Review of Boarded Windows by Dylan Hicks
Review by Art Edwards
Originally appeared in Los Angeles Review in 2012
As a writer of three rock novels, I took a particular interest in Dylan Hick's Boarded Windows. The novel follows a young record store clerk through his various travails, in particular his complicated relationship with a musician/drug dealer father figure who lives with him for a time in 1991. Windows is Hick's debut, and the author's ability to stretch his language beyond obvious tropes is prominent throughout. His unnamed narrator and protagonist describes his own handsomeness as "more of an electric cuteness"(23). And on Wade during a night out: "Wade was so facile that night, so at one with everything; he was a raindrop on a sidewalk ginkgo leaf"(84).
At the same time, this search for le mot juste can lead Hicks astray. He writes, "The walk home was dark and windy, strange and slippery--no, first crepuscular, then dark, I now remember"(114). It's hard to say what "crepuscular" adds other than to make the author seem a little too excited about using it. Likewise when the narrator and friend Maryanne play with a voice recorder: "The recorder had a range of playback speeds, so we taped our voices and then pitched them down and up to ursine and rodential frequencies"(126). I can't imagine any reader getting more from "to ursine and rodential frequencies" than "by making them slower and faster." When Hicks misses, he misses when he tries to make his prose pinpoint accurate, but most of us don't need to be pricked to get the picture.
The novel focuses on the narrator and Wade, who crashes at the narrator and his girlfriend Wanda's place in Minneapolis before continuing on to Berlin. Wade is a kind of late 20th century self-made aesthete whose take on music and life are the liveliest parts of Windows. I love the way Hicks portrays Wade's passive-aggressiveness. Early in the novel, after warning the narrator not to get "sucked in," Wade elaborates:
"Money, status, homeownership, credentials, all that. Embourgeoisement looms."
"I wouldn't be able to buy a house on an assistant manager's salary," I said.
"Sure you would, eventually. Or it'll lead to something else. You'll become the manager, then--what?--district manager, area manager--"
"Regional manager, they call it."
"Regional manager. Next it's...that's probably as far as you could go"(19).
Wade takes his life disappointments out in subtle and not-so-subtle ways on the narrator and Wanda, who have something he'll never know again: youthful possibility.
While living with the pair, Wade offers up ideas and stories the way a popular college professor might at a campus party. He claims to have mingled with famous musicians. His spiel is always provocative, something he seems to offer in lieu of rent. Long before Wade leaves for Berlin, I couldn't but hope the narrator would throw the freeloader out.
And that's where Windows fails me. During his stay with the narrator, Wade takes from him in just about every way, but the narrator barely reacts. Everything happens to the narrator, nothing is caused by him. About two thirds of the way through the novel, when Wanda tries surreptitiously to give $1500 to Maryanne, it feels like the first time any character outside of Wade tries to better her condition. All this makes the narrator, our protagonist, hard to root for, which dooms any story.
Characters who love music are tricky to write about. This is because listening to music is largely a passive pursuit, and passive pursuits don't lend themselves to conflict. Hicks skillfully evokes people and era in Windows, but, like many debut novelists, he hasn't found his story yet.
Review by Art Edwards
Originally appeared in Los Angeles Review in 2012
As a writer of three rock novels, I took a particular interest in Dylan Hick's Boarded Windows. The novel follows a young record store clerk through his various travails, in particular his complicated relationship with a musician/drug dealer father figure who lives with him for a time in 1991. Windows is Hick's debut, and the author's ability to stretch his language beyond obvious tropes is prominent throughout. His unnamed narrator and protagonist describes his own handsomeness as "more of an electric cuteness"(23). And on Wade during a night out: "Wade was so facile that night, so at one with everything; he was a raindrop on a sidewalk ginkgo leaf"(84).
At the same time, this search for le mot juste can lead Hicks astray. He writes, "The walk home was dark and windy, strange and slippery--no, first crepuscular, then dark, I now remember"(114). It's hard to say what "crepuscular" adds other than to make the author seem a little too excited about using it. Likewise when the narrator and friend Maryanne play with a voice recorder: "The recorder had a range of playback speeds, so we taped our voices and then pitched them down and up to ursine and rodential frequencies"(126). I can't imagine any reader getting more from "to ursine and rodential frequencies" than "by making them slower and faster." When Hicks misses, he misses when he tries to make his prose pinpoint accurate, but most of us don't need to be pricked to get the picture.
The novel focuses on the narrator and Wade, who crashes at the narrator and his girlfriend Wanda's place in Minneapolis before continuing on to Berlin. Wade is a kind of late 20th century self-made aesthete whose take on music and life are the liveliest parts of Windows. I love the way Hicks portrays Wade's passive-aggressiveness. Early in the novel, after warning the narrator not to get "sucked in," Wade elaborates:
"Money, status, homeownership, credentials, all that. Embourgeoisement looms."
"I wouldn't be able to buy a house on an assistant manager's salary," I said.
"Sure you would, eventually. Or it'll lead to something else. You'll become the manager, then--what?--district manager, area manager--"
"Regional manager, they call it."
"Regional manager. Next it's...that's probably as far as you could go"(19).
Wade takes his life disappointments out in subtle and not-so-subtle ways on the narrator and Wanda, who have something he'll never know again: youthful possibility.
While living with the pair, Wade offers up ideas and stories the way a popular college professor might at a campus party. He claims to have mingled with famous musicians. His spiel is always provocative, something he seems to offer in lieu of rent. Long before Wade leaves for Berlin, I couldn't but hope the narrator would throw the freeloader out.
And that's where Windows fails me. During his stay with the narrator, Wade takes from him in just about every way, but the narrator barely reacts. Everything happens to the narrator, nothing is caused by him. About two thirds of the way through the novel, when Wanda tries surreptitiously to give $1500 to Maryanne, it feels like the first time any character outside of Wade tries to better her condition. All this makes the narrator, our protagonist, hard to root for, which dooms any story.
Characters who love music are tricky to write about. This is because listening to music is largely a passive pursuit, and passive pursuits don't lend themselves to conflict. Hicks skillfully evokes people and era in Windows, but, like many debut novelists, he hasn't found his story yet.