming layabout Paul Moody, now supported by a stout, rich wife who loves pudding, and the glamorous socialite Campaspe Lorillard, both fr "The Blind Bow-Bow" (1923), and "The Tattooed Countess" herself (1924), now in her late 70s who is given a death scene that reminded Carl Van Doren of a ghastly Goya image, CVV says you must think of people in terms of a packet of firecrackers. You ignite the first and soon you have a series of crackling detonations.
The mysterious chap who fires up hearts expresses the novel's theme and makes CVVs personal statement : "I desire complete freedom. What is there to do in life? Conform to the action of the puppets, dull one's perceptions and lead the existence of the majority, an existence which appears to have no meaning--" His plot here is fragmented and lacks cohesion. But the multi-characters at cocktail parties, chasing around NYC and at home are memorable as they realize that "no life is possible which excludes sex." (CVV himself was married to an actress for 50 years and had an open series of same-sex lovers). "I write about what I know, in the way I feel about it." A popular tastemaker, he wrote with utmost discretion, which surely explains some of the shaded melancholy. The show, his show, must always go on: behold the understanding Mrs Lorillard, in her drawing-room wearing a silver gown, waiting for arriving guests and hoping cook hasn't forgotten to put garlic in the lamb. There is always something left to think about.
Initially entertaining but ultimately unrewarding. The story revolves around a mysterious young man with the unlikely name of Gunnar O'Grady who first appears to the gigolo Paul in the guise of a furnace mender, then to the precocious child Consuelo as a florist. Gunnar strikes everyone who meets him as being possessed of deep wisdom, and the socialite Campaspe makes great efforts to find him. Gunnar re-appears as an acrobat, then vanishes entirely. Under his influence Paul starts working as a broker in Wall Street, which at first scares his rich older wife, but in the end pleases her. Consuelo's governesses sets up a successful business with the brothers who used to perform at the music hall with Gunnar. A party is thrown in honor of a celebrated novelist who broke the heart of his older mistress. The lady is question then dies of natural causes in the arms of Campaspe. Campaspe finds that she has fallen in love with Gunnar, whom she barely knows, but when he confesses his love to her, she drops him and he falls for Wintergreen, a provincial ingénue whom Paul has been half-heartedly trying to seduce. The whole thing spins out of control about half-way through and the rapid succession of events in the final chapters makes no sense at all, without having enough manic energy or zany humor to show for it. The only thing I'd say in favor of this book is that its author has a very wide vocabulary and enjoys employing rare words such as: nimiety, tralatitiously, pinguid, subdolous, perpend, edacious, arrive and hyaline. The richness of the English language never stops to delight me, and why should Scrabble nuts have the monopoly on this toy box?
I struggled with this book. Part of me loved it while the other part found it to be dreadful. For starters, you may need your dictionary. Van Vechten uses an impressive vocabulary in the book. I did not find that to be bad, but it does slow you down. You will enjoy learning some new words if you’re like me.
Content wise, I’m still a little torn on who the “main” character is in this story. While everything seems to revolve around O’Grady’s presence in this New York social circle, I do not believe I would call him the main character. You feel as if they all take turns in a way. If I were to pick one character, I felt the closest to Campaspe by the end of the book. I actually grew to like her a lot throughout reading the book. In ways, I aspire to be more like her.
Van Vechten also writes himself into this book. To be honest, I found this off putting and a tad arrogant for the context in which he included himself. I may be the lone believer in this view.
Lastly, I did not care for how the story ends. The ending is characteristic of the Jazz Age, but not my favorite. I was disappointed in nearly all the characters (except the little girl - Consuelo) by the end of the book. Even disappointed in Campaspe who I really liked. Maybe that’s the point - to show the reader how easy it is for us to fall.
I certainly would recommend reading the book to others, but don’t expect to add it to your favorites list. It made me laugh, I was upset over a character’s actions, I felt heartbroken for some, disgust for others, and other emotions. A short read that can inspire all of that has done something right.
I've no idea what Carl Van Vechten was doing with this novel, but maybe that was his point all along. I smirked at the end (a good smirk), so there's that.