Jonathan
Lethem’s first published novel, Gun, with Occasional Music, was surreal science fiction painted in the colors of
Philip K. Dick but built on the chassis of a Raymond Chandler novel. Successful style-wise, Lethem paid homage to
a couple of his favorite writers while getting his feet wet in publishing. Five years later as a writer with four novels
and a short story collection under his belt, fully immersed, Lethem produced
another novel of detective noir proportion, Motherless
Brooklyn (1999). Moving past homage
and into singular, personalized fiction, it shows a mature author in control of
his craft. But Lionel Essrog is the
reason to read.
Though
Chandler will haunt the shadows of any private eye story, Motherless Brooklyn is written in Lethem’s own hand. There is a murder mystery, shadowy NYC is the
setting, and a fairly typical gamut of plotting—through police investigations,
crime figures, and female interests—is run.
But the phrasing, the tone, and character portrayal are something
different. NYC is brought to minimalist
life; the flow of story is more staid, less predictable; and Lionel Essrog is
as memorable and atypically heartfelt a character as one can imagine.
Point
blank: Essrog is fascinatingly human.
Tourette’s significantly more than random cursing, Lethem provides the
reader a fully personalized view inside the head of a person living with the
syndrome. Linguistically frenetic to say
the least, a slew of orthogonal lyricism comes shotgun blast out of the
otherwise well-meaning man—along with bursts of swearing and strange
insults. A physical reality as well, the
tics, twitches, and touching which accompany conflate to create a neurotically
realistic portrait of a man dealing with a condition that compulsively forces
its way out of him whether he wants it to or not.
As
a result, Motherless Brooklyn shows a
sense of human realism and wordplay
unlike any novel I’ve read. Through the lens of the latter, the usage of
language is captivating; both the internalizations and the verbalization of
Essrog’s linguistic impulses are eccentric poetry.
“Must still be in Frank’s coat,” I said. “Back at
the hospital.” But this triggered a compulsive self-frisking anyway. I patted each of my pockets six times. Under my breath I said, “Franksbook,
forkspook, finsblood—“
“Great,” said Tony. That’s just great. Well…
The
narrative kept just on the edge of flow by the outbursts and obsessive
compulsive behavior, the reader is perpetually frustrated by Essrog’s
limitations but through them comes to terms with not only the style of writing
but Essrog’s situation. And this is
saying something; I may not remember the novel’s storyline the rest of my life,
but I will remember Essrog.
But
I get ahead of myself: there is a plot to Motherless
Brooklyn. Frank Minna, the boss of
the detective agency Essrog works for, meets an unfitting end during a simple
stakeout operation. Essrog raised an
orphan (hence the title), it was Minna who first employed him and treated him
like an adult, and as a result the loss touches the very root of the Tourette’s
inflicted man’s soul. But it’s precisely
the syndrome which won’t allow him to walk away without questions being
answered. Who killed Minna, and
why? Forever an outsider, onto the gray streets
of NYC Essrog goes to solve the mystery—to friends, mob bosses, sandwich
makers—chattering and attempting to stifle his impulses every twitching step of
the way.
A
character study of a man with Tourette’s, the murder mystery trailing around
the edges, Motherless Brooklyn is a
book that hits at many levels. The
discomfort the reader feels from the narrative leading to their understanding
Essrog’s situation, the engaging unravel of plot, the obtuse bursts of
strangely likeable prose, the personal story of a man who has his guiding light
extinguished and must fend for himself—all resonate beyond the page. Both may technically be detective noir, but Gun, with Occasional Music is a piece of
Turkish delight while Motherless Brooklyn
is a full meal.
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