Looker A Novel

Pfiou. C’est tout. Pfiouuuuu.

It is somewhat surprising to see that 'Looker' is such a controversial book in terms of ratings when it is actually very successful in achieving what it has set out to do.

It is a character study of the gradual breakdown of a woman. As such, it is written as a near-incessant stream of consciousness which gives it a somewhat surreal feeling. There is a constant sense of an unease as one reads through the misery that the main character goes through, the embarrassment, the horrors.

We have nearly lost the ability to write about sincerely loser women, horrible women, but 'Looker' is a near masterclass of the genre.

** spoiler alert ** I've begun writing essays like this on Medium. Throw me a follow if you like this content? https://medium.com/springboard-though... A heads up: spending time in the head of a woman who is going to pieces can be intense and disturbing. But it also provides a unique way to illustrate the ways in which all of our lives are tailor-made for others. “I am sick to death of men. Buzzing, angry men. Hot liquid men. Men wanting sex. Men wanting to touch and be touched. Men wanting to drain you of every last ounce of energy you’ve reserved for getting through the days…Men leaving their refuse everywhere: inside, outside, all over the world. Until the world fills up and spills over as it may soon do: The End.” Looker casts an unironic, unyielding gaze on a woman who, at first glance, seems like she would be fulfilled by her life. At least, by the standards society has set before us as attainable precedents, anyways— savings account, “decent” male partner, post-secondary educated, a good neighborhood in a desirable city — all checked boxes; but our narrator is anything but content. Ostensibly, this all begins with a splash of envy. Envy for the actress, who has moved closer than ever into her orbit, causing her to contrast her own life with that of the hallmark. The narrator imagines hers to be a perfect life, but these fantasies feel more like a mere simulacrum the narrator projects her desires into, even as it cleaves her wide to do so. But this all-consuming desire she develops isn’t the underlying cause, I’d wager. It reads more like a drive to obtain or possess the actress herself in some way, any way at all. This is a more “real” trigger, rather than simple envy. Interestingly, it is the response of a man. Of a consumer. Of somebody with autonomy and power and sway over their life. But it too is merely a byproduct. Where it all actually begins, we find out early on (a mild spoiler here), that the one true catalyst is the narrator not being able to conceive a child. She and her partner try everything, at great personal and emotional cost. Then, as she tries to cope with this loss, venturing out into the world and her curated life. Everything tells her she is ruined. And she begins to unspool. I reference the narrator with pronouns and not by name because the perspective is stream-of-consciousness. All of our time is spent in her head (similar to the perspective of “You”) and so, there is no name. Granting the fiction the power to have the reader on a ride-along. This obsession could pervade anyone’s life, even your own; look out! In a bid to reclaim control (as she perceives it) the narrator begins recreating toxic power dynamics she’s witnessed, and been subject to, throughout her life; with people she interacts with directly and in fantasies both. The lens she uses to view the world begins to change, accommodating a new outlook. “But wouldn’t it make us sisters, the actress and me? Wouldn’t it be an act of communion with her, in the end? Could I ever make her see it that way?” She also becomes bolder. As do the prose, which mimics poetry. They build up; become frenetic and desperate and lilting. Where once it was unnoticeable, the prose, and she herself, transcend their former structure. Throughout, the narrator begins to take actions that are absolutely inexcusable and harmful to others, but they are also placed into a context such that the reader can at least understand them, and possibly, therefore, generate some empathy for the narrator. Two things withheld from her by those people she knows and associates with. “Nothing can touch me, not the loud noise of traffic, not the crowds, not even the foul air. I’m as sheltered from it all as the actress would be — or more than she would be, because I don’t have the prying pairs of eyes, the dropped jaws, the pointed fingers, the tourists sneaking smartphone pics. I’m invisible — except for a few men who, predictably, do double takes as I pass. I ignore them. I feel so light and free I could lift up off the sidewalk and fly all the way home.” Every interaction is punctuated by somebody wanting something from the narrator while giving nothing in return. And granted, she is an unreliable narrator… But this too is interesting because isn’t the fact that you, as a reader, may not have cause to believe her also the default position most people take in society when a woman behaves outside of how a woman ought to behave, think, and act? At the very least, in Looker, nothing in the narrator’s life helps her mental and emotional well being, that can be said for certain — and we can take something away from that. Even when people become aware that something is amiss with her, something they intuit to be wrong or “off” somehow, their reaction is to either condemn her or do nothing at all. The result: every interaction pushes her further away from stability and improvement, of course. The hard truth found in Looker is that there is no real, substantive justice to be found here — for anyone. Our society is not arranged to help the majority of people. Even more deplorable, it doesn’t help, only hurts those individuals who do not — or cannot — fulfill their asymmetrical social contract. Life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness are never quite within reach, and our envy often is left to spoil, turning into something dark and toxic. “This cannot be my life. I never thought it would be. I envisioned a sunlit, stylishly decorated place, with books lining the shelves and a beloved’s arm holding me. I envisioned children playing in the backyard as I smilingly went about menial household tasks. I envisioned myself as a tenured academic, wrapped safe in the belly of an institution for all time. I envisioned myself as a good woman, a great woman — the best! Better than the actress, happier than the actress, more alive and connected to life than the actress could ever hope to be, trapped as she is in the velvet prison of fame.”

Yikes. I like the plot line. I think the ideas are definitely here to make a great novel, it just didn’t make it for me. This book was predictable and pushed on boring. The ending was such a let down it made me mad. I had heard so many amazing things about this book, but it just didn’t do it for me. If you’re looking for something (read: not a thriller) that isn’t too dark then maybe this will be for you. I just feel like compared to what I had heard and read about it, it was just a fluff piece.

Perhaps more fairly 2.5 stars, but there you go.

Looker is a case study at its core, a novel that hones in on motherhood, infertility, and the concept of “having it all.” Our female narrator is unnamed; her husband has left her and she has had zero luck conceiving a child. After her husband leaves, her life unwinds thread by thread and her obsession with the actress who lives next door grows into dangerous territory. Her job is threatened at work, and now her husband is calling, demanding she return the cat he left behind. The base concept of this novel is one that we’ve all heard before–a woman alone slowly goes crazy. The added twist here is the obsession with the actress, but even that element is not too enticing. I found myself morbidly reading this novel. The narrator is unlikeable in many ways, and while I was comfortable with her narrative voice, I found the woman’s actions and behavior to be so embarrassing that I read with a permanent cringe on my face. Continue reading: https://freeairforfish.com/2021/07/14...

This book was a unique literary experience for me. I found myself at once sympathizing with the main character and gasping at her shocking behaviors. Our unnamed and unreliable narrator is utterly obsessed with an actress who lives on the block. She deeply believes that, if only she and the actress could be friends, if only they could relate to each other, all her problems would disappear. Her failed marriage, her failed career, her lack of other meaningful interpersonal relationships would all fade to the background if only she and the actress could be... but even she is not sure exactly what she wants. To be close with the actress? To be her friend? To become her? As the book progresses we begin to doubt more and more about the veracity of the things the narrator tells us. She slowly starts to lose her grip with reality until things escalate to a terrifying and hopeless conclusion. I have a personal preference for insane and unreliable narrators (her character reminded me a bit of Joe from the tv series You - haven't read the book yet) as I am beginning to find out and I found myself compelled to read this one, even as I could see the main character spiraling down (view spoiler)[ when she killed Cat I completely lost it - that was a low blow, and in the end her killing the old lady and feeling emotional because the actress was crying just sedimented her complete insanity (hide spoiler)]. This was a lovely crafted character study with a hint of suspense, and a very light dose of dark comedy (at least to me). I would recommend it to anyone inclined to like any of that stuff.