Review: Richard Kalich's 'Central Park Western Trilogy'

‘”I couldn’t believe it. It was a complete shock. I had no idea he had that in him.”
‘”And what was it that your brother, Richard, had in him?”
‘“All that sadism, perversity, grotesqueness. I mean the novel was brilliant, but as for the rest… I was totally unprepared.”’

Image source: Betime Books

Central Park Western Trilogy is the collection of three of Richard Kalich’s novels: The Nihilesthete, Penthouse F and Charlie P. They have been described as ‘postmodern fables’, addressing concepts of identity, morality and civility in a way that challenges the reader to review their own perceptions. The arrangement of the books is peculiar, and the narrative techniques vary; it is impossible to settle into the trilogy and become familiar with Kalich’s characters and his plots, because the collection in its entirety is so unsettling that it challenges any conventional approach to writing the modern novel.

The first novel in the trilogy, The Nihilesthete (1987), follows a perverse social worker on his quest first to attain control of a disabled boy with an unusual condition – cri de chat syndrome, we are told – and then to conduct a lengthy ‘game’ in which the objective is to crush the young boy’s spirit using his only joy in life, art. The novel is grotesque and shocking; it tests the reader’s sense of moral righteousness by attempting to justify the unjustifiable and rationalise the insane. Despite its contents, however, the nature of the novel does not deter, but rather compels the reader to read on as the protagonist, Haberman, relates first-hand his thoughts on all aspects of philosophy, art, science and relationships. The Nihilesthete demonstrates the brilliance of Kalich as he creates a masterpiece out of the monstrous and the ugly.

Penthouse F (2010) sees Kalich himself assume the role of protagonist, following an investigation of a young boy and girl who commit suicide together from Kalich’s balcony. The novel continues the concept of a human ‘game’ from The Nihilesthete, but in Penthouse F it is not so coherent. The narrative is jumpy, disorientating, perhaps reflecting the feelings of the interrogator as he interviews those who knew Kalich around the time he took the couple as his charges. The novel serves not as an uninterrupted work of fiction, but as a report investigating the inner workings of the author’s mind. It confuses the real with the imaginary, and it is ultimately a self-conscious piece of art; it addresses the topic of creating a novel even as it goes beyond the conventions of one.

If the first two novels of the trilogy blur fiction and reality together, then Charlie P (2005) destabilises certainty even more. Kalich chooses to create a novel comprised of small chapters with little or no relation to each other, following Charlie P’s life in no specific chronological order. Whilst it is difficult to impose order on any of Kalich’s novels, this one might be seen to be thematically unified in that it consistently addresses the complications of one man’s relationship with women. The novel appears to be less concerned with the twisted themes of the other two works in the trilogy, but there still remains a sense of the unnerving as Kalich delves yet again into the darkest depths of his character’s mind, revealing the protagonist’s shadiest thoughts as the narrative deviates further and further from normality.

Central Park Western Trilogy explores the obscure thoughts and instincts of its protagonists, depicting disturbing situations that we can only hope are limited to a fictional world. Nevertheless, Kalich manages to write a trilogy that is wrought with dark humour and a multitude of literary, philosophical and psychological references. The trilogy is an essential read for anyone who enjoys a challenge: predictable neither in content nor in form, Central Park Western Trilogy is not your average novel.

Originally published at Palatinate Online.

Linda Grant at the Durham Book Festival 2014

Linda Grant’s conversation with Caroline Beck at Durham Book Festival is far beyond a simple discussion of Grant’s newest novel, Upstairs at the Party. It is, instead, a funny and thoughtful insight into some of the most radical ideas of the early to mid-seventies.  Grant talks of this era as a time when students were “lab rats in an experimental pool” – given total liberty, free of adult interference and support – at a campus that is quite clearly the University of York, in all but name. Beneath this freedom, however, is a darker assessment of the profound impact university life can have on its students. In the hour Grant has with the audience, she addresses themes such as responsibility, blame and mental illness to highlight student issues in the seventies that clearly resonate strongly with her own experiences.

Photograph: Durham Book Festival, via Palatinate

Humorous, casual and perceptive, Grant’s talk is littered with anecdotes of her own time at university: telling familiar stories of the horrors of student accommodation, the struggle to define oneself in a new environment, and the importance of strong friendships. But between these stories, Grant voices her opinion on a number of sensitive topics.

Her novel is focused around a defining point in the narrative where something happens ‘upstairs at the party’ that will stay with the characters for their whole lives. She does not make clear what this event is, but her focus throughout the evening on the issues of mental illness and an unsupportive university system allows audience members to make an educated guess. Her novel’s narrator, Adele, looks back on this crucial moment with mixed feelings of responsibility, guilt, and blame, and Grant uses this narrative device to highlight her own memories of her university years: as she tells the audience, “there is nothing so distant as the recent past.”

A funny and thoughtful insight into some of the most radical ideas of the early to mid-seventies

Grant appeared to be looking towards her characters’ futures, highlighting some of the issues prevalent in an era that exists only as an implied future in her novel – namely, the 1980s and 1990s, where AIDS was becoming a widespread problem. Adele meets several advocates of sexual experimentation during her time as a student, not least an openly gay character called Bobby. Whilst Bobby appears to embody the freedom given to students to choose and express their individual identities, Grant was well aware of the AIDs epidemic about to overwhelm the gay community. She tells the audience that her time at university was one where “nothing could harm us”; Bobby’s sexual freedom, however, serves by implication as a powerful reminder of the potentially dangerous lifestyle he would later be exposed to.

Upstairs at the Party isn’t just a vivid and vibrant dialogue about student life in the seventies but also a reminder that issues such as mental health and the struggle for a definitive identity are dangers that all young people face, whatever their generation. Grant ends the discussion on a poignant note when she states that “every generation finds a new set of problems,” and perhaps this is why Upstairs at the Party has been greeted with such promising reviews: it is a funny, saddening and reflective novel inviting empathy from readers of all generations.

Originally published at Palatinate Online.