Last
year when I blogged The Day of the Locusts by Nathanael West, my
recommendation was a no. I did, however, qualify that critique by indicating I
would still read his better-known novel, Miss Lonelyhearts, before writing
him off. Earlier this week I did so, fortunately it was a short novel therefore
not too much of my time was wasted.
I fail
to understand those who “appreciate” West’s work. Both novels were coarse and poorly
written, his overview of life is a sad commentary as a style. West is to
American literature, what “shock jock” talk shows are to radio … if you have
nothing to say, say it loudly and profanely.
Miss
Lonelyhearts concerns a newspaper reporter, male, who writes the paper’s advice
column. There is, or should I say could have been, a lot that one could work
with on that subject, West broached it then failed miserably. Miss
Lonelyhearts, the columnist gets achingly depressed by his job, ridiculing his readers,
questioning his self-worth. All the while he is ridiculed by his co-workers and
an editor who even hold an intervention to try to reignite his cynicism.
West’s formula
was to build on the stereotype of reporters as hard drinking, chain smoking jerks;
and introducing gross chauvinism and racism, at one point even setting his
characters at their hangout tavern relegating them to telling jokes about gang
raping a female reporter.
That
this race for the bottom mirrors the same format West used in The Day of the
Locusts, leads me to say conclusively, I’ll never read another work by
Nathanael West.
Recommendation:
Absolutely not.
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