Add novelist John Brandon to your list of hipster-sanctioned
must-reads: His first book, Arkansas, has just been released by
the McSweeney’s Rectangulars imprint.
The predictably well-designed hardcover tells the story of two
disaffected Southern boys who have drifted into a life of crime with
the same nonchalance that someone else might take a job as a Subway
Sandwich Artist. Mercifully, though, any Bret Easton Ellis comparisons
are forestalled by Brandon’s skill at sketching characters who are at
once morally unmoored and emotionally appealing.
Kyle and Swin are aimless, thuggish types who find themselves living
in a state park, masquerading as rangers, and working for a mysterious
crime leader known only as Frog. The two fancy themselves outlaws, but
it’s clear to the reader (if not to the boys) that they are merely bit
players in a high-stakes operation—and, worse, that almost from
day one, they are botching things. Swin is a self-described
intellectual who overestimates himself and underestimates those around
him, while the simpler Kyle mistakenly believes that “instinct” can
always be trusted to make the right decisions. This tension between
head and gut is a constant push and pull in their partnership. (“So
what if Kyle was a truer criminal, Swin thought. Kyle was a simpleton.
Swin was probably the smartest person for a hundred miles. One of the
smartest people in this state.”)
The two run drugs, meet women, and commit their first murders, all
the while settling into a comfortable routine in the park—at
least until Frog realizes just how badly the two are screwing up.
The novel jumps from perspective to perspective—even dabbling
in the second person to tell Frog’s story—and at times it can be
difficult to keep track of a narrative that is constantly slipping in
time to provide back story on different characters. Brandon’s writing
is so sparse it sometimes feels blasé, but the tension between
his hard-boiled prose and his characters’ appealing
naïveté makes the novel work, like if The
Outsiders‘ Sodapop and Ponyboy got into hardcore drugs. Swin and
Kyle are kids—albeit kids who might stab your eye out with a
plastic fork—and it’s hard not to root for them, even as their
lives are increasingly overrun by violence and depravity.