Chapter 1

I went over to a friend of mine's, because I was bored, and there was a fair probability he was too. I think boredom is my main motivation. It's kind of sad - it's the fin de siecle again and we're acting like we always do, as if it mattered what part of the century it was; or like we're supposed to have done last time, anyway. Maybe people who are moved by strong emotions - love, hate, greed, idealism, fear, all that - enjoy life more, I don't know. Most of my friends are vaguely dissatified; some are even kind of pissed off, especially when drunk - or maybe it's when they're sober. My friend was home and gave me a beer. We missed the sixties by a lot, but he likes Kerouac and those guys, so he says to me, ``You should write a novel that speaks for our generation.''

Not that he expects that that would make everything clear suddenly, though actually he does somewhat. Another thing my friends seem to have in common is having inconsistent beliefs and ideas and not being really comfortable with the situation.

I reply, ``Is there a definite `generation' out there? or is it just a bunch of people who have MTV and whatever in common but otherwise not much?''

``So okay, even the guys I know who aren't in school have the same kind of attitude as me.''

I say, ``Maybe there's a pool of basic normal people and then some on the outside who characterize the generation, so it doesn't matter.''

He says, ``No, I think everyone's crazy.''

``Well, whatever, but like you always say, who reads poetry anymore? A novel about our generation is almost a contradiction in terms - you'd need a tv documentary or something.''

``Oh come on' he says, ``that doesn't matter. You could make a lot of money if you convinced someone at the USA Today or the New York Times Book Review; people get these things for birthdays or in airports.''

``No book of mine is ever going to be sold at an airport. But it is an interesting idea. Hey, is there any more beer in the fridge?'' I say, already getting off the couch.

``No, that's it. Bring some over next time.''

``I'll probably have forgotten by then. So let's see, how do they usually do this ... Somehow I have to assemble a representative cross section, have them talk and interact.''

``We're talking 'Big Chill', or what's that stupid movie with the annoying ... John Hughes made it...''

``No, I was thinking more 'Gilligan's Island' but you're right, it's cliched. Gilligan's Bob Denver and the other one's John, right?'' He looks at me like I'm an idiot. I go on - ``We're post-Gilligan, I guess, post-Brady Bunch.''

``Yeah, there shouldn't be references to them in your novel.''

``And there shouldn't be anything about answering machines, it's too pat. Or car phones, or MTV. It should be a novel about our generation detached from, uh...''

He says, ``I don't know what you mean, but I'll bet it's stupid.''

``Thanks. What I mean is it shouldn't be filled up with lots of modern shit, Apples or Gorbachev or whatever just for the sake of being cool - it should be a normal novel.''

``What's a normal novel - Ulysses? American Psycho?''

I say, ``I have to admit I haven't read many recent novels myself, so it's going to seem strange by modern standards.''

``Doesn't matter. We'll figure it out right now. First of all, you can't use stream-of-consciousness, it wouldn't work. It shouldn't be a bunch of little pieces flashing by like a music video either - somebody must have done that already. And it can't be a plot and character novel...''

``A what?''

''You know, Pride and Prejudice, Crime and Punishment, that stuff.''

``So you want me to write what, a kind of formless blob, not progressing anywhere really and yet expressing the whatever-it-is of our generation.''

``Well, just think of all the women you'll meet at book signings.''