Chimerical, enigmatic, lecherous, and ferruginous – these are just a few of the word-of-the-day selections Arthur Nersesian shoves awkwardly into his newest novel, Mesopotamia.
Coming in around 240 pages, what this little number lacks in length it makes up for with… nothing really. It lacks all around.
The story’s protagonist is Cassandra, a down-on-her-luck tabloid reporter who purportedly has talent but has squandered it due in part to a failing marriage, a series of mischarges, a list of bad decisions, and, oh yeah, she’s an alcoholic too. This barely tolerable cliché of a woman is a Korean orphan raised by a strict Jewish woman in Mesopotamia, Tennessee. Can anyone say “issues?” Or, how about “who cares.”
Here is an excerpt from a review by David Pitt from Booklist, the review journal of the American Library Association, which sums it up almost perfectly:
“…a down-and-out reporter stumbles onto the story of a lifetime and risks everything she has to solve a series of murders that will blow the lid off a small-town scandal. Ho-hum, right? Wrong.”
No, not wrong – dead on. Goodnight.
Pitt continues, “No reader is going to look at this book and think: Oh, well, another story about a homeless, broke, alcoholic tabloid reporter of Korean descent, a couple of dead Elvis impersonators, and a tax attorney’s missing wife.”
No, I think people are going to think much, much worse. The book had potential. The story could have been funny and quirky, but a few potentially interesting characters and plot elements is no excuse for uninspired, lazy writing.
Exhibit A:
“If I didn’t find this chimerical man tonight, I was going to risk a confrontation with the venomous Major.”
While it’s not fair to pull a sentence out of context, Nersesian’s use of ridiculous adjectives to populate meaningless sentences should be called out.
The Major referenced in the excerpt above, “Snake Major,” is just one of the ludicrously named yokels hanging around the Elvis-themed bar around which the story hovers. Others include: Roscoe, Zek, and Vern. Entering stage right are Jericho “Jerry” Riggs, and Floyd Loyd. The yuppie children of Cassandra’s two Jewish sisters are: Yale, Downer, Swan, Seven, Theobald, and the girls are Curtis and Micah.
To coordinate with the awful character names, Nersesian creates uninspiring characters. The protagonist is far from lovable, and even harder to like. Her epiphanies, sprinkled throughout the book, are hardly insightful and about as deep and pure as a dog bowl.
The supporting cast is your run-of-the-mill collection of rednecks: drunk, violent, drunk, and stupid. The only character of interest, a disfigured, kind man with a few secrets and surprises fails to add any air to this flat old ball of a story.
This novel, as far as I can tell, is either a brilliantly crafted joke that didn’t need to be told – a parody of a southern who-done-it – or just a book that was churned out too fast by a writer that failed to give the reader reasons to give a shit about his characters.
Arthur Nersesian is the author of nine novels, and is published by Akashic Books, which puts out some great stuff, e.g., Joe Meno. This is the first book I have read of Nersesian’s, and possibly the worst review I’ve ever written, which is fitting. I plan on reading something from Nersesian’s earlier body of work at some point. The man has a solid reputation. He must be good. There must be something in the back catalogue that’s worthy of the praise he gets.
Right?
Links:
Akashic Books: http://www.akashicbooks.com/mesopotamia.htm
