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New York Times Bestselling Author Chuck Klosterman's First Novel
Somewhere in North Dakota, there is a town called Owl that isn't there. Disco is over, but punk never happened. They don't have cable. They don't really have pop culture, unless you count grain prices and alcoholism. People work hard and then they die. They hate the government and impregnate teenage girls. But that's not nearly as awful as it sounds; in fact, sometimes it's perfect.
Mitch Hrlicka lives in Owl. He plays high school football and worries about his weirdness, or lack thereof. Julia Rabia just moved to Owl. She gets free booze and falls in love with a self-loathing bison farmer who listens to Goats Head Soup. Horace Jones has resided in Owl for seventy-three years. He consumes a lot of coffee, thinks about his dead wife, and understands the truth. They all know each other completely, except that they've never met.
Like a colder, Reagan-era version of The Last Picture Show fused with Friday Night Lights, Chuck Klosterman's Downtown Owl is the unpretentious, darkly comedic story of how it feels to exist in a community where rural mythology and violent reality are pretty much the same thing. Loaded with detail and unified by a (very real) blizzard, it's technically about certain people in a certain place at a certain time...but it's really about a problem. And the problem is this: What does it mean to be a normal person? And there is no answer. But in Downtown Owl, what matters more is how you ask the question.
275 pages, Paperback
Published June 23, 2009
I hadn't read any Klosterman prior to this, but he's one of those authors who seems to keep popping up via quotes or peripheral glances at other people's bookshelves, so you know, why not?
It's not bad stuff. As I'm sure is the generic description of his style, he goes the Carver/Hemingway route, which I guess is the kind of reference one is somehow compelled to make when one encounters a relatively laconic author. But yeah, Klosterman excels at describing things via a series of evocative omissions, so inside the descriptive gaps, you actually end up with a spectral, negative projection of things. It's nice - like a good, slow-burning curry.
The only real issue I have with this book is the persistence of what I can only think to call the intrusive mass cultural narrator. I mean, ok, this story is supposed to be taking place in the mid eighties. The act of evoking time and place here is sort of messed with by the aforementioned parsimony of descriptive narration. The fix for that seems to be to just randomly throw in quick, shallow references to a lot of low-hanging mass cultural moments (although, ok, ten points to the bearded gentleman for managing to mention Metal Machine Music). None of this seems really organically related to the story itself. A quick substitution of references and all of a sudden you've got a story happening in 1974 instead of 1984.
Otherwise, it's swell.