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PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY, THE: A NOVELLA by Steve Martin
Book Summary InformationAuthor: Steve Martin Edition: Paperback Audio: English (Published) Format: Bargain Price Published: 2004-10-06 ISBN: N/A Number of pages: 176 Publisher: Hyperion
Book Reviews of PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY, THE: A NOVELLABook Review: Once again, a different kind of Steve Martin Summary: 4 Stars
I wish Steve Martin would spend more time on projects like this and less time walking into walls, falling down, mugging with Queen Latifah. Here is an intelligent and perceptive soul selling himself short because--well, I don't know why.
He has money, he has fame. He can chuck projects that are beneath him and give us real art. Instead he gives us a remake of The Pink Panther.
But history will ponder over that one. I'm here to ponder over his second novella. (He calls it a novel but it's really a novella; it's as short as his first effort, Shopgirl, if not shorter. The book only feels thicker because of wider spacing and bigger type.) The Pleasure of My Company is about an emotionally-disturbed but insightful and sensitive man who longs for a normal life, and fantasizes about it in his head, while watching the world from his second story window. Demons keep him from even being able to go straight to the Rite Aid up the street to buy his medication. His relationships with women are all in his head--fantasies of considerable complexity and depth, but fantasies all the same. Many of the themes of Shopgirl are here as well--loneliness, journeys to find oneself, the impersonal ness of LA, the longing for female company, underdeveloped souls, emotionally-distant and scarred fathers. This is a Steve Martin you never knew.
For the first half of the book there's not much plot. In fact, he could have trimmed twenty pages. And even when the plot takes off, it's not original or unusual. But that's not the point. Readers of Shopgirl know that plot is not why we're here. We're here for surprising, simple, direct insights into people and how they tick. And after a career of pratfalls and silliness, it appears Martin has spent his time observing and examining the world at great length and depth. And, as in Shopgirl, Martin's little observations about life--the literary equivalent of a Vermeer painting--are presented with quietness and humanity and humility. That's what makes this work a cut above superficially similar cloying stories such as the film Forrest Gump, just as Shopgirl was a cut above standard chick-lit such as Sarah Dunn's Big Love and Nicholas Sparks' pure drivel (if I may borrow a term from Mr. Martin). The ending might be a bit predictable, but we observe a lot of interesting inner drama along the way.
This is a short book, but not a short *read,* because you'll keep pausing with it on your knee as you reflect. There are some humerous moments, such as the main character's participation in one of those TV "crime stopper"-type shows, but don't expect laughs on every page: this is not a *comedy.* It's a divine character study. The subordinate characters, from Zandy to Clarissa to Elizabeth, are drawn with fine detail right down to the pantyhose they wear and the perfume they exude. The male characters--what very few of them there are--maybe aren't as sharply rendered, but Martin excels at characterizing and understanding the female heart better than the male. As with Shopgirl, after finishing this all I can say is, Thank you, Steve, and more please.
Summary of PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY, THE: A NOVELLA Daniel Pecan Cambridge, 30, 35, 38, or 27, depending on how he feels that day, is a young man whose life is rich and full, provided he never leaves his Santa Monica apartment. After all, outside there are 8-inch-high curbs and there's always the horrible chance he might see a gas station attendant wearing a blue hat. So, except for the occasional trip to the Rite Aid to admire the California girl Zandy and to buy ear plugs because they're on sale, he stays home a lot. And a good thing too, or he would have never been falsely implicated in a murder, never almost seduced Philipa, never done the impossible task of jogging around the block with Brian, never ironed his pillows, and might never have won the Most Average American essay contest. In The Pleasure of My Company, Steve Martin's second novel, all of the enjoyments of the critically acclaimed bestseller Shopgirl are present: the tender portrayal of loneliness and love; a character's quest to reach out and engage the world; as well as laugh-out-loud humor and language that is brilliantly inventive. But in the story of Daniel Pecan Cambridge and the people who inhabit the insular universe he is seeking to expand?if only one small square at a time?Steve Martin has achieved something extraordinary: the chronicle of a modern-day neurotic yearning to break free. Readers expecting something zany, something crudely humorous from Steve Martin's second novel, The Pleasure of My Company, will discover much greater riches. While the book has a sense of humor, Martin moves everywhere with a gentler, lighter touch in this elegant little fiction that verges on the profound and poetic. Daniel Pecan Cambridge is the narrator and central consciousness of the novel (actually a novella). Daniel, an ex-Hewlett-Packard communiqué encoder, is a savant whose closely proscribed world is bounded on every side by neuroses and obsessions. He cannot cross the street except at driveways symmetrically opposed to each, and he cannot sleep unless the wattage of the active light bulbs in his apartment sums to 1,125. Daniel's starved social life is punctuated by twice-weekly visits from a young therapist in training, Clarissa; by his prescription pick-ups from a Rite Aid pharmacist, Zandy; and by his "casual" meetings with the bleach-blond real estate agent, Elizabeth, who is struggling to sell apartments across the street. But Daniel's dysfunctional routines are shattered one day when he becomes entangled in the chaos of Clarissa's life as a single mother. Taking care of Clarissa's tiny son, Teddy, Daniel begins to emerge from the safety of logic, magic squares, and obsessive counting. Martin's craftsmanship is remarkable. The tightly packed novella paints rich portraits with restraint and balance, including nothing extraneous to Daniel's world. The book does not try for pyrotechnics but is contented with a Zen-like simplicity in both prose and plot. Avoiding the crushing bleakness of much contemporary fiction, Martin insists through Daniel--a man haunted by horrors of his own making--that there is possibility for compassion, that broken lives can actually be healed. --Patrick O'Kelley
United States Books
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