Backrub by Tom Perrotta, 2013
The magic trick:
An intriguing mess of a story
Yikes, this story is a bit of a mess.
Spoilers follow, so stop reading if you want to read the story with a fresh mind first.
Basically, the narrator here – we are led to believe – does everything right in high school, joins every club, studies all the time with his crew of academically obsessed friends, aces the college placement exams and has great grades and somehow doesn’t get into any of the 12 schools he’s applied to. What’s more: he’s been super-responsible and super-focused for 12 years, but now suddenly has no interest in developing any kind of temporary plan with local colleges. Also, you can go to school, you know? You can take classes. Community college for a year or so? This is ridiculous.
What’s more again: the ending – after we navigate a fairly convoluted series of suburban episodes for 20 pages – lands on this idea that the kid has lost his ego. He used to be brash and bold and cocky. Now he’s just passing the time.
OK…
Maybe?
An interesting idea for a story. But there is a little problem… None of that rings true with what we’ve just read. He didn’t read as cocky and brash to me at all in his backstory. He seemed obsessively careful and responsible.
But there is this also: fundamentally, a story that relies on contrasting now to then as its main theme probably needs to do more to establish the then than portraying in “narrator tells us about his backstory for a few pages.” It’s just structurally an unsound story.
So there you go. I’ve just broken down for you why Tom Perrotta, one of this century’s most popular and successful fiction writers, failed with this story. Brilliant.
Anyway…. classic me thinking I know better than a famous author. And classic me ripping a story that I actually enjoyed.
I maintain it is a mess. But it’s an enjoyable mess.
The different pieces of the narrator’s story – the old friend, the pizza restaurant, the police officer sexually assaulting people – they are all intriguing. I only wish they fit into place better as a coherent story.
And that’s quite a trick on Perrotta’s part.
The selection:
After we settled up, Eddie walked me to the front door. We were almost there when he put his hand on my shoulder.
“Yo, Donald,” he said. “You’re friends with Adam Willis, right?”
“Kind of.”
“Could you do me a favor?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a serious wad of bills, and counted out five twenties. For a second, I thought he was reimbursing me for the ticket. “See if you can hook me up with some of that superior weed of his.”
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