Tag Archives: drugs

An Interview with Marc Schuster

What inspired you to write The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Super Girl?

I was working on a paper in graduate school when I started reading a pair of books called The Steel Drug and Cocaine Changes. As the titles suggest, they were about cocaine, and they included case studies of people who had used and abused cocaine. Some of them were very compelling, but due to the nature of the books, the stories were also very fragmentary. With The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Party Girl I wanted to flesh out some of the details in a fictionalized forum, to try to come up with a more fully imagined version of the scraps I had read and started to piece together.

Tell us about your blog, Small Press Reviews, and the appeal of reviewing the works of small presses.

I started Small Press Reviews in November of 2007 after sitting in on a discussion of small presses at a local writers’ conference. One of the speakers was an author named Curtis Smith. I bought his book The Species Crown and loved it. Between his talk and the book, I was sold on small presses. Part of the appeal is that I feel like small press readers and writers share a strong sense of community. I had lunch with a small press author named Christian TeBordo a few weeks ago, and though we’d never really met before—aside from running into each other once or twice when we both taught at Temple University—we found that we shared a common language, so to speak, as we dropped names of small presses we really admire like Featherproof and Atticus Books, as well as small press books we both enjoyed like The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Somerville. Being part of the small press scene is a little bit like belonging to an exclusive club, but one that’s—ironically, I guess—open to anyone who’s interested in joining. All you need to do is read a few books and join the conversation.

What’s the premise of Don DeLillo, Jean Baudrillard, and the Consumer Conundrum? What is the “Consumer Conundrum” and how is it reflected in the works of DeLillo, an American novelist, and Baudrillard, a French social theorist?

The book basically looks at the problem of consumerism in the western world. Early in his career, Jean Baudrillard wrote a book called The System of Objects in which he argued that humans have surrounded themselves with commodities which no longer serve any real purpose other than to signal status. This observation in itself is nothing new, but Baudrillard’s argument was that by surrounding ourselves with objects, we’ve taken on the status of objects ourselves—that our sense of self-worth is bound up in the constellations of objects we arrange around ourselves as signs of value. This is a bit of an oversimplification of his argument, but the conundrum I talk about in the book is that of figuring out how to overcome the inertia of commodification, how to stop being objects and, instead, become subjects, become human again. Baudrillard offered a lot of commentary on this predicament over the course of his career and eventually decided that it really couldn’t be done. Don DeLillo, on the other hand offers a more hopeful view of our species’ potential to regain its humanity—through art, though language, through doubting the logic of accumulation that surrounds us. It’s been a long time since I wrote that book. I’m a little fuzzy on the details.

Is there a link between capitalism’s need for gain (profits, acquisition, expansion, accumulation) and an addict’s need for increased dosages just “to maintain”?  (“Wonder Mom” seemed to touch on this indirectly, albeit from the perspective of a Drug Morality Tale.  Audrey’s inevitable crash late in the novel and the global economic cataclysm aren’t too dissimilar.  Or am I reading too much into it?)

No, you’re not reading too much into at all! In fact, a part of me always hoped that readers would draw a similar parallel. Look at the publishing industry, for example. John B. Thompson wrote a book a couple of years ago called Merchants of Culture, and in it he talks about the publishing industry’s need to make 10% more money in any given year than they did in the previous year. That’s why you always see a glut of crappy, gimmicky books just before the holiday season. The publishers are gambling that people who don’t generally read might buy these books as gifts, that they’ll be good for a laugh or will look good on a shelf in someone’s house somewhere. Yet another reason, I suppose, to favor small presses over big conglomerates. The same thing, as you note, happens to Audrey as she continues to fall deeper and deeper into her addiction. She’s hollowing out her soul as she strives for that extra 10% that will help her keep her head above water, at least until she needs her next hit. I always had consumerism in mind when I was working on that book.

Between your novels, your blog, and your teaching, what’s your work schedule like?  Do you ever feel like one area is being neglected while you tend to another?

Hah! Yes! All the time! I teach five courses with an average enrollment of about twenty students each. On any given weekend, I’m grading between forty and sixty papers. I love teaching, but that much grading really takes a toll. Needless to say, I don’t get much time for writing during the school year, but I do try to squeeze it in here and there. On one hand, I wish I had more time to write, but I also wouldn’t want to give up teaching. Not just because of the steady paycheck and benefits, but because I really feel like I come alive in front of a classroom—sharing ideas with students, helping them learn to express their ideas and participate in the wider dialogue not just of academia but of culture at large. Even so, I frequently wish I had more time to write. And blogging? I liken it to punk rock. When I’m working on a novel or an essay or a short story, I’m obsessing over craft and getting the content and form of the piece just right, like Brian Wilson taking months to record “Good Vibrations.” But with blogging, it’s more like the Ramones recording their first album in a day. Get it done, and get it out there. Share it with the world, warts and all.

What projects are you working on these days?

My second novel comes out in May. It’s called The Grievers. I should be getting galley copies this week, so I’ll be proofreading and making notes for any minor changes I want to make before it goes to print. Otherwise, I’m mainly gathering scraps in a notebook and hoping they eventually coalesce into something somewhere down the line.

Who are your favorite authors (novelists and/or academics)?

I like anyone who bridges the gap between “ivory tower” academic discourse and a more down to earth yet intelligent public discourse. There’s a lot in the news lately about the hollowing out of the middle class. I think there’s also been a gutting of the ability to have an intelligent conversation in the United States. At one end, there are academics who speak and write in impenetrable and, frankly, boring prose, and at the other end there’s the bombast and vitriol of the shouting heads on TV and radio, not to mention the histrionics of anyone involved in reality TV. It’s tough for regular people like you and me to have a thoughtful, intelligent, public conversation about the arts or culture or even politics anymore, but it is possible. Authors like Jonathan Lethem and Steve Almond do it in their nonfiction, and a lot of bloggers are doing it, too. Anyone who raises the bar on public discourse is okay in my book.

But if you’re looking for names, I love pretty much everything by Kurt Vonnegut. I was also on a George Saunders kick for a while, hot on the heels of a Chuck Palahniuk kick, a Neil Gaiman kick, and my perennial Philip K. Dick kick. Over the summer, I read Chistopher Moore’s Fool and told all of my friends to read it. More recently, I’ve been reading a lot of short stories. Robin Black’s If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This is amazing, and I really enjoyed Steve Almond’s God Bless America. I also liked Don DeLillo’s The Angel Esmerelda. If I’m not teaching or writing, I’m reading.

The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom & Party Girl, by Marc Schuster

Audrey Corcoran is unhappy, affected by the vague nameless malaise that creeps into those with thwarted ambitions and unrealized desires.  Audrey works at Eating Out, a “shopper magazine” one usually sees in grocery stores and restaurants.  In this case, the “magazine” – really a glorified press release and advertising delivery device – caters to the businesses on the Golden Mile, a strip of middlebrow chains and franchises.  The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom & Party Girl chronicles Audrey’s alienation and annoyance at the petty power games and trivialities in her comfortable middle class existence.

Living with her two children, the studious Catherine and the wild Lily, she survives as a divorcee in a Philadelphia suburb.  Her work life is one of false bonhomie and hollow comparisons to “a family”, made by Vic, her sleazy adulterous boss.  The office environment has all the earmarks of a workplace sitcom: the sexy faded Eastern European named Svetlana, the Indian guy named Raj, and the haggard mom named Melinda.  During one of these “family get togethers” at a local restaurant, Svetlana and Melinda goad Audrey into trying cocaine.  Audrey refuses.  This triggers an internal war inside her.  She wants to have fun, but she also has to be the perfect mom for her two children.

Eventually Audrey gives in to her temptations and tries it.  Her gateway is Owen Little, jazz aficionado and owner of Nick’s American Grill.  The occasional thrill becomes more habitual until it becomes an all-encompassing burden, an insatiable beast that has to be fed the stuff or else it will trigger a crash.

Written in the first person, Schuster captures the comical and tragic inherent in the American middle class lifestyle.  Amidst the constant justifications and rationalizations Audrey gives herself to take cocaine just one more time, he balances humor with personal failure.  As a divorcee, it is easy for Audrey to feel like a failure and not the proper role model for her children.  Thus she joins the local school board and then gets appointed on the anti-drug task force.  She meets a comically over-the-top anti-drug motivational speaker/superhero/exercise equipment salesman.  In that meeting, she buys an expensive piece of exercise equipment, recruits said superhero, and realizes she needs to sniff another line of coke along with figure out how to pay for the equipment.  Thus Audrey crosses the line from drug consumer to drug distributor, aided by Melinda.

Schuster gives Audrey an uncanny degree of psychological realism.  Not only is her drug consumption and paranoia handled well, but the coke paranoia exacerbates her middle class attitudes.  The middle class exists less as a concrete socioeconomic cohort than an ingrained perspective akin to the French term bourgeois.  (While many are economically bourgeois, they’d never deign call themselves that term, despite the bourgeois ideology being omnipresent in society.)  One key facet of the middle class attitude is resentment.  In the case of Audrey, it shows up in how she reacts to people outside her tax bracket.  She detests her husband’s new fiancée Chloe, driving her gigantic Escalade and her wealthy parents.  As a drug pusher, she threatens to call the police on a couple of “scummy looking” addicts.  In a fateful encounter on the Silver Mile (a rundown, decrepit section of the suburb yet to be properly gentrified), Audrey and Melinda get some coke in a very sketchy neighborhood.  Alas, poor people are frightening.

One of the beauties of Wonder Mom is Schuster’s non-judgmental attitude towards Audrey.  It is too easy to turn addiction stories into cod-Temperance morality tales.  Audrey is hardly “the weaker sex,” especially since she has to work as a single parent and juggle her work and school duties.  Audrey doesn’t necessarily triumph, but she perseveres.  Cocaine was one way she dealt with her busy life.  America’s schizophrenic attitude towards pleasure and its misguided failed War on Drugs only compounded Audrey’s bad decision.

(Marlise Tkaczuk’s “Wonder Mom” cover is delightful.  It shows Audrey in a makeshift costume holding a spatula, her red hair offset by the vibrant greens and yellows.  A quirky comic book-style cover betrays the comical and tragic tale inside.)

The Reckoning by Howard Owen

In Howard Owen’s ninth novel, The Reckoning, the lives of George James and Freeman Hawk meet again after decades of separation.  Freeman was an African-American civil rights activist who fled to Canada to avoid getting drafted.  George James was a scion of the old money South and an heir to the Old Dominion Ham Company.  Owen shifts between past and present, reflecting the tense relationship between George James, widowed and alcoholic, and his son Jake.  Freeman Hawk returned to George, but George’s idealization of Freeman makes the opaque circumstances harder to pick up.  George tells Jake how Freeman led the nascent anti-war movement at New Hope College.  The menacing forces that swirl around Freeman’s reappearance cast the novel as a garden-variety thriller.

The thriller aspect is deepened with extended flashbacks into the lives of Freeman and George.  Beyond the memories and stories of the two men lay something more ominous.  Deceptions pile on top of more deceptions until nothing remains but a wilderness of mirrors.

Owen crafts a Balzackian novel, equal parts potboiler and historical epic.  (Like Balzac, Mr. Owen is surprisingly prolific, working as a newspaper editor and churning out novels.)  Tracing the James family back to their Jewish predecessor who fought in the Civil War leads to George’s son Jacob, heir apparent and juvenile delinquent.  Jake finds solace in the isolation of running whereas his father, unable to deal with life’s hardships, descends into the soothing abyss of alcoholism.  And like any good novel by Balzac, this tale has its share of history, bloodshed, crime, and slivers of redemption.

Elysiana by Chris Knopf

The novel Elysiana is about the eponymous barrier island off the coast of South Jersey.  Chris Knopf, known for the Sam Acquillo Hamptons Mystery novels, has written a self-contained novel set in the summer of 1969.  It begins with Midwestern girl Gwendolynn Anders suffering a bad drug trip.  Time loses coherence as Gwendolynn experiences memories and flashbacks, seeing herself at a party, and then finding herself in the back of car.  She gradually regains control of her mental faculties and then realizes she is on Elysiana.  The island, only twenty-five miles long and a mile wide, presents a microcosm of life.  Following the temporal disorientation of Gwendolynn’s bad trip, the reader is introduced to other characters populating the tiny island.

Knopf fills the island with villains and oddballs.  At the beginning, the characters seem more like an accumulation of quirks.  Avery Volpe is the hard-as-nails captain of the beach patrol.  Norm Harlan is the chubby wannabe authoritarian working as the borough president.  Convinced of American moral decline, he is on a crusade to eradicate the island’s hippies and to gain more power.  As the novel’s plot progresses, we find out how far Norm is willing to go to concentrate power in his hands.  Gwendolynn meets Norm, his flighty wife Paula, and his daughter Sweetie who constantly gets lost.  Due to Sweetie’s penchant for wandering off, the Harlans hire Gwendolynn as their au pair.  Despite the cloying name, Sweetie remains of the few child characters that is not annoying or a caricature of cuteness.  For living arrangements, Gwendolynn ends up staying with Jack Halycon, a brain-damaged oddball living in the Imperial Hotel.  Both Halycon and the Imperial Hotel sport fascinating back-stories that tie into the labyrinthine relationships tying together the small island community.

Characters develop from quirky caricatures into fully formed beings when the plot begins to click into action.  Classified as both a thriller and a fable, Knopf weaves a tale that involves power plays, bureaucratic in-fighting, and drug-running.  Throwaway lines yield clues to bigger conspiracies.  Norm Harlan, with the help of the Elysiana Police, sets himself on a mad quest to discover the big suppliers to the drug runners soiling his fine island.  A mysterious female complicates the life of a lifeguard, finding himself in the crossfire between Avery Volpe’s love and Norm Harlan’s quest for political domination.

Setting the novel in the Sixties allows for a certain level of looseness, unexpected in a book billing itself as a thriller.  However, the looseness provides room for the various relationships, personal and institutional, to slowly gel or fragment.  The novel is reminiscent of early work by Tom Robbins, before his work devolved into cuteness and monotonous whimsy.  It can be appreciated by those looking for a fun read and those looking for an innovative approach to the thriller genre.

I Think, Therefore Who Am I?: Memoir of a Psychedelic Year, by Peter Weissman

In the film The Limey (Steven Soderbergh, 1999), the record producer Terry Valentine offers his girlfriend an evocative speech describing the Sixties.

“Did you ever dream about a place you never really recall being to before?  A place that maybe only exists in your imagination?  Some place far away, half remembered when you wake up.  When you were there, though, you knew the language.  You knew your way around.  That was the sixties.”

After a pause, he continues.  “No.  It wasn’t that either.  It was just ’66 and early ’67.  That’s all there was.”  Peter Weissman’s memoir I Think, Therefore Who Am I?: Memoir of a Psychedelic Year examines 1967.  Terry Valentine’s speech from The Limey shows how the recording industry has commodified and mythologized the decade to an eager consumer base.  The Sixties remains the popular decade to mythologize, at least among the political Left and rock fans.  On the other hand, the Right readily mythologizes the Fifties with its philosophy of conformity, white privilege, and rabid anti-Communism.

I Think, Therefore Who Am I? demythologizes the decade by taking a detailed look at one year.  The year 1967 represents a utopian vision to those that never experienced it.  The following year, 1968, ushers in feelings of pessimism, civil unrest in major US cities, and military atrocities in Vietnam.

Weissman’s memoir tells the story of one man and his quest for enlightenment.  He encounters visionaries, drug dealers, and other characters in his daily wanderings in New York City.  He travels to California to experience the Haight-Ashbury scene.

Written in a youthful pretentious style, Weissman captures what it’s like to be young and idealistic.  The youthful style works in its favor, since it draws in the reader.  “At the edge of the Platonic huddle now, a joint was thrust in my direction, brusquely welcoming me to the order of the stoned disciples of the weed.”  He reminds the reader the possibilities and fears one encounters before one settles into middle age.

Reminiscent of Nicholas Pileggi’s Wiseguy, the memoir follows an individual through the bad trips, betrayals, adventures, and enlightenment in a year overdetermined by mythologizers and promoters.  While Wiseguy follows the life story of a foot soldier in a criminal syndicate, Peter Weissman’s memoir shows how one still had to hustle and struggle to stay afloat.  The Sixties had great music and charismatic personalities, but one still had to buy food and find a pad where one could spend the night.  Weissman tells of these daily experiences, the good and the bad.

My only pet peeve relates to the book’s production, not the content.  The publisher, Xlibris, has a paperback version of the book.  Unfortunately, the paperback’s front and back covers curled.  In my correspondence with the author, Weissman assured me this problem was not seen in the hardcover version of the book.

I Think Therefore, Who Am I? is recommended to anyone curious about the Sixties.  The unique perspective, focusing only on one year, offers a nice change from the memoirs flooding bookstores.