Hey, you’re a fairly decent person stuck working a shit job but doing your goddamndest to eke out a life worth living. However, you find, more often than not, that existence under modern capitalism feels suffocating, crushing. Other people are difficult to relate to and largely incomprehensible. Your worklife ranges from denigrating to soul-rending. Bills pile up in spite of your spartan lifestyle. You take on a second job, maybe a third. You watch Seinfeld reruns with a homeless person. You routinely contemplate suicide. Well, Marigold by Troy James Weaver is the novella for you.
It’s maybe more a mirror than a book, so brace yourself.
Marigold is the story of a
“thirty-something floral salesman” struggling to cope with the sheer horror of
everyday life. For many, I’m sure, the story will be as relatable as it is
bleak. It is intensely uncomfortable, absurd, and beautiful. It is emotionally
devastating and full of existential dread. It is the absolute best of
contemporary literary fiction.
Marigold is written as a series of
short vignettes that range from a few lines to a few pages. This makes the
novella an extremely easy read, despite the fragmentary nature of the narrative.
Troy James Weaver, more than any author I can think of, accurately captures the rhythm of
modern existence through his writing. Yet, at the same time, his prose tends to
communicate a dreary, dreamlike quality, which in the past has led reviewers
to compare his work (particularly, his novel Visions) to
Harmony Korine’s films. I think the reference is warranted in regard to both Visions and Marigold. That said, for me, Marigold
called to mind more the writings of Charles Bukowski and Sam Pink (there’s even
a passing Bukowski reference early in the novella). But in my honest opinion,
Troy James Weaver brings a level of seriousness to the table that
neither Bukowski or Pink ever conveyed. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bukowski and
Pink. Troy James Weaver, though, just seems to be doing something a little more true-to-life, a little more visceral.
If you’re a real person, you most certainly understand a few things. Our
society is shit. Our economy is a massive human meat grinder. Most contemporary literary fiction is utterly insufferable.
Troy James Weaver’s Marigold, however, is
exactly what the world needs right now. It is a bittersweet antidote to all
that ails us in this miserable human moment.
For those of us who lived through the 1980s, this cover makes a lot of promises. For me, personally, it evokes vivid memories of browsing the local video store with my
dad and little sister, passing through the horror section, and marveling at the
depraved artwork on the VHS cases. My sister and I regularly begged my dad to rent Ankle Biters, Critters 2, and Monkey Shines. We
were completely obsessed with the movie Pigs, based solely on its revolting
cover.
We caught Critters 2 on TV some years later. We agreed, it was fairly disappointing.
Unlike Critters 2 though, Zero Lives Remaining is not a disappointment. Scroll up, take a good look at the book’s cover
again.
“Here,” the artwork seems to whisper.
“Just like good old times at Front Row Video, I promise. Just like Pigs.
Just like Critters 2. Only this—this
is actually gonna deliver.”
And it does. Exceedingly.
Zero Lives Remaining is the story of
Tiffany Park, a teenage video game virtuoso who spends much of her
time at Funcave, an arcade-pizzeria, where she dominates games like Ms. Pac-Man and Street Fighter Alpha. Video games, pizza—sounds rad so far, right? Well, meet Chris Murphy, the story's antagonist. He's a dumpy teenage nü-metal fan with a crush on Tiffany. Chris clings to Tiffany like a lost, racist puppy, commenting incessantly on the fact that she is Asian, calling her names like “China Girl”
even though he knows she is Korean. Chris Murphy is not rad. He is, in fact, a complete piece of shit. But just wait. Turns out Funcave is haunted by the
ghost of Robby Asaro, a guy who accidentally cooked himself in the kitchen's pizza oven
back in 1989. In 2014, living as a ghost inside Funcave's arcade games, Robby considers Tiffany as something of a daughter-figure in his life.
Er, afterlife.
Anyway, weird shit starts happening at Funcave as Robby’s ghost takes measures
to protect Tiffany from an increasingly offensive and stalker-y Chris. Soon, Funcave is
thrown into total chaos, and the book’s wider cast of characters—including the
porn-addict owner of the arcade-pizzeria—finds itself in the thick of some ghastly
mayhem. Expect lots of ghost slime.
Both hilarity and gore ensue.
Zero Lives Remaining is a quick and
effortless read. The book’s author, Adam Cesare, writes in a style that is both lean and smooth. Not sure if it’s more an
art or science, but Cesare’s got it down. My first exposure to the guy’s
writing was the 2012 novel Tribesmen. One of the things
I loved most about that book was the way that Cesare managed to subvert
stereotypes with his characters and deliver some pretty solid social commentary
through what was essentially a gore-filled cannibal-horror romp. And Zero Lives is no different on the subversion-and-commentary front. Cesare’s got a good thing going. His works are certainly classifiable as dirtbag
stuff—but dirtbag stuff with intellect, loads of heart, and complexity. How he
walks simultaneously among such disparate worlds, I haven’t a clue. But let's hope he keeps it up.
Definitely check out Zero Lives Remaining. If
you’re anything like me, it’ll have you at the cover.
