**SPOILERS**
22 November 2023
Edinburgh by Alexander Chee
Edinburgh is Alexander Chee’s first novel; it is an autobiographical novel whereby it was inspired by true events: his experience of having been subject to a pedophile choir director in his early teens. In one of his essays from his other book, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, Chee writes, “write the ending that should have happened, not the ending that did happen.” I presume he gets up to that here. Spoiler—read no futher: The ending of this story is dark and a bit twisted, where our main character, Fee, once abused by the choir director, now in his twenties (or maybe thirties?) becomes the love interest of his seventeen-year-old student—and consummates that love with him more than once (quite possibly repeatedly over a stretch of time) before ditching the kid in a hotel and calling emergency services to come find him while he sleeps. The kid is none other than the original pedophile’s son. Maybe there is a little bit of comeuppance here, in that Fee felt impotent to resolve the original situation but took action when he was in the situation himself. Or, maybe, there’s some recognition that Fee’s long-standing judgment of the original pedophile was flat and underdeveloped. In a way. It’s difficult to say. This brings me to my next point: Chee’s message is unclear. You know how they say, Instructions unclear.
Because the whole book is unclear. For me the confusion began as early as page ten, when Chee writes of Big Eric taking Fee, Zach, and Little Eric camping and they swim nude in a rock pool on a choir section-leader hike. Here, Chee writes Fee’s thoughts: “There is a quiet in which I pretend I don’t know what all of this means, Big Eric’s talks on the drive up here about libertarianism, nudism, child rights. And then I don’t pretend.” It sounds like grooming. Little Eric mentions “I didn’t think I would like kissing so much,” and the rest is utterly vague. But Chee is not vague about Fee taking Zach’s penis in his mouth at other points in the story (as adolescent sexual exploration, not pedophilia). For the next 100 pages I assumed that Big Eric took advantage of Fee alongside the other choir boys—but could not be sure. Did it matter, either way? I don’t know, except that it eroded my enjoyment of reading simply for the uncertainty.
But this isn’t the only moment of uncertainty in the book. The moments are scattered throughout but become far more prevalent toward the end, when the point of view shifts from Fee to Warden and then back to Fee. It takes an exceptionally long period for us to understand that Warden is Big Eric’s son all grown up…but that wasn’t my greatest frustration. It was the unclear antecedents and shifting point of view even within a single paragraph that got me. For example, on page 218, Chee starts, “Tell me what I did. If this then that…Warden, even in front of me…” this is Fee, referring to himself as “I” and “me.” Then, at the end of the same paragraph on page 219, “Remember that you knew from first introductions how it was with him, how he wanted you.” Here, Fee refers to himself as “you.” The shift is jarring. Is it necessary? What does it accomplish besides scrambling the reader’s brain?j
Then there are other sentences that confuse/muddle completely—or could be read in two different ways with entirely different meanings/outcomes. For example, this: “All of the ways I have of judging remove themselves from me like offended friends” (218). This is Fee navel-gazing about how he judged Big Eric—but does he mean judging as in being judgmental? Or does he mean judgment as in judicious decision-making? The two meanings yield opposing results in the message. So which is it? It would be okay if there were just one instance like this. But there are many.
Confusion like this (often exacerbated by a seeming blanket rejection of grammar/mechanics rules) occurred for me every two pages or so as I read, making me speculate about Chee’s intent: in being so artful, is it worth losing your reader? Is this mysteriousness (which amounted to frustration on my part), affectation or authentic? Because I’ve read his other stuff—his nonfiction—and never had this sort of trouble. Is his vagueness and misdirection throughout this novel intentional because he has too much emotional difficulty telling the story? I wonder. I also wonder if it was worth it, when it felt to me like the story completely unraveled about halfway through, as though his beta readers were too afraid to tell Alexander Chee that this sentence is vague and that sentence is just nonsensical shit because—art. And to be sure there is some gorgeous writing in here at times.
In the end, it prevented me from connecting with Fee or even Warden, which in turn made it impossible to enjoy the novel. I connected with only snatches of it at about twenty-page intervals. No more. My poor family and friends grew bored of my whining about reading the book, asking, “Why do you even have to finish it?” I suppose I am glad I did finish it, if only mostly to know what I’d be missing had I not.
I guess I can’t recommend this book—and that causes me grief and insecurity. Chee is a so-called master. I cannot help but believe there is something wrong with me if I did not like his book. I regret that I don’t get it. But like many pieces of modern art that I’ve encountered on museum tours, I gave it sufficient attention and now I am ready to turn away.
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