Mr. James’s Reviews > Trust Me > Status Update

Getting into the Set: To join The Set, you must purchase the proper garments, wear intricate accessories that hang at all angles, manicure the lawn to 2 inches, and have an iphone 17 nestled in the cockpit of your mercedes. You've followed the instructions: celebrate. As you enter the restaurant you notice that The Set's table is full. So you wait at the bar, sipping at a martini -- waiting your turn.

Poker Night: The poker table has nothing but sharks; late stage throat cancer has Eddie coughing up blood. The players are heedless, being three deep into their Old Fashioneds. Despite the blood on his hand, Eddie throws down a King-high Straight Flush: Suicide King -- winning the pot. Life is good.

Slippage: Men in coral castles sleep soundly as an earthquake rips through the borough below, dismantling wood hovels. A common man with a black beard -- speckled gray -- sees a woman before him. Her sharp jaw and curved body in a wrap dress silhouettes the sun. The earth trembles and begs. His tongue shakes, daring to speak what he always wanted to say. His lips part as the earth swallows him whole.

The Other: Melanie's index finger is missing: birth defect. She looks at a mirror; what stares back is not quite right. The hairline is deep and wide, parting in the center -- revealing a mole; her black hair is frail: lacking sheen. The eyes are red water; a nose is concave -- half moon nostrils slant. She turns and runs, the image follows, outstretching an arm -- waving goodbye.

One Last Interview: The Interviewer is dressed in a fresh cut tailored suit with black and white stripes. It fits perfectly; it will be a sin when smell necessitates the need to strip it from his body. He sees the Actor circling the Walmart parking lot and signals by flapping his arms. As the Actor's car approaches the Interviewer ruminates, "To get the right answers, ask the wrong questions."

The Ideal Village: I inspect your ankles, blood spots run along your thighs, "Piranhas," I say. "No harm," you reply. Your legs fall from my lap, bringing your knees to your chin -- you give them a strong hug, pressing a cheek into your bicep. "We should go for a swim," you say playfully. I poke the fire with a stick, pushing the burning end into the sole of my boot and say, "Not tonight... paradise can wait."

Learn a Trade: Your great paps started it... gave it to my paps, who gave it to me, now it's yours boy. You'll carry well. Be it -- you do what I say. Now take it. Go on, take it. Right. Run, don't look back... no stoppin'. When the blood you carrin' is hot, drink from the bottle. But damn you, don't stop. Not until they find you.

More Stately Mansions: Updike outlines the raw nature of an extramarital affair. The pacing and writing have rhythm, and some of the quotes are cast-iron brands straight out of the fire.

Pygmalion: "Trade. Why be satisfied? Look. New man, new..." he pauses to adjust the notch on his belt, "Mr. J, you wonder, Is it a poor handler? Don't know, haven't driver. The system still brings bass, bone breaker, blast it: Doors and GNR. You want to; I know. I see. Don't hesitate. Trust me. What you're getting = same, but now... the engine laughs: no yawning aloud."

Deaths of Distant Friends: The narrator recounts the death of three friends: One through leisurely golf outings, another with an ex-wife by his side, and lastly, the death of his broken down mongrel; all of which show the recurrence of loss throughout life. These deaths are not received with grief, however, but with... happiness.