#vain

a blog response to Antoine Wilson's Panorama City*

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In my head, I’ve already answered this question several times over. The answer is a resounding yes. Of course I’d want to read a novel written about myself. But despite the tongue-in-cheek title of this blog post, I should hastily point out that my answer doesn’t actually come from vanity (although I’ve probably irrevocably ingrained the temporary image of myself into your mind as an exceptionally vain person, and now you’re probably taking everything that I say with an extra grain of salt. Oh well.).

Ever since taking AP English Literature, which introduced to me to the art of literary analysis and drawing connections within a single piece of literature, I’ve always been fascinated by drawing such connections between the events of my own life. For example, I look back at the desolation I felt after experiencing an unexpected break-up at the end of freshman year, and realize that – were I still dating the perfectly nice but extremely practical gentleman – I would never have been able to do all the things that have made sophomore year so wonderful.

Is this hindsight speaking? Maybe. Things make sense to me now because I’ve had the luxury of time to sit back, think, and force logic upon them. I realize now that I probably sound heretical, in liking stories that do in fact make sense. But I’d much prefer to understand, than not. It’s exactly like this: when reading a novel, you get to track a character’s growth (or lack thereof), and how they – as a person – change. Sometimes it’s change for the better; other times, it’s not. Maybe that person doesn’t change at all. Whatever the case, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not the end that matters, but the means.

It’s the journey – and that itself is the fascinating part. It’s like watching a daredevil perform an incredibly risky task, and holding your breath the entire way because you’re not sure if things will go well, or if they’re headed to hell in a hand-basket. That suspense of not knowing, but thinking that you do, when you actually don’t.

So yes, a novel written about anyone has the potential to be interesting. That potential is only realized, however, if the reader chooses to let it be interesting by reacting to the story. While reading Wilson’s Panorama City, I was of course interested in what would happen next. A number of things contributed to this, not the least of which was Wilson’s unique style of writing. But what also kept me going were my own reactions. When Oppen lets Paul Renfro stay in his Aunt Liz’s attic, I was annoyed (I won’t say furious, that’s much too strong a word) that Paul was taking advantage of Oppen. And so I read on to see what would happen, in the hopes that Paul would get what he deserved. And he did. **

I guess in some ways, the reader is the true focus of the novel, because what matters is what the reader felt, and how the reader reacted to what was on the page. What we’re interested then, are not the words, the catalyst, but the effect. Now there’s an idea.

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* Fun fact, this song from Chrono Trigger's soundtrack, which oh my goodness is a FABULOUS soundtrack, was playing in my head for the last hundred pages of the book.

** I feel your judgment.