The Verificationist
Donald Antrim. Vintage Books (Random House) New York. 2001.
I read the back blurb and my heart stopped becuase it was the idea for a novel that I'd had myself back in the early 90's but never had the dedication to complete: a novel about a cadre of psychotherapists who convene to dish on each other academically. Personally, I feel that to be truly American you must have gone through some sort of psychoanalysis during your adult (or even teenage - and some in their PRE-teen!) life; I mean, if there' s one thing Americans love is talking about themselves and their problems. We even pay good money to do so!
Which, of course, leads most of us to be armchair therapists. Who these days HASN'T called one of their co-workers OCD or Bipolar? Regardless, I think each of us who's gone through some hours on the couch could probably write a little ditty about the pshrinks and pretty much have a darn good time with it.
The Verificationist does just that. They get together at an IHOP (only in the book it's simply a "pancake house") which is a good setting for the story, told from POV one man who has a psychotic breakdown when he tries to start a food fight, about oh 8 pages into the book - another pshrink lifts him off the floor and he remains there for the rest of the novel - having his complete break with reality, replete with memories, fantasies, hallucinations, etc.
The book is very self-aware (as any good book about pshrinks should be) and our "hero" knows exactly what kind of breakdown he's having even as he's having it and is unable to stop it. The book also touches on everything that a good series of sessions touches on (except, strangely enough, his MOTHER - hmmmmmm, I wonder that that could mean!): sexual relationships (including homoerotic), self-awareness, societal facade vs inward personality, and more.
Personally, I thought the final hallucination at the Historical Revolutionary Battle Site was both tender and dark, probably the best scene in the book - and a complete hallucination.
All in all, the style seemed to resemble that of Robert Coover (although with apologies to Antrim, Coover is, IMHO, the grand master of this style!) and it also for some strange reason reminds me of Kafka. Maybe the mention of the mole pattern on the waitress's neck reminding him of a dog from some Surrealist painting, I don't know.
Anyway, I'd have to say that there are some scenes that appear forced, some descriptions that are awkward, some plotting that speeds-up/slows down - apparently unnecessarily, so, while not the most well-written book, it is still a fine read and very entertaining.
VG
I read the back blurb and my heart stopped becuase it was the idea for a novel that I'd had myself back in the early 90's but never had the dedication to complete: a novel about a cadre of psychotherapists who convene to dish on each other academically. Personally, I feel that to be truly American you must have gone through some sort of psychoanalysis during your adult (or even teenage - and some in their PRE-teen!) life; I mean, if there' s one thing Americans love is talking about themselves and their problems. We even pay good money to do so!
Which, of course, leads most of us to be armchair therapists. Who these days HASN'T called one of their co-workers OCD or Bipolar? Regardless, I think each of us who's gone through some hours on the couch could probably write a little ditty about the pshrinks and pretty much have a darn good time with it.
The Verificationist does just that. They get together at an IHOP (only in the book it's simply a "pancake house") which is a good setting for the story, told from POV one man who has a psychotic breakdown when he tries to start a food fight, about oh 8 pages into the book - another pshrink lifts him off the floor and he remains there for the rest of the novel - having his complete break with reality, replete with memories, fantasies, hallucinations, etc.
The book is very self-aware (as any good book about pshrinks should be) and our "hero" knows exactly what kind of breakdown he's having even as he's having it and is unable to stop it. The book also touches on everything that a good series of sessions touches on (except, strangely enough, his MOTHER - hmmmmmm, I wonder that that could mean!): sexual relationships (including homoerotic), self-awareness, societal facade vs inward personality, and more.
Personally, I thought the final hallucination at the Historical Revolutionary Battle Site was both tender and dark, probably the best scene in the book - and a complete hallucination.
All in all, the style seemed to resemble that of Robert Coover (although with apologies to Antrim, Coover is, IMHO, the grand master of this style!) and it also for some strange reason reminds me of Kafka. Maybe the mention of the mole pattern on the waitress's neck reminding him of a dog from some Surrealist painting, I don't know.
Anyway, I'd have to say that there are some scenes that appear forced, some descriptions that are awkward, some plotting that speeds-up/slows down - apparently unnecessarily, so, while not the most well-written book, it is still a fine read and very entertaining.
VG
posted by Verble Gherulous | 2:48 PM
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