Ghost Lights

 Ghost Lights

By Lydia Millet

I'm not sure if the reference to 2001: A Space Odyssey was intentional, but the main character of this

installment of Millet's cycle, Hal, is definitely on autopilot. He works for the IRS and, even after a decades-long career there, is still a true believer. He is happy to be a cog: in the governmental machine, in his marriage, in life in general. Especially since the accident, on a snowy Colorado night, that left his daughter, Casey, paralyzed. That loss, in which he had no direct role, is all Hal seems to have room for in his brain. 

But then the machine turns against him. He returns home early from work one day to find his wife's co-worker, Robert, leaving his house. Huh. He finds said wife, Susan, showering. And in the folds of the rumpled bed, a shiny piece of metal packaging. His heart races. Could it be...? No. Yes? No? Yes. He follows her to the office the next day and witnesses it: she is having an affair. 

Autopilot off. He is due at a dinner party at Casey's house, and decides to have a few drinks beforehand, something quite uncharacteristic. When talk turns to Susan's boss, T. -- who we met in How the Dead Dream -- Hal stays out of character. Someone needs to go to Belize to find T., Susan insists. I will do it, Hal insists back. It's no problem. The true believer has months of vacation time accrued.

Down Hal goes. Finding T., who against all odds is not dead, is actually easier than anticipated. All he had to do was ask for Marlo, the foreman on T.'s now-destroyed island resort project. But Hal doesn't know that. So he accidentally enlists the help of a German couple with two tow-heads. The patriarch, Hans, is all business and somehow calls in the U.S. Coast Guard to search the area where T. was last seen. The matriarch, Gretel, takes a shining to Hal that results in some inebriated, late-night beach sex. 

One morning, Hal, sleeping on the pool chaise, is woken by Marlo, who takes him to the island. T. is there, feral, with a new perspective on life. The pursuit of money for money's sake, he avows, is silly. He is bearded. He is dressed in rags. He is, after speaking with the brother of the guide who died on his jungle journey, taken into custody.

Hal freaks out. He goes to the embassy and finds cynical help, who insist there is nothing to worry about. T. insists there is nothing to worry about. Hal is not so sure. Still, things are looking up. He has confronted Susan on the phone; there will be a future for their marriage. He has confronted his autopilot tendencies; he will be different upon return. 

The machine, though, will not compute. Just as he feels like he has made some peace with the world, an unnoticed boy, who Hal tries to make room for on the sidewalk, stabs him, takes his wallet, and leaves him for dead. Will he die? It certainly seems so. But I thought T. would die, too.

Hal's final thoughts are on the nature of Jesus, and the way that the lives of the rich are antithetical to who he was. He meditates on the way the many suffer and die for the few when it was actually supposed to be the other way around. Though not rich by American standards, he is a bit astonished to realize that he is, in fact, one of the few. Not as much as T., though. Does he die for T.'s sins?

How the Dead Dream

 How the Dead Dream

By Lydia Millet

After reading A Children's Bible I thought I'd go down a bit of a Lydia Millet rabbit hole. This book is the
first in a trilogy of sorts with a similar story line.

This book focuses on T., which, we learn later in the book, is short for Thomas. It's a fitting nickname for a character focused on efficiency in all aspects of his life. Everything he does is meant to move toward an end goal of wealth. Even in college, his "friendships" with wealthier frat brothers are in the interest of potential business connections.

For a long while, T.'s life plan seems to be working out. His lifetime pursuit of trading for profit works well in New York and then in Los Angeles, where he breaks into real estate. His relationships with people, and the earth, remain purely transactional. 

But then his mother shows up. His father, she says, is missing. No note, no phone call, no ideas about where he could be. At the same time, he begins to fall in love -- real love -- with a woman named Beth. He sees a future in which they are partners and he is no longer alone. As in A Children's Bible, though, cracks appear in the Edenic plan. 

T. finds his father -- slinging drinks at a gay bar in Florida. His whole life, up until that point, was a lie, he says. His father files for divorce, which sends his mother into a tailspin. Then Beth suffers a heart attack, which leads to a car crash, which leads to her death. All of a sudden, T. feels what it is like to lose. Always alone in the world, he now begins to feel lonely.

For comfort, he begins to seek out endangered species in zoos, imagining them to be feeling what he is feeling: the last of their kind, lonely. He takes lessons in picking locks and finds himself napping with them at night. He takes an interest in the endangered kangaroo rats displaced by his mega development in the desert outside L.A. 

He next has his eyes on an island in Belize, where he hires a guide to take him into jaguar country. The odds of seeing one, he knows, are very, very low. But just to be in their presence is enough. But then, more loss. His guide has a heart attack, and T. is now very, very alone. He attempts to find his own way out of the jungle. At the end of the book, though, it doesn't look good for him.

Up next: Ghost Lights.

A Children's Bible

 A Children's Bible 

By Lydia Millet

Another recommendation from the Anthony Jeselnik book club. 

It starts off dreamily: "Once we lived in a summer country." The "we" here is a group of several families vacationing in a mansion built by a robber baron by the sea. The kids, including the narrator, Evie, have free run of the place and are turning more and more feral by the moment. But soon cracks appear in the Edenic vision.

The kids aren't given freedom -- they're neglected. The parents, who never have names, engage in a pattern of "hair of the dog", "drink and conversation", dinner, and then boozing for real. They disgust the kids, most of whom seem to be in their late teens with the exception of Evie's brother, Jack and a friend (whose name I forget but who only speaks through signs). Then more cracks. The troupe of kids decide to camp out on the beach for the night. There, they meet the scions of an Uber wealthy family sailing their yacht up the coast. They smoke weed and party -- but also talk about survival compounds. The book feels contemporary, but it's either a few decades in the future or a bit of an alternate reality. Are there "preppers" out there? Sure. But they are fringe elements at the moment. 

And then the thing falls apart. A storm hits. Jack and his companion, who have recently been given "A Children's Bible" take on the role of modern-day Noah's and gather any and all animals they can. They store them in a tree house, where they ride out the storm. The parents don't notice. Instead, they take Ecstasy and have an orgy. The teens clamor to the tree house. The storm is bad; it ruins the house and, it seems, the surrounding countryside. 

One day, a man named Burl appears. He's been paddling for days, and is glad to find respite. When the waters recede, he joins the teens in an effort to escape to one of the family's Rye, NY, compound. They don't make it, instead holing up on a different compound somewhere in Pennsylvania. For a moment, it seems like they have found another, truer Eden, one bereft of their bothersome parents. But cracks appear again, this time in the form of an armed, roving gang drunk with power and motivated to horde as much food as they can. Things are, after all, bad out there.

In the end, the kids are fine. The parents, though, they somehow disappear into the ether.

It is, it seems, a metaphor for the impending climate crisis. The older generation, which may or may not include me, parties on as the earth falls apart, giving into their hedonistic tendencies while leaving the inevitable destruction to their kids. 

I really liked this book. The description above sounds intense, but there were moments of levity and humor. It was, in a way, absurdist. One of the blurbs on the back compared Millet to Vonnegut, and I think it's an apt comparison. I'd never heard of her, and I've decided to dig deeper and check out some of her other novels.