The Soho press catalog came my way and aside from all the crime fiction, there was this interesting book about a writer/artist, his family, and how fucked up things get when a certain “novel” is published. In The Morels, it was really hard to see what was coming, but things ended badly, as they say. The hero, (you can call him all kinds of things) Arthur Morel is a monster, if you look at it the wrong way, and a legend if you turn it over and look at the other side. I suppose this fits the Soho Crime vernacular, a little, because there is a crime in these pages, of the most unbearable sort, or wait, did that crime happen? That’s what they want you to think. This story reminded me a lot of Claire Messud’s Emperor’s Children, which is a good thing.
We’re thrown into those wonderful Manhattan years circa 1990 something, where there were still antique fairs on 6th Ave on Sunday’s, and Barnes & Noble seemed like it was going to take over. Mr. Hacker gets a lot of this time period right, and since I lived in the neighborhood where this book takes place in the 90’s, it is hard not to wonder if I actually saw Mr. Hacker at some point (you’re all thinking, it’s NYC, no one sees the same person over and over. You’re wrong, that’s exactly what happens). This may seem like an odd observation on my part, but I loved how Mr. Hacker reminded me of the sound a Barnes & Noble bag makes, it’s so perfect, a little detail, something that only a few people really remember, or care to think about, but sums up that part of the city, perfectly. We come across Arthur Morel almost by accident, his childhood friend Chris, who narrates this book, recants the day when they ran into each other in the apartment building where Arthur lived and Chris was trying to edit an independent film. The moment is rather odd, we’re treated to the uncomfortable seconds when you met an old friend and forget their name, sort of. Chris is sweeping up at a downtown movie theater, and trying to find a reason to get out of bed. His own sadness lifts off this story, a slight under current to the madness around him. The story takes off from here. But first we bounce back to a watershed moment where Arthur was a child prodigy, (as was Chris) at a music recital. After Arthur’s world beating performance he takes center stage in front adoring fans, pulls down his pants and drops a Cleveland steamer front and center. It is memorable. That’s what Arthur is trying to achieve, the indelible moment.
We manage our way through the details of editing a film, and how Arthur’s son Will comes down the hall to hang out with the filmmakers while his mother Penelope is on her way back from the snotty downtown bakery where she works. Will is big on playing games, and is fond of one called, “The Lying Game”. Arthur is teaching uptown, in a kind of cliché existence that begs to be shat on, while trying to write a novel. Along the way we learn of Arthur’s take on art, and how to create something banal is a crime, that art should be a huge risk, ultimate, crushing, emotionally devastating to anyone that creates it. Chris struggles to achieve a life that is weak tea compared to Arthur’s, while enthusiastically sniffing the Morel farts. There is a section of this story that once you get past it, seems forgettable, as I write this review I think, “oh yeah, that part where Chris has a girlfriend that’s a junkie, I totally forgot abut that.” It fades because rest of the story is oppressively good, and this section is clearly character building (but also a true achievement in subtlety), so Chris doesn’t come off as a Morel stalker. Will Morel simmers at the spotlight for all the wrong reasons, and his fall from grace is biblical. Mr. Hacker manages to make me hate this kid and feel true sorrow for him, because he was involved in something greater than himself.
What happens? Shit, if I told you that, it would ruin everything. Arthur Morel writes a book about his family, called The Morels. The cover of this book written by Christopher Hacker shows a Barbie Doll family in a bathtub, Man, Woman and Child, it’s the same cover Arthur’s publisher uses on The Morels. What Arthur writes in this autobiographical novel makes taking a shit on the stage of flimsy high class music school look like a drunken speech at a strangers wedding. What becomes of Chris during all this? Narrator as witness, and Chris helps Arthur clear his name, or tries to. Somewhere in the middle of this book I set it down and said, “Jesus Christ, this is fucked up,” and then picked it back up, crazed to find out how it would end. The Morels is a total shock, and announces the arrival of a blistering new talent.
