by Nick Hornby
An asshole is usefully defined as a person who “systematically allows himself to enjoy special advantages in interpersonal relations out of an entrenched sense of entitlement that immunizes him against the complaints of other people.” (James argues persuasively that assholes are invariably men, although surely one of the triumphs of feminism is that many more women now fit this description than would have been the case forty or fifty years ago, even if female assholes clearly account for only a small percentage of the asshole population.) The book is in part an attempt to explain why we find the asshole so upsetting, given that the advantages he gains through his behavior are usually minor—he jumps a queue, he shouts at a waiter, he cuts people off in traffic. James reckons this is because “one’s very status as a moral person goes unrecognized,” and our moral status is a big deal to us, an important part of our sense of self. There is a possibility, however, that the gains made by assholes are going to become much more consequential: the gripping, devastating chapter entitled Asshole Capitalism argues that the assholes are hastening the end of the world as we know it. Who will participate in the manifestly and increasingly unfair version of capitalism we are faced with now, wherein asshole bankers get richer at the expense of the societies that have to bail them out? Why should non-assholes pay taxes and stay in line if they can see only material disadvantage?
There is much to engage with in Assholes: A Theory, and much to enjoy; one of the pleasures for me was the introduction it provided to the rich and extraordinary literature of moral philosophy. I found myself, for example, unexpectedly eager to read Bernard Williams’s Philosophical Papers, 1973–1980 (Cambridge University Press, 1981). It contains an essay entitled “Moral Luck,” which deals, as far as I can work out, with the problem of whether we can forgive Gauguin for abandoning his family in order to go to Tahiti and paint. The trip produced art that we still value to this day; if it hadn’t, Gauguin would presumably have been just another feckless asshole. But maybe he’s an asshole anyway, regardless of the work he produced? Your call, but maybe Bernard Williams can help you make it. Oh, and Jonathan Richman fans, take note: guess what Pablo Picasso gets called in this book? One of Richman’s most celebrated songs is thus neatly and, in my opinion, sadly rendered factually inaccurate.
It is, as you can see, only a short step from Assholes: A Theory to Mohsin Hamid’s How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, although I suspect that Aaron James would focus on the rampant asshole capitalism that Hamid describes with such alarming brilliance, rather than on any individual assholes. Hamid, like Lorrie Moore in Self-Help, tells his story in the second person, as befits a how-to manual, but the genius of the book is that the second person who emerges is both richly individual and utterly authentic-seeming. Actually, there’s quite a lot of genius floating round in here: How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia is also deeply moving, a marvel of economy, and tells you a lot of stuff you probably don’t know about a country very different from your own. Hamid’s hero is born into poverty in a country that isn’t named, but shares a lot of similarities with Pakistan, where Hamid grew up. He endures a crude education, gets himself a job delivering bootleg DVDs, falls in love with the local beauty, a woman he will play hide-and-seek with for his entire life. He starts to make money by selling tins of expired goods, the sell-by dates artfully changed, to retailers, before moving into the booming bottled-water trade; this involves bottling the water himself, although at least he boils it first. This business grows and grows, especially after he has made the necessarily corrupt political and military connections. He’s not an asshole, I promise; he’s just doing what he has to do to avoid being sucked down into the pit of poverty and disease that festers underneath him. He loses first one parent and then the other. He marries a woman whom the local beauty prevents him from ever properly loving. He grows older and poorer, and eventually he… Actually, I won’t tell you what happens at the end. That’s the story of existence itself, and hitherto you may somehow have avoided the bad news coming your way. If you can boil an entire life down to its essence, without losing any of the detail, shape, pain, or joy of that life, then it seems to me that you’ve done pretty much everything a novel is capable of doing.
I have been reading proofs and typescripts of novels by women writers previously unfamiliar to me, possibly because it’s spring here in the U.K., and the blizzards and the subzero temperatures have obliged me to look for sunshine, hope, and rebirth elsewhere. I didn’t find much of it in Alina Simone’s Note to Self, although it’s a very good first novel; Anna, Simone’s central character, is thirty-seven, lonely, overweight, unemployed, and addicted to the internet, and I should warn you in advance that Simone is not the kind of writer who is in a hurry to rescue her heroine from these predicaments. I don’t know whether it’s fair to think of Lena Dunham’s Hannah, but, whether it’s fair or not, it’s kind of unavoidable. Lena! Hannah! Alina! Anna! What’s a chap to do? Anyway, Anna could be Hannah in a decade’s time, if we didn’t know already that Hannah is eventually going to soar off into the stratosphere, surfing on the jetstream of her creator. Anna, who lives in Brooklyn, just surfs:
She ate straight from the plastic container while reading the Daily Beast’s “Cheat Sheet” on her laptop. When she finished eating, she clicked over to Culture Vulture, then Fishbowl NY, then back over to her e-mail, where there were no new messages in her in-box. She considered checking Newser (though she didn’t much trust Michael Wolff) or PopEater (even though it always made her feel guilty afterward). Then Anna wondered whether the Daily Beast’s “Cheat Sheet” had refreshed in the past half-hour…
Those of you who are gainfully employed might not recognize anything in that, may not even know what the hell Simone is talking about (and if this novel’s still being read in two hundred years’ time, the footnotes will be spectacular, as dense and tiny as the ones you see at the end of The Rape of the Lock). Those without a job—and that category includes writers—will burst into tears of recognition, and then go and hang themselves.
Anna does end up finding something to do, at least for the duration of the narrative. She hooks up with an asshole—and I know whereof I speak—called Taj, and gets involved in a video-art project that turns out to be unspeakably cruel. (Like Kevin Wilson’s wonderful The Family Fang, Note to Self is full of imaginative and well-imagined art projects.) The flavors of the book are sharp and sour, like a Chinese soup, and Alina Simone, a singer/songwriter, is clearly a novelist, too.
The book that made me happiest this month was Jessica Anya Blau’s picaresque, properly funny, unpredictable, and altogether irrepressible The Wonder Bread Summer; it made me so happy that after I’d read it, in two days flat, I bought everything I could find by the same author. Why can’t I ever find novels like this? The last time I can remember feeling quite as buoyed by a work of fiction, and as charmed by a writer, was when I discovered Charles Portis, who wrote True Grit and Norwood, and Blau reminds me of Portis in lots of ways. Her characters and her set pieces would seem too giddy in the hands of a less talented writer, and I certainly couldn’t synopsize thoroughly without doing her a grave disservice. But she has a steady nerve, as well as a wicked imagination, and she takes her craft seriously—her situations and her characters are real, to her and therefore to us, and it takes you a little while to realize that what you’re reading is top-notch comic writing, because you’re getting all the stuff you normally get in literary fiction as well: rites of passage, the complications of fractured family, the works.
The eponymous summer is the summer of 1983; the eponymous Wonder Bread is actually only a plastic bag; the bread has been removed, and in its place is a whole pile of cocaine belonging to a drug-dealing boutique owner called Jonas, who, as the novel opens, is exposing himself to one of his employees, twenty-year-old Allie, who’s working in the boutique during her summer break from college. Allie does not wish to see Jonas’s penis, particularly, and in any case is owed money; she grabs the Wonder Bread bag and disappears. Tha
t’s the setup. I’d been sent a proof, and only really intended to do the author the courtesy of reading the first couple of pages, but wherever Allie was going, I wanted to go with her. One of the remarkable things about Blau’s novel is that while she recognizes the vulnerability of attractive young girls, she doesn’t allow it to cripple them; they deal with the hand they’ve been played, and as a consequence, Blau writes about sex with a perspective that seems fresh to me.
There are many passages that I would like to read to you—Allie’s first hapless attempt to sell some of the cocaine she’s stolen, without scales, or bags, or any clue as to the street value of any drug, is a joy—but perhaps the most surprising moment is when Allie meets Billy Idol, offers him cocaine (he accepts the offer with enthusiasm), and then has sex with him. I can’t recall another novel in which a real living person turns up with quite such… aplomb. Mr. Idol, according to Ms. Blau, has “a dick… the size of two Babe Ruth candy bars, side by side,” a description that may be flattering enough to ward off any awkward lawyers’ letters. (Actually, what the hell do I know? We don’t have Babe Ruth bars here in the U.K.) This is Billy Idol’s only appearance in the books I read this month. There are, I can tell you, worse books to appear in, as Noel Gallagher and Henry VIII might tell you.
Index of Stuff He’s Been Reading
9/11 Commission Report 135
Abbott, Megan 403, 406-7, 429, 432-3
Bury Me Deep 407
Dare Me 429, 432-3
The End of Everything 403, 406-7
Ackroyd, Peter 74, 83-4, 398
Adams, Tim 31-2
On Being John McEnroe 31-2
Alexie, Sherman 283, 286-7
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian 283, 286-7
Alighieri, Dante 125
Allan, Clare 251, 256
Poppy Shakespeare 251, 256
Almond, David 259, 262-3, 263, 266, 365, 370
Clay 263
My Name Is Mina 365, 370
Skellig 262-3, 266, 370
Amidon, Stephen 429, 433-4
Something Like the Gods 429, 433-4
Amis, Kingsley 101, 190
Lucky Jim 119
The Letters of Kingsley Amis 101
Amis, Martin 82-3, 100, 153
Experience 82-3
Money 153
Anderson, M. T. 277, 299-300, 305
Feed 277, 299-300
The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation 305
Angelou, Maya 380
Anthony, Andrew 271-4
The Fall-Out 271-4
Aristophanes 172, 351
The Frogs 172
Lysistrata 351
Arndt, Bettina 385
The Sex Diaries 385
Arnott, Jake 63, 68
The Long Firm 63, 68
Ashon, Will 225
Clear Water 225
Assis, Machado de 385, 388
Epitaph of a Small Winner 385
Associated London Scripts 296-7
Atkinson, Kate 129, 135, 138, 146
Case Histories 129, 135, 138, 146
Auden, W. H. 28, 337, 417
Auseon, Andrew 197
Funny Little Monkey 197
Austen, Jane 101, 119, 156, 158, 250, 348
Persuasion 435, 437
Pride and Prejudice 268
Babel, Isaac 314
Bach, Richard
Jonathan Livingston Seagull 124, 141-2
Bailey, Blake 31, 37, 39, 104, 356
A Tragic Honesty 31, 37, 39, 104, 356
Bainbridge, Beryl 37
Master Georgie 37
Baker, Nicholson 347, 353-4
The Anthologist 347, 353-4
Bakewell, Sarah 333, 339, 342-4, 356, 398
How to Live 333, 339, 342-4, 356, 398
Balchin, Nigel 191, 194
Darkness Falls from the Air 191, 194
Bamberger, Michael 153
Wonderland 153
Bangs, Lester 390
Bank, Melissa 147, 151-2
The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing 151
The Wonder Spot 147, 151-2
Banks, Iain M. 147-9, 150, 152
Excession 147-9
Banks, Russell 283, 285-6
The Darling 283, 285-6
Barlow, Toby 259, 263-4
Sharp Teeth 259, 263-4
Barnes, Julian 119
Barrie, J. M. 232, 321, 323
Peter Pan 321, 323
Bart, Lionel 418, 420
Barthelme, Donald 51, 53, 60, 195-6
Sixty Stories 51
Barthes, Roland
S/Z 124
Bartram, Simon 129
The Man on the Moon 129, 133-4
Batuman, Elif 313-4
The Possessed 313-4
Baumbach, Noah 192
Bawden, Nina 321, 324-5
The Birds on the Trees 321, 324-5
Baxter, Charles 25, 43, 45
Feast of Love 25
Saul and Patsy 43
Bayard, Pierre
How To Talk About Books You Haven’t Read 285
Bechdel, Alison 225, 230
Fun Home 225, 230
Beckett, Samuel 91-92, 140, 426
Beevor, Antony 120, 150
Stalingrad 120, 150
Believer, the 38-9, 44, 45, 54, 60, 67, 75, 123, 124, 129, 147, 148, 154, 157-61, 175, 179, 200, 220, 225, 246, 286, 293, 305, 333, 344, 347, 348, 356, 357, 360, 363, 376, 385, 388, 396, 436, 443, 444, 454
Book Award 259
fact-checkers 104, 412
Benchley, Robert 356
Bennett, Alan 36, 177
Untold Stories 177
Bernanos, Georges
The Diary of a Country Priest 159, 164
Best American Comics 277
Best American Nonrequired Reading 277
Betjeman, John 194, 242
Bishop, Elizabeth 336, 354
Biskind, Peter 98
Bissinger, Buzz
After Friday Night Lights 429, 431
Bissinger, H. G.
Friday Night Lights 365, 369-70
Blake, William 262, 370
Blau, Jessica Anya 459, 463-4
Drinking Closer to Home 459
The Summer of Naked Swim Parties 459
The Wonder Bread Summer 459, 463-4
Block, Francesca Lia 265-7
Necklace of Kisses 265
Weetzie Bat 266-7
Bloom, Harold 72, 124
Bloomsbury Classics 216
Blyton, Enid 136
Bone, George 66-7
Book Soup 45
Booker Prize 120, 205, 324
Boxall, Peter
1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die 240
British Library Sound Archive 42
Brookner, Anita 136, 192
Brown, Andrew 313, 314
Fishing in Utopia 317-8
Brown, Chester 75, 81
I Never Liked You 75, 81
Brown, Dan
The Da Vinci Code 172
Brown, Gordon 147
Maxton 147
Brown, Larry 205, 210, 211, 213-4
On Fire 205, 210, 211, 213-4
Buchan, John 57, 129, 185
Greenmantle 57, 62
The Complete Richard Hannay 57
Bulgakov, Mikhail 340
The Master and Margarita 340
Burgess, Anthony 171, 172, 174
Burke, James Lee 119
Business Traveller magazine 363
Byliner 431
Calder, Angus 251
The Myth of the Blitz 251
Callender, Craig and Ralph Edney 51
Introducing Time 51, 56
Cambridge University Press 461
Camus, Albert 267
L’Étranger 154
Capote, Truman 141, 144-5
In Cold Blood 141, 144-5
Carey, John 171, 176, 177, 182-3, 194
Pure Pleasure 183
The Intellect
uals and the Masses 182
The Violent Effigy 348
What Good Are the Arts? 171, 177, 182, 297
Carnegie Medalists 267
Carpenter, Don 334-5, 438
Hard Rain Falling 334, 335
Carroll, Lewis 262
Cather, Willa 244
Cercas, Javier 101, 123
Soldiers of Salamis 101, 123, 128
Chabon, Michael 81, 84, 107, 188
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay 188
The Amazing Adventures of the Escapist 81
Wonder Boys 107
Chambers, Roland 359
The Last Englishman 359
Chang, Jung 201
Wild Swans 201
Charlotte Observer 268
Chaucer, Geoffrey 340, 367
Chekhov, Anton 106, 107, 109-12, 123, 323
A Life in Letters 101, 107
The Cherry Orchard 109
“In the Ravine” 109
The Essential Tales of Chekhov 107
“The Wife” 109
Uncle Vanya 109
Ward No. 6 and Other Stories, 1892–1895 107
Chesterton, G. K. 177, 183
The Man Who Was Thursday 177, 183
Chevalier, Ernest 60
Chomsky, Noam 272
Clancy, Tom 27, 152
Clare, John 345
Clarke, Thurston 301, 305
The Last Campaign 301, 305
Cleland, John 334-5
Fanny Hill 334-5
Cline, Ernest 409, 420-421
Ready Player One 409, 415, 420-1
Clowes, Daniel 81, 85
David Boring 81, 85
Coake, Chris 95, 99
We’re in Trouble 95, 99
Coe, Jonathan 87, 88, 91
Like a Fiery Elephant 87, 91
Coetzee, J. M. 69
Coleman, Nick 409, 410-1
The Train in the Night 409, 410-1
Collin, Matthew 81, 84
This Is Serbia Calling 81, 84-5
Collins, Norman 373
London Belongs to Me 373
Collins, Paul 57, 62, 64-5
