There comes a point in our lives, when despite our best intentions, time has crumbled away from underneath our feet to land us too far ahead in the future than we had accounted for.
The activities that we had penciled in for ourselves were seemingly swallowed up by other commitments, and although your companions are equally busy, they seem to handle this precarious game of balancing work and “life” rather well. Understandably, you’re still trying to veer your life back onto its original track: so there was no time to read the Pulitzer winner this year. But to make it look like you did (I fully expect you read it in the meantime though out of principle,) here are 10 phrases to help you hold your own in a conversation at a fabulously grand dinner party. You are trying to stitch your social life back together after all, and the invite has been sitting on your coffee table for weeks…
- (You walk into a grand room, a minor royal by your side who is trying to avoid the pearls of sweat glimmering on your forehead.)
“I say, Viscount of Prumfbørg, don’t you think that the mysterious narrator in Less who slowly reveals themselves throughout the novel is no surprise by the denouement? Weren’t you a little confused by the reveal, as Greer made him refer himself in third person to try to prolong the tension?”
A solid start. He did avoid eye contact though, so clearly your tone of voice was a little too keen. A rookie error. Anyway, it is clear that Greer was attempting to create mystery around the narrator’s identity, but he undermined this goal by making Freddy omnipotent. This did dull the credulity of the narrator as an actual person. On the other hand, if Greer was switching from Freddy to a third person narrator throughout the novel, then this was never signalled nor made clear, and thus was poor writing on his behalf either way.
2. (Whilst unironically eating a smoked salmon canapé, circling the masses, as you hone in on a lone socialite scrolling through memes.)
“Excuse me, ahem, whilst you look at Kermit memes, (a bit inappropriate for such a fine event, don’t you think?) but don’t you think Greer truly inverts the metric of loneliness in society, during the scene with Lewis and Less in Marrakech?”
She tried to grimace a smile, but the Botox was stopping her. You tried. That’s the main thing. You also had a good point! The poignancy is almost crushing; to realise that you have been looking at life through the wrong lens the entire time, and that when you remove that lens for the first time, you’ve realised all you’ve ever known is a world tinted with blue.
” ‘But you broke up with him. Something’s wrong. Something failed.’
‘No! No, Arthur, no, it’s the opposite! I’m saying it’s a success. Twenty years of joy and support and friendship, that’s a success. Twenty years of anything with another person is a success If a band stays together for twenty years, it’s a miracle. If a comedy duo stays together twenty years, they’re a triumph. Is this night a failure because it will end in an hour? Is the sun a failure because it\s going to end in a billion years? No, it’s the fucking sun. Why does a marriage not count? It isn’t in us, it isn’t in human beings, to be tied to one person forever. Siamese twins are a tragedy. Twenty years and one last happy road trip. And I thought, Well, that was nice. Let’s end on success.“
People often consider things which end sourly a failure, ignoring that the longevity of the success itself is a win in its own right, regardless of the eventual outcome. Take Mo Farah’s career, for example. He finished second at 5000m track event at the World Championships, where he (and his fan base) were bitterly disappointed. That didn’t make his entire career- the double Olympic golds- worthless though, did it? It’s an interesting perspective to consider, because sometimes fond memories with people can be ruined after they in some way wrong you, but at the time the memory was formed you were having a fantastic day. Thus Greer presents happiness as something that can be crystallised and kept, not ruined in hindsight.
3. (Attempting to make a good impression on a legal giant who is sat next to you at a ridiculously long dinner table. She hasn’t even read the book because she’s reading Anna Karenina in the original Russian. But you don’t know that. You forgot to ask.)
“So… (squints, reading name card above her plate) Ms Artle, wouldn’t you agree that Greer is like Less himself during the Indian retreat considering his own novel? He must have, after all, ultimately realised that Less with the ‘best life of anyone I know’ was not likeable enough. That Less was not unfortunate enough on his own, so the inclusion of the failure of Swift (the protagonist of Less’ own novel) serves as his foil, and ultimately draws sympathy?”
She offers a flashing smile, then gestures to the door and stands up to leave. Damn, gastrointestinal problems? She nods. Or just rejection? What a mood killer. It’s true, though. There is nothing particularly awful happening in Less’ life; he can even travel around the world. Greer just about manages to save himself from catastrophe though, and conjures a meagre amount of emotion up when his includes Less’ failed book deal.
4. (The main is being served; duck and orange blossom. You speak as you wait for the dishes to be placed on the table. To yourself, of course, as everyone else in is their own fascinating conversation. You hope that someone will overhear your wittering and ask more.)
“Yeah, yeah so the tension built up over the course of the novel, the large question mark over the wedding of Freddy Pelu, was hardly as dramatic as Greer had built it up to be. One could only find it moving if they were as weak as a limp cabbage.”
Now I can only take you so far with these phrases. I cannot conjure up social interaction, but really, no one wants to be involved with people talking to themselves. You should know better, even if the entire purpose of the book is for Less to find some resolve for the fact that Freddy is getting married. Unfortunately for Greer, in the end it boils down to the fact that, actually, nobody is particularly concerned that Less is morose. Let Freddy have a wonderful evening; you seem to have no issue manifesting an impression that you have moved on, illustrating by the amount of people you mysteriously managed to pick up during your travels.
5. (A passing waiter has stopped to fill up your Merlot from Petrus, Pomerol, France careful not to spill it at over £3,000 a bottle.)
“Thank you, thank you. A little bit more- stop there, yes. And isn’t funny, and rather prophetic in a way, that Greer himself becomes a Pulitzer Prize winner? There’s irony in that. The question is, will he also become an unbearable genius like Robert? What-“
(The answer is no, because the book really isn’t that revolutionary in any sense of the word.) Also, the waiter has moved on, unaware that you were trying to engage them in this frivolous talk. And as a PPE student at Oxford, this being their weekend job to get the cash rolling in to fund their chalet, their taste is a bit more highbrow than yours anyway.
6. (Raunchily to the Art Gallery owner next to you, as the jazz band begins to play.)
“I don’t understand art. You know? How it can be judged to be billions and squillions of pounds. Like the award of the Pulitzer prize to a comic novel is unheard of. Of course, this illustrates how the modern media is becoming more open-minded, and not in the least because of the gay protagonist. Yeah?”
He nods appreciatively. Then goes on in great detail to talk about his own failing art career for the next 25 minutes and how biased the industry is. You mention that Greer’s success signals a change in writing industry at least? He shakes his head. You mention that now not only has a comic novel won for the first time, but Less is gay, which indicates to the world that Pulitzer is still a “forwarding thinking” prize that embraces diversity. He pouts. Personally, he says, what is better than forward thinking is awarding prizes to books which genuinely deserve the accolade. Fair enough.
7. (On the balcony, gazing soulfully into the stars as the hedged garden spans out before you as you talk to the lead singer now having a smoke.)
“Lovely, lovely voice I daresay. We’re so lucky to be here, no? This beautiful garden. This privilege of ours. I’ve read the Pulitzer Prize winner don’t you know? Yes, and Greer unfortunately fails to capitalise on Less’ own privilege, which would not only add a more contemporary dimension to the story, but make it more relatable. Also, do you have a business card?”
(She doesn’t, and begins to chain-smoke.) As for the whole privilege issue, this is because it feels like at times Less’ only challenge is that faced by his failing romantic life. He is a white middle-aged man with lots of money, and his sexuality does not take away from his this particularly because he has found himself a welcoming environment, so the internal conflict we see is at best transparent and at worst remarkably unoriginal.
8. (Holding a champagne glass, slightly tipsy but still remarkably in control of advanced thought. There is a tired 10 year old who is sitting in an antique chair. You join them.)
“Tired? Me too. I’m tired that the relationship upon which Less rests upon (the name of big book these days, Frederic) the one with him and Freddy, is so hurriedly done that is makes it equally unbelievable and unmoving. Fancy a game of rock, paper, scissors?”
As you are gripped in your game, though, you realise that the Freddy/ Less relationship really is rough around the edges and quickly presented to the reader after the opening. This is a fatal flaw in the novel because this is where the entirety of the protagonist’s drive comes from. After all this is where the grief and regret centering around Freddy’s wedding directly stems from. The relationship needs to be more developed than a few simple scene with bed sheets, because we have to see why Freddy is such an incredible character that losing him would be catastrophic for Less, much in the same way someone would have to be persuaded that a £200 wine bottle is quite worth the expense when it tastes the same as a £30 one.
9. (You’ve collapsed on the croquet lawn: drunk again, talking to a retired surgeon who’s ironically passed out next to you.)
“Hello? Old chap? Don’t you, don’t think that maybe Greer frames an unusual debate about the le-legitimacy of those superior in intelligence to have the right to be unashamedly self-centred? My, I can talk sloshed! What. Yeah, yes, yes! ONLY they, after all, can create mahsterpieces that few other human minds are capable of compre-comprehend- understanding. Yesh.”
“What was it like to live with genius?
Like living alone.
Like living alone with a tiger.
Everything had to be sacrificed for the work. Plans had to be canceled, meals had to be delayed; liquor had to be bought, as soon as possible, or else all poured into the sink. Money had to be rationed or spent lavishly, changing daily. The sleep schedule was the poet’s to make, and it was as often late nights as it was early mornings. The habit was the demon pet in the house; the habit, the habit, the habit; the morning coffee and books and poetry, the silence until noon. Could he be tempted by a morning stroll? He could, he always could; it was the only addiction where the sufferer longed for anything but the desired; but a morning walk meant work undone, and suffering, suffering, suffering. Keep the habit, help the habit; lay out the coffee and poetry; keep the silence; smile when he walked sulkily out of his office to the bathroom. Taking nothing personally. And did you sometimes leave an art book around with a thought that it would be the key to his mind? And did you sometimes put on music that might unlock the doubt and fear? Did you love it, the rain dance every day? Only when it rained.”
But, at this point in the night, you think that you’re a genius too. You forget Less, and start wildly planning your own novel. And then you begin to write your Nobel Prize for Literature acceptance speech.