THE FIRST BAD MAN by Miranda July (Scribner), 288 pages, $29.99 cloth. Rating: N
Miranda July’s first novel is funny – in its second sentence. After which it careens downhill and hits bottom so hard it gets buried in its own bullshit.
Forty-something single woman Cheryl Glickman, who works at a women’s self-defence org called Open Palm, has two abiding obsessions: Phillip, the septuagenarian she’s hot for, and Kubelko Bondy, the baby she loves but which doesn’t really exist except in her delusion that he inhabits the soul of every baby she comes in contact with. Cheryl also has her life organized in such a compulsive way that even the smallest disruption can be catastrophic.
Enter Clee, the daughter of Cheryl’s two bosses, who’s forced on her as a roommate and upends her ordered life in a big way. Clee’s stinky, cruel and useless around the house. Suddenly, she and Cheryl are playing a quasi-sexual, violent (consensual) adult game that takes their relationship to a new level.
Phillip, in the meantime, wants Cheryl to approve his sexual bond with a 16-year-old girl. This, during Cheryl and Clee’s adult play, triggers a series of sexual fantasies involving Phillip or Cheryl’s therapists, who, incidentally, have never seen a boundary they’re not prepared to cross.
The whole thing is not be believed, but that’s probably what July has in mind. It strikes me as an extended joke, and a lot of people have taken the bait. Critics are creaming all over it, touting July’s edgy characters, groundbreaking strategies and unique voice, while celebrities, including Lena Dunham, have given it their unequivocal approval.
For what? Though Open Palm offers a rich area, there’s no satire, unless you think being vicious to an unlovable loser qualifies. July milks the Phillip fantasy for its fundamentally disappointing payoff, but Erica Jong did the same thing with the zipless fuck over 40 years ago, so no ground broken there.
As for Dunham’s recommendation, Girls features equally unlikeable characters, but at least their conversations seem real. I’ve searched in vain for a single line of authentic dialogue in this novel.
Every once in a while – like maybe three times – July shows flashes of brilliance that recall the creative filmmaker who gave us You And Me And Everyone We Know. But they just make this lazy exercise all the more infuriating.
Don’t be fooled.
July appears at a sold-out event at the Reference Library Thursday (January 29). See Readings.
susanc@nowtoronto.com | @susangcole
