What You See In The Dark by Manuel Munoz

What is really going on in Bakersfield, CA circa 1959? It’s still a quiet oil town, dusty and small, but, as seen in Manuel Munoz’s novel What You See in the Dark, times are changing.

Munoz gets things rolling in the opening chapter with a perplexing choice: “You”. What is going on with the second person narrative? Your undefined self acts as voyeur to the good people of Bakersfield – the most handsome man in town, the mother with that motel, the girl with him, your own boyfriend. There’s that “you” again. Now you’re at the drive-in with your “nice” boyfriend – the other couple in a truck nearby – the hoots and laughter as couples mate, you wanting more. The seedy young underclass shows reveals itself – we’ll see them again later.

The handsome man and his girl –  a Mexican! – are Dan and Teresa – subjects of the local gossip. He’s a bar-owner and guitarist, she’s a shoe saleswoman (but only to the Spanish speakers)  and would-be singer trying to plumb the depths of brokenhearted songs she does not yet fully understand. Dan’s mother – the divorcee whose name never changed – rents rooms to truckers, and serves the locals at the diner. j

Then Hollywood comes to town. Well, just a little. The Actress – we won’t say her name because you know who she is already. She came with The Director – you know him too. They are starting work on a film that’s going to change everything. Or is everything already changing, and The Director just sees it before everybody else?

This book is so impressive. The voyeurism of the first chapter meets the peephole on the shower.  The tawdry exhibitionism of the drive-in is equalled by the titillation of a black bra on the big screen. The unrestrained violence on the screen meets its match on the street. The play by play via the eyes of The Actress of the filming of “the shower scene” alone is worth the price of admission.

But the film fest is only a small part of the story.  What’s stirring as well are the characters under watch. Their neighbors’ and coworkers’ eyes follow them through their shames and failures, and alienated they look back saying to themselves: You don’t know me.

Great stuff.

jc