Purity - Jonathan Franzen
I don't normally read novels (I'm dedicated to the dying genre of short stories, which I can start and finish in the hour before bed) but I liked Freedom, and a friend gave me Purity last Christmas, so I figured why not. Franzen's previous novels, Freedom and The Corrections, both portray self-obsessed, insecure, and spiritually lost characters who put on a semblance of Suburban normality. In these stories, Franzen gently pokes fun at a culture where messed up people fit in. Franzen genuinely loves his characters, but he's also clearly a satirist, an objective observer of crazy people who cannot be objective about themselves.
Purity is much more clearly about mental illness, about knowing there is something wrong and trying to figure out how to live with it. This book takes away the satirical filter of Freedom and The Corrections and plops the reader inside the logic of deeply distrustful, self loathing/self involved characters, which are the most obviously and relentlessly mentally ill people Franzen has ever portrayed. One of the most captivatingly spot-on portrayals of depression and self loathing comes from Andreas Wolfe, an East German cynic and deviant born to rich, Stasi-connected parents. Andreas was lauded as an exceptional boy – smart, athletic, etc – a label which he rejected by becoming a rebellious college student. Yet he clearly has internalized the idea of being special, because he's incredibly self centered, and as a result incredibly alone. As an adult, Andreas believes he can manipulate almost anyone into trusting him. This makes human interaction a game Andreas controls – he's convinced in his ability to get people to open up to him, but he feels incapable of opening up in return. His job as a counselor for at risk youth only confirms that he is very good at gaining the trust of people (i.e. teenagers) who are not his equals.
Andreas is a fun character to be around – he's witty, he's philosophical, he's very insightful about the faults of himself and others – and he ultimately has a strong sense of morality (despite occasionally being a total asshole). He feels a responsibility to live up to lofty moral standards, even while his self loathing prevents him from doing much at all. He's also incredibly self aware, which keeps his philosophical streak from being annoying and makes the reader feel sad that he managed to get so distrustful and paranoid. (There are three other main characters in the book – all pathological, and all captivating – which I don't have time to talk about in a short review.)
And the plot...the plot of this book is deeply strange, much more epic in scope than the plot of Freedom or the Corrections, and much more openly political. There is murder, intrigue, and the sense that the characters are not nearly as important as the political landscapes they inhabit. In Freedom and The Corrections, Franzen's characters were entrenched in white American society, so Franzen was able to poke fun at the culture through them. The characters here are outcasts adrift in a huge and scary social and political world – and as a result, the political content has much higher stakes. This is a deeply uncomfortable read and a deeply strange read – if Franzen was aiming not to be included in Oprah's book club, he definitely succeeded.
Purity is much more clearly about mental illness, about knowing there is something wrong and trying to figure out how to live with it. This book takes away the satirical filter of Freedom and The Corrections and plops the reader inside the logic of deeply distrustful, self loathing/self involved characters, which are the most obviously and relentlessly mentally ill people Franzen has ever portrayed. One of the most captivatingly spot-on portrayals of depression and self loathing comes from Andreas Wolfe, an East German cynic and deviant born to rich, Stasi-connected parents. Andreas was lauded as an exceptional boy – smart, athletic, etc – a label which he rejected by becoming a rebellious college student. Yet he clearly has internalized the idea of being special, because he's incredibly self centered, and as a result incredibly alone. As an adult, Andreas believes he can manipulate almost anyone into trusting him. This makes human interaction a game Andreas controls – he's convinced in his ability to get people to open up to him, but he feels incapable of opening up in return. His job as a counselor for at risk youth only confirms that he is very good at gaining the trust of people (i.e. teenagers) who are not his equals.
Andreas is a fun character to be around – he's witty, he's philosophical, he's very insightful about the faults of himself and others – and he ultimately has a strong sense of morality (despite occasionally being a total asshole). He feels a responsibility to live up to lofty moral standards, even while his self loathing prevents him from doing much at all. He's also incredibly self aware, which keeps his philosophical streak from being annoying and makes the reader feel sad that he managed to get so distrustful and paranoid. (There are three other main characters in the book – all pathological, and all captivating – which I don't have time to talk about in a short review.)
And the plot...the plot of this book is deeply strange, much more epic in scope than the plot of Freedom or the Corrections, and much more openly political. There is murder, intrigue, and the sense that the characters are not nearly as important as the political landscapes they inhabit. In Freedom and The Corrections, Franzen's characters were entrenched in white American society, so Franzen was able to poke fun at the culture through them. The characters here are outcasts adrift in a huge and scary social and political world – and as a result, the political content has much higher stakes. This is a deeply uncomfortable read and a deeply strange read – if Franzen was aiming not to be included in Oprah's book club, he definitely succeeded.