Jay McInerney- Bright Lights, Big City

Bright Lights, Big City

Bloomsbury

 Jay McInerney

1984

“You have friends who actually care about you and speak the language of the inner self. You have avoided them of late. Your soul is as disheveled as your apartment, and until you can clean it up a little you don't want to invite anyone inside.”

The seminal, decade-defining short novel Bright Lights, Big City was something I knew almost absolutely nothing about at the time of purchase, other than it was cheap (from HMV, in their obligatory 'look how cool and educated we are in an edgy way' book corner) and had plenty of quotes on the back designed to sell this book as a seminal, decade-defining short novel that's absolutely definitely necessary for any serious (yet edgy) novel reader. I totally bought that, so I bought it. Luckily, in the case of this book there was perfect truth in advertising, leaving me with a story composed with plenty of style and a good amount of substance.

The write the book entirely in the second person, as illustrated in the italicised quote above. For me specifically, it could easily have been a negative deal-breaker. After all, I'm someone who hates things like intentionally bad grammar (Cormac McCarthy, I'm looking at you) and other such postmodern text structure, and can rarely ever deal with present-tense text (which this is) because it's generally just stupid. As I began reading, I had serious doubts as to whether I'd be able to persevere, but somehow the second person perspective combined with the tense to make something much more readable, to the extent it also combined with the subject matter (and short length of the novel) to actually make the whole experience far more enjoyable.

 

Obligatory black and white author photo.

The main plot isn't ground-breaking or inspiring in terms of unexpected twists or ideas, instead it feels very familiar. The unnamed narrator (well, unless you count 'You' as a name) is an aspiring writer and downbeat editor living in Manhattan in the then-present, and who spends much of his time hoovering up an obscene amount of cocaine. McInerney throws the reader into the deep end in this regard, beginning the book with a coked-up narrator painting the town red and freaking out bystanders at some nothing-club. At first I didn't know what to make of it; there's a cliched feel to it, inspired as it probably was by alt-classics like Burroughs' Naked Lunch and Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The cocaine speciality offers a specific buzz to the narration, but it hardly stood out to me; it's good, well-constructed prose, but considering the company it aims for doesn't improve upon it; though that shouldn't be considered an insult with such revered company.

As the plot developed, McInerney slowly introduces the reader to more and more aspects of the narrator's past, and it was through the careful pacing and believable introspection that I really began to enjoy Bright Lights and appreciate it among the pantheon of notable American literature. The drug-fueled, fast-paced and abrupt sentences are reminiscent of Charles Bukowski, but the distinct presentation made me think of the tones of Kurt Vonnegut (specifically Slaughterhouse Five, for some reason). The feel of the city, though, was, thanks to my pop culture favourites, far more familiar to me than earlier authors. The increasing helplessness and panic of the narrator feels believable and constrictive, and when the psychological reasoning offered by insights into his past come to light, Bright Lights, Big City comes full-circle from the almost unintelligible ramblings of the opening chapter to a similar ending powered by a more complex character study.

I have to heartily recommend this novel to explorers of 20th century US fiction, especially if you like Bukowksi, Pynchon, or Palahniuk (Fight Club seems heavily influenced by this regarding style and mood). It's brevity ensures the style doesn't grate, but there's plenty of substance to contemplate too. I'll check out more from McInerney in the future,