A long poem in love with its own noirity that substitutes modern sensibility and language for that of the post WWII decade and expects us to accept that. I didn't. A lost soul condemning itself to a slow decline in the dark side of LA's self-remake of the 1950s, it makes its points but however much the Scott gets LA it's the tinsel town LA he's got. ( )

Faulkner meeting Steinbeck, meeting Döblin…
Nope, not my cup of tea. I recognized the story of the unsettling return of a World War II veteran, incapable of finding his way back to normal life, traumatized by what he saw back in Normandy in 1944. And I recognized the evocation of America at the end of the 40’s and the beginning of the ’50s, with its scores of homeless people, and its tremendous violence between criminal gangs.
But then there’s the connection between the horrible war scenes, the brutal scenes of demolition of neighbourhoods in Los Angeles, and the description of mutilated victims of gang violence. In contrast there are the very intense and intimate nature descriptions. Is Robertson suggesting the violence in all these actions are on the same level? And is he hinting towards a meta-level of criticism on the violence of modernity? It’s positive he doesn’t suggest clear answers, but – as a reader – I’m a bit at a loss.
Robertson poetic prose reminded me of the feverish style of Alfred Döblin in Berlin Alexanderplatz, the modernist disruptive style of William Faulkner and the social focus of John Steinbeck. But – to me – this combination didn’t really work, at least in this first read. Perhaps I ought to try a reread. ( )

Een bijzondere tot poëzie geworden roman, spelend in de USA van eind jaren '40 tot begin '50, in NY, LA, SF. De hoofdpersoon, Walker (!) uit Canada, Nova Scotia, is getraumatiseerd door WO II waar hij bij de inval op D-Day meedeed. Hij kan niet meer terug naar zijn idyllische vader;land en jeugdliefde, maar moet zwerven door het Amerika van de film noir, van Mc Carthy, van de economische boom, die wonen opoffert aan parkeren en de daklozen en mislukten achterlaat als schuim op het strand. Walker zelf vindt een plaats bij de krant (hoofdredacteur Overton, het grootste Amerikaanse Roggewhiskey-merk; de ambitieuze Pyke die ooit de krant wel zal overnemen is het symbool van het ambitieuze gevoelloze Amerika) en schrijft er over de daklozen, drinkt, ontmoet mensen als schepen in de nacht. Prachtig, gevoelvol, creatief vertaald door Hans Kloos, genomineerd voor de Filter VertaalPrijs 2020. Maar er is wel een bezwaar tegen het boek, dat is de zeer topografische en cinematografische focus van het verhaal: het zit stampvol namen van acteurs, regisseurs en filmtitels die mij weinig zeggen, en ook stampvol straatnamen en andere locale aanduidingen in de 3 steden die me ook niets zeggen.. Er staan wel wat noten in, maar dat hadden er beter geen of 10maal zoveel kunnen zijn. Toch kan ik wel over die onbekendheden heenlezen en mensen zouden dat ook moeten doen als het gaat om antieke en mythologische eigennamen, zodat die niet voortdurend hoeven te worden geannotterd door vertalers-classici. ( )

In a poetry-fiction hybrid form Robertson takes us through the lost wandering of a vet traumatized by his experiences during D-Day. The narrative is scumy and violent and bleak. It is about a hopeless country deteriorating in parallel with the protagonist's interior. It is about a country made up of outsiders and the lost cause of any war. The subtitle is A Way to Lose More Slowly and that feels right. Perhaps the femme fatale was the righteous cause of the war.

I appreciate the beauty here but I don't welcome the pessimism. I had to really concentrate to get through to the last page. Maybe that's just me burnt out on America lately. ( )

In a poetry-fiction hybrid form Robertson takes us through the lost wandering of a vet traumatized by his experiences during D-Day. The narrative is scumy and violent and bleak. It is about a hopeless country deteriorating in parallel with the protagonist's interior. It is about a country made up of outsiders and the lost cause of any war. The subtitle is A Way to Lose More Slowly and that feels right. Perhaps the femme fatale was the righteous cause of the war.

I appreciate the beauty here but I don't welcome the pessimism. I had to really concentrate to get through to the last page. Maybe that's just me burnt out on America lately. ( )