Finished Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live in one sitting, which I suppose says something about its readability and sense of fun. And Klosterman IS both readable and fun; his columns in Spin Magazine are never pretentious. In KYTL, he drops lots of amusing comments about what he unapologetically calls "low culture" (is his use of the term ironic, unironic, post-ironic, what?). I laughed at his narrative of toggling between 80s retro radio ("Mr. Roboto"), classic rock radio (Rolling Stones), and back to 80s retro (Extreme): "Styx and Stones may break my bones, but 'More than Words' will never hurt me." You either think he's funny or you don't.
I was let down, though, by the self-indulgence. KYTL is basically a non-fiction version of High Fidelity, Nick Hornby's novel about a rock and roll geek and his failed relationships. Klosterman sets out to travel to sites of famous rock and roll deaths (the Great White fire of 2003, the Lynyrd Skynyrd crash site, etc.) and contemplate whether death is a ticket to eternal fame and/or credibility. Hence, the title. But Klosterman spends much more time revealing details about the three women he obsesses over, the three women who continue to haunt and define his personal life. Like the protagonist of High Fidelity, Klosterman (or his persona, if he can be said to have a persona--he does a pretty good job of ripping up any distinction between self and writerly self) revises relationships after the fact, creates his own narratives of romance and heartbreak.
I wanted more musings on the culture that has grown up around these memorial sites. The beginning of a smart analysis of said culture exists on the margins of KYTL, but Klosterman's bogged down--haunted--by the spectre of his three muses. And that's the point, I suppose. But he doesn't pull off the confessional, revelatory tone of a Sarah Vowell or my man Sedaris.
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