Erasure

Erasure by Percival Everett (2001) Even though he’s published around 25 novels, I had never heard of Percival Everett until I saw Dr. No (2022) set out at a bookstore, which got my attention (as a Bond fan)—and then set out, as a recommendation, at the library—which reminded me to see what it was all about (hooray for bookstores and libraries). I liked it so much, its sense of humor and perspective, I decided to overwhelm myself trying to deicide which one to read next. But then I heard they were making a movie (American Fiction) based on this one, Erasure, from 2001. I’m always interested in the challenge of adaptation, and it makes sense to me to read the book first. I didn’t like it quite as much as Dr. No, but I liked it a lot. There’s a lot here (more than can be contained in a movie), but ultimately, I thought the filmmakers made really good choices—and especially, in my opinion, pulled off the hardest feat—a really, really good ending. The other reason I really wanted to read the book is that it’s about an unsuccessful author of literary fiction—and there is no more attractive subject matter for me. I am not going to summarize (especially the movie—I don’t even watch trailers)—seeing it without knowing much about it would be ideal. I would recommend this book, and now I want to read another of Everett’s—got to decide which one. One thing about the book that particularly fascinated me—well, brought up a question I can’t answer—is how he dealt with the novel within a novel—the character’s stereotypical take on clichéd urban Black fiction whose subsequent popularity spirals out of control. He inserts the whole (short) book in the novel—and within one page you “get” it—and paging ahead, I thought, wow, he really went for it—but I don’t have to read this whole thing, do I? But I’m kind of a “have to read every word” person, so I forged ahead, and the weird thing was, I ended up getting caught up in the story. I suppose that’s the power of narrative—or maybe I was essentially implicated as the type of culture consumer he’s criticizing. Or maybe Everett pulled a kind of sleight-of-hand, starting it out pretty reprehensible, but gradually improving its literary quality to keep you going. I really don’t know, but I love those kinds of questions.

3.3.24