A Book Worth Reading

I spend so much time pining for new books by my favorite authors that when they are finally released, it becomes depressing to think that I am suddenly right back where I started: waiting (at least) two years for the next one.

And so it begins for me this morning with Chuck Klosterman.

For those not familiar with Klosterman, I suggest you start with his 2003 pop culture essay collection Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs to really get a feel for who he is as a thinker and a writer. For my part, when I first read SD&C, I was blown away by the way he unabashedly used vapid pop cultural touchstones as filters through which to make hugely insightful points about the human condition.

Here, in his latest, The Visible Man, Klosterman is taking his second stab at fiction. While I have yet to read his debut novel, Downtown Owl, I think it is safe to say that Klosterman has found his voice as a novelist. The Visible Man is highly engaging, and the insights he makes about human nature are dizzyingly thought provoking.

The book is about a therapist who finds herself treating a patient with a very unique situation: he, a former governmental scientist, has access to a “cloaking” suit that renders him invisible. Now, clearly the convention of an “invisible man” has been used countless times; but not like this. Klosterman uses his invisible character to act as a social scientist, a man interested in viewing human nature in its natural state (i.e. alone). Klosterman’s character (“Y__”) contends that the person we present to everyone– even our family and spouses– is not the real us. The real us is the person we are when no one’s watching. Therefore, it’s fascinating to watch Klosterman’s camera enter the rooms of those who don’t know someone is observing them.

Meanwhile, Y__, atop being invisible, is also deliciously smart. He is constantly whipping out original insights and witticisms that would never occur to the average person.

For instance, consider this: when speaking of a mercurial man he spent time observing, the invisible man (“Y__”) says to Vicki, his therapist, that everyone in North America is crazy; he tells her this is an inescapable, unarguable fact, seeing as it’s in our DNA. After not understanding what he means, Y__ tells Vicki that, outside of the slaves brought over against their will, those who came west to America  can be divided into only 4 categories: (1) those who were so fanatical about their religion that they were willing to risk their lives for it, (2) those who were so money hungry that they saw an ability to make a fortune, (3) those who were running from trouble, and (4) those who were so miserable they thought a potentially deadly trip would add excitement to their lives. He explains that anyone well-adjusted and capable of living a content life never considered leaving Europe to begin with.

I found this a fascinating thought, and the book is full of interesting nuggets like this.

Ultimately, the story closes well and, despite the fact that Klosterman uses Y’s therapy sessions with Vicky as the overarching framing device for the narrative, the book still manages to resolve itself in a satisfying way. Not an easy feat for a novelist.

So, if finding yourself at the bookstore this weekend, I suggest you flip through The Visible Man (or Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs) and see if you think Klosterman might be right for you. Meanwhile, for my part, I will begin my two year wait for his next offering.