I MAKE ENVY ON YOUR DISCO, solid debut of a strong storytelling voice

I MAKE ENVY ON YOUR DISCO
ERIC SCHNALL
Zero Street Fiction/University of Nebraska Press
$21.95 trade paper, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: It’s the new millennium and the anxiety of midlife is creeping up on Sam Singer, a thirty-seven-year-old art advisor. Fed up with his partner and his life in New York, Sam flies to Berlin to attend a gallery opening. There he finds a once-divided city facing an identity crisis of its own. In Berlin the past is everywhere: the graffiti-stained streets, the candlelit cafés and techno clubs, the astonishing mash-up of architecture, monuments, and memorials.

A trip that begins in isolation evolves into one of deep connection and possibility. In an intensely concentrated series of days, Sam finds himself awash in the city, stretched in limbo between his own past and future—in nightclubs with Jeremy, a lonely wannabe DJ; navigating a flirtation with Kaspar, an East Berlin artist he meets at a café; and engaged in a budding relationship with Magda, the enigmatic and icy manager of Sam’s hotel, whom Sam finds himself drawn to, and determined to thaw. I Make Envy on Your Disco is at once a tribute to Berlin, a novel of longing and connection, and a coming-of-middle-age story about confronting the person you were and becoming the person you want to be.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Sam's got a problem. He doesn't like his life much, right now at least, in no small part because his husband's got an itchy zipper, his career's reached the same-ol' same-ol' stage, and he's nudging forty...gay man's death. What better idea could a man in these dire straits have than to run away from home?

"Home" in New York City; he runs to Berlin on the rather flimsy pretext of an art opening...has this yutz heard of climate change and carbon footprints?!...in search of a path to the future. This reminded me of a very common trope in fiction, middlescence I call it in tribute to my old friend Juanice. She took the old-fashioned view that her husband was going to stray because he was reliving his adolescent horniness stage one last time, this time knowing what he was doing. Sam's a classic example of that middlescent man.

So was Less in the eponymous novel. I really disliked that novel.

The idea that one should run away from problems that absolutely won't fix themselves is an evergreen for novelists because it makes the narrative structure obvious and the stakes unambiguous. Your fish is out of water, your side characters write themselves. And the metaphorical journey/quest will never run out of steam. Okay, then there's the debut novel bit: Wise novelists spring from the acorns of the successful tropes past topiaried to order for their garden of prose.

This iteration of all the above uses the material to do what we hope for when we buy a relationship novel. It convinces the reader to invest in the characters, it affords us room to look at the ways and means Sam uses to escape as markers of solution, resolution, completion. Interestingly to me, this novel eschews the easy answers and instead makes us live in a real-life space of ambiguity.

Things end. Sometimes cleanly, without edges that could be kintsugi'd together. Mostly not, though. Mostly the Sam Singers and Lesses of the world do not get clean, fresh starts because that is exceedingly rare in life. There's a lot of charm in the kind of ending that spawns new beginnings. This book's stuffed full of those...though in my experience the new beginnings learned from travel are, of themselves, ephemeral. Their main value in my life has been to prove to me that new beginnings are possible. The intensity of Sam's connections to Jeremy the straight poet and Magda the stuck concierge bid fair to be short-lived; Kaspar the love interest, though, might be different. Might be.

The irony of seeking one's way forward in Berlin, that city resolutely planted in its pasts, isn't commented on in some arch or knowing way. That facet of the story's quietly acknowledged by Sam's attendance at the art opening that has as its topic what Germans now call "Östalgie", or nostalgia for the dear, dead days of two Berlins, two Germanys. The switch to capitalism was not smooth, and is not smoother now it seems. Culturally anyway that all collides hardest in the place that was defined by The Wall. My one and only trip to Berlin was pre-Wall fall, so I actually kind of get it. Nostalgia for how things were definitely communicates itself to those who were NOT there. Humans are weird and define "coolness" in very exlusionary ways. Sam, whose career is in the arts, gets this in his bones, since it's part and parcel of that world to exclude all but the wealthiest and most sophisticated. Those are overlapping but not identical groups; they are each quite exclusive, in every sense of the word, though not of each other.

So that's why I don't give the book five stars. I enjoyed the read. I like the characters. I really like the ambiguous ending. I don't care for the run-away-from-home trope. I ended up, mostly, not resonating with the way Sam drifted through Berlin "Östalgie" with what felt to me like very little curiosity. When an adult travels, but doesn't question the place and its history, I don't see why the author set the travel destination where they did. Author Schnall gave me a decent day's reading. That's great.

I would've liked to have been given an awakening of curiosity about Berlin, akin to the effect of The Sheltering Sky or even Death in Venice. Not, I hasten to assure you, a fault of craft on Schnall's part. More a lacuna between my expectation of a novel about a traveler to a place and what I got about the place.

I hope you'll try this debut novel out.