No really – don’t click to look inside…

Gone Girl is the BAM book of the month for May. BAM is the now nearly three year old book group, Books at Millstone. That’s the group of women who meet monthly in my development to read and discuss books that were read the previous month.

The individual that chose this book earlier this week sent out an e-mail to the rest of us, warning about some issues with language (the “F” word) and activity (sexual in nature). She was just beginning to read the book, and had already sensed this might be a problem. This is because a pastor’s wife attended the book club meeting last month when we covered The Night Circus. The book’s sponsor was concerned that the writing would be too risque for the group, given this new member.

Last night we had the April meeting to discuss the story of Henry Flagler’s ill-fated attempt to build the railroad to Key West, brought to life in Last Train to Paradise. The May book recommender reiterated her concern about the nature of Gone Girl‘s writing. Another member said she’d read the entire book and while yes, there was that inappropriate (?) language and activity, it wasn’t really that terribly bad. A few others chimed in to say they thought they could handle it. And since the pastor’s wife was a ‘no-show’ last night, maybe we could risk it. (Note my illustration for the pastor’s wife: not all are created out of the same cloth…pun intended)

But I’ve already read the book. In fact, I finished the book in two days’ flat. I gave up most of Wednesday night’s sleep to feed my desire to reach the end. As such, inapt language which could potentially offend sensitive eyes notwithstanding, I was hoping they would agree to make it the May book. They did, after a short speech from me about the Gen-X thing. So now I can tell you about the book – sort of a warm up for the May discussion…OK?

Author: Gillian Flynn. Gen X-er. Those born between 1965 and 1980. Called “Gen-X”, per a piece in Time magazine, because they were born between the much larger population of Baby Boomers and Gen Y’s. I have a Gen-X son. I have one cusp daughter, and one Gen-Y daughter. How’s that for diversity? I think having this spectrum of children’s ages qualifies me to understand this book maybe in ways others cannot. So here goes…

Start with the description on the inside-left portion of the book jacket. Looks like an Ann Rule-written Scott Peterson story. Rotten husband gets sick of perfect wife, wants hot girlfriend and kills perfect wife. Being the narcissistic idiot that he is, eventually all is found out – generally through assistance from the doting father – and the reader is satisfied with the bum getting his just desserts after dying his hair and attempting to escape after the girlfriend rats him out.

But wait a sec – cool your jets. This is not at all your typical plot line, as described above.

No, there’s no spoiler alert required here – I won’t disclose much – if anything – of the plot. Why not? Geez, lady, if you say the book was worth staying up all night to finish, why won’t you describe the plot?

Because that would spoil it for you, and because, upon completion of the book, and upon some introspection, that’s not the topic I want to discuss. Hey, it’s my blog – I can do what I want widdit…so just shut the fuck up! (Hey, I’m trying to get you inured to the word so you can handle the language when you read the book…right..)

So I finish the book about 4 am, and my immediate reaction is more about the author than the story. Somewhere – about two-thirds thru – I looked at the back flap to find out about this Gillian Flynn. There are two of them – this one has a hyphen in her website. The other doesn’t, so don’t get confused with the two. This one is Gen-X; the other is clearly Gen-Y. Interesting reality, but not the point so back to it.

If this Gillian is at all representative of Gen-X’ers, oh wow…they are a really nasty bunch. To have thought up the main character – named Amy Elliott Dunne – you more than likely have to possess some of the same characteristics. To quote Dana Carvey doing George H.W. Bush, “scaarrryyy”.

The husband, “Lance” Nick Dunne, isn’t any more likeable than his wife. Amy’s parents are a couple of dipsticks, who have exploited their daughter’s psyche through creating a fictional ‘Amy’ and making a fortune selling books about her as she grew up to adulthood. Nick’s mother is dying of cancer, and Nick’s father has Alzheimer’s, and always was a dick (that’s how he’s described in the book – don’t get all ruffled about this old broad’s bad language).

So here’s the point of my essay – this is the lens through which these unfortunate Gen-X’ers have grown up. That piece in Time magazine is one big whine about boomers’ reflection on the madness of the 60’s, and their younger, Gen-Y siblings’ easy life. So what have you got? Middle child syndrome…never satisfied…somebody always has it better…life is just one great big disappointment. A recipe for murder, you say? A recipe for that and … a recipe for obsession, creative life-role playing to the point of complete destruction and – I’d use the word psychosis, but a walking form of cleverly disguised psychosis.

Whew! Enough – let’s go grab that scary book full of evil and madness…almost as good as The Walking Dead and/or The Vampire Diaries. OK…if you say so.

That’s not what got me. She got me on page 7. Here’s the sentence that did it: “When she spied me lurking there in grubby boxers, my hair in full Heat Miser spike (bold mine), she leaned against the counter and said, ‘Well, hello handsome’.” .

So, you say, what the …? See, I’m working to not say bad words…That was certainly the reaction of the group last night when I told them that was what got me…Of course I had to really stretch my mind to recall the exact phrasing “heat miser hair”, a function of my getting on in age and advanced retirement status. But there it is…what is it? Heat miser hair is a reference to a character from the old Rankin/Bass tv cartoon, “The Year Without a Santa Claus”. Came out in 1973. Erik, my Gen’X son, insisted we watch it at Christmas every year for about 3 years after that. How else would I remember? Bet he remembers it; nah. Six TBIs probably erased that slim memory. BTW: here’s Heat Miser. Get the hair thing?

So that started the thinking about Gen X fiction. Maybe I’ll make a new obsession out of it – just read things on the side of book club assignments to absorb Gen-X fiction to better understand how these abominable creatures came to be. So that’s a topic for a later post…read the book, Goddamit..