Now You See Him Book

Now You See Him by Eli Gottlieb is a bedeviling book. A writer from a small town who rises swiftly to fame with the publication of a brilliant collection of short stories. That fame, however, is nothing compared to the media shitstorm that arises when the author, Rob Castor, shoots his lover and then himself. Though I tend to run from stories about writers, particularly moody-broody, prone to murder types, the suicide angle proved irresistible.

The novel is narrated in the first person from the point of view of Rob's childhood friend Nick who, much like the small town where Rob is from and Nick still lives, is trying to move on from the tragedy, though not too hard and not too successfully. The storyline follows Nick as he navigates the aftermath and reflects on his childhood and on the dual tragedies. There are so many things wrong with this book I don't know where to start.

1) Ostensibly, it's about a writer. Like most writers I know, I profess to hate stories about writers, but I still find myself getting suckered by stories about scribes hoping I'll stumble upon the next Barton Fink or Wonder Boys. The way Rob's achievements are glorified is almost embarrassing. Nick is like the geeky fan whose fanaticism ruins the fun for normal people.

2) Overwritten. Try this on for size: "The seasons passed, the leaves fell and in miraculous fits, in tantrums of green, they appeared again, and every day, Rob climbed to his desk like an exhausted swimmer battling the outgoing tide to the beach, and there tried to concentrate." Don't you feel a little embarrassed for Rob? Don't you feel a little embarrassed for all of us? And what do the miraculous tantrums of spring have to do with anything? I used this example to bolster my first point, but the book is littered with constructions like these. But just so that there can be no doubt, here's another one that caused me to actually launch the book across the room. "She laughed at me, but gently, and in a way that was so familiar to me it was like a touch upon the foundations of my soul." And where would that be exactly, the spleen?

3) Bad Dialogue. I'll allow that there's nothing wrong with much of the dialogue (or almost nothing wrong) but Gottlieb's sense of timing is completely off, like he has no idea how a real person would sound if thrust into the scenarios Gottlieb creates for his characters. I'm not going to cite an example because dialoge culled out of context can be made to sound foolish regardless of its author, but the lack of authenticity causes a deep mistrust for the individual putting words in their mouths.

4) Exposition of Convenience. Over and over again Gottlieb will tell us something that hadn't been mentioned before and, cognizant of the lapse, he'll launch into a set-piece of exposition and then never mention it again. He does this at several key junctures, like when he tells us that Christmas is coming. He also does it with plot points. He'll makes use of a minor character and then abandon her as soon as she fulfills her function in relation to Nick. One never gets a sense that the characters have a life of their own.

5) Unlikable Characters. It's one thing to have an unlikable narrator, but the whole cast of characters is made up of shitheels you wouldn't want to sit next to on a plane. The only character I liked was Nick's wife, but only because she lays into him with a savagery reminiscent of Carmela Soprano. If ever there was someone in need of the business, it's Nick. Even the "villain," the weasely childhood friend of Rob's who secures a book deal for an expose about his death, is more likable than Nick by a factor of ten.

6) Conflating Withholding with Suspense. The main surprise at the end of the book, the carrot that keeps the burro going, is not something that Nick uncovers or learns. It's something he knows on page one but chooses not to divulge. I myself have written stories guilty of much the same thing. Sometimes this is okay. This is not one of those times. Some narrators are decietful and duplicitous. You can't trust a thing they say. Nick, however, belongs to that species of supplicant who will tell you what he had for breakfast in excruciating detail, right down to the number of crumbs left on the plate, yet we have to slog through to the end to find out what he's known from the beginning. It just doesn't get any cheaper than that.

Yet, for all its flaws, for all its maddening excesses, I couldn't put the book down. As much as I bitched and moaned, I couldn't tear myself away. I was reading so intently that people would come up to me just to ask what I was reading. Then, when I reached the end, I was caught completely off guard, didn't see it coming at all. So I ask myself, was this a good book? Heaven's no. Was it a good reading experience? Absolutely. I honestly don't know what to make of this discrepancy other than to tip my cap to Mr. Gottlieb.