3:Perfection

A Novel by Vincenzo Latronico | Translated by Sophie Hughes

Perfection is a millennial fever dream. A death rattle for the naive hope in a borderless digital life. The generation who came of age during “Yes we can”, the subsidized internet economy, and a belief in the inevitability of liberal western ideals sweeping like a tsunami across the globe will feel seen by this novel. It may not be in the way they want to be seen.

Perfection is an interesting idea. What does it actually mean? It is without flaw, satisfies all requirements, meets the ideal standard. The requirements and standards are that which we make up and create. They are the vision we have for our lives. The story we want to tell about ourselves.

The generation who battled through the thronging sound of a modem connecting to access AOL instant messenger only to be booted off by their mother on the phone are the first with the ability to broadcast that vision of perfection into the world on their own terms. Magazines, commercials, and billboards controlled by corporations and editors used to tell us what we wanted. With the Internet 2.0 and the rise of blogs, and Facebook, and Instagram we could enter into a collective consciousness and tell each other what perfect should look like.

What’s more, the perfection shown didn’t have to be real. It just needed to look real. We just needed to be able to show and tell others that ours was an ideal life. It didn’t need to be true, it didn’t need to feel true. It just needed to photograph well. That is the place and point in which Vincenzo Latronico begins his playful and biting picture of perfection.

The novel opens in a perfectly manicured apartment indicating a curated life lived with “taste”. The denizens of the apartment are Anna and Tom. They work as digital creatives who left provincial Southern Europe for an exciting and importantly cheap life in trendy East Berlin.

Anna and Tom are caricature before they are character. Floating above in third person we are provided glimpses of the thoughts and feeling of them, they, their, Anna and Tom. They are not personal. but abstracted and “they” encapsulate an entire generations hope and malaise.

The choice of perspective and tone is a brilliant achievement. Reading outside of the dominant first person narrative can feel foreign at first. Yet, it provides a freshness that breathes life into the story. The lingua franca of Perfection is propulsive and works for the story. When he notes their perfected music taste and affinity for the indie gods of the time

They would listen to LCD Soundsystem and Animal Collective on repeat on their headphones.

Or when discussing their sex life

Anna had been curious about rimming but Tom was too self- conscious. He wasn’t crazy about blowjobs, but he did like to be choked just before coming, which Anna found a bit scary.

There is a rhythm to this prose that works its way into the reader.

The impersonal slightly aloof approach to story matches that of their lives. They exist online through comments and posts and pictures. Their personal relationships are impersonal. No one is given a name, no one is called out. We just hear of the similarly expiated friends and the gallery openings where they converge. People come and go, the world is transitionary.

This matches the impersonality of modern life. Neighbors are unknown, family is far away. We live accountable to no one. We walk streets with strangers, we pick out perfectly ripe avocados next to strangers. Anything else can be directly ordered from the comfort of our beds. We don’t need others. Dinner companions, museum friends, running club - transactional relationships tailor fit to purpose. It’s all the single-serving friends of Fight Club.

Anna and Tom are removed from their world by a thin layer of protective coating. Just as we are removed from the narrative by the broad and impersonal approach to third person. In this way the novel truly excels. It uses the way it tells the story to further tell the story. It’s an example of the best kind of storytelling.

As with all of us they find themselves drawn into the all consuming world of social media. They react to shitposters and begin to moralize and litigate opinions and commented speech. They are enraged and this false sheen of a world that becomes reality. Of course they always have a timely correct opinions in the culture wars.

Somehow they become obsessed with the same things as their friends. Plants or high end cooking dominates their lives. It’s a hobby and obsession. What was its genesis and why did it require so many niche purchases?

Here, using the sparsest of statements Latronico touches upon a vein of genius. How can we trust the idea of a cultural consciousness? Is a trend really just an advertising campaign? The idea makes me question my own reality. And it should make us all question the trends that drive us, the reason why we develop hobbies. Hobbies which of course involve some key purchases that are usually justified as an investment in ourselves rather than the vapid consumerism we all condemn. I mean that’s why we all suddenly find ourselves thrifting. It’s a questioning and a world I would prefer not to occupy, yet here we are.

Eventually their life in Berlin isn’t enough. The story has grown old. It doesn’t match how they believe they should feel. So they become what we would define as digital nomads. Correcting fonts, and making posts from afar, their uncomfortable and hectic life appears desirable. They are of the jet-setting class, they live and work where they want. They do what they want. But why do they feel so hollow inside?

In Berlin, the sun tanned posts remind them of how great the seaside or hotel or whatever was. When away they can only think of how dingy the hotel is or how bad the food tastes, and wasn’t it better in Berlin? They fall into the nostalgic trap of remembrance. The bad eventually fades away and all we can remember is the good. The good is even better when it’s encapsulated by the perfect post. Don’t we all look and feel better when nipping at escargot and sipping chablois? Never mind the fact that we hate our lives and continue to fight with our other and wonder if somehow and somewhere we made a fateful mistake.

Perfection takes aim at all these modern trappings. It makes fun of the hollow idea of perfection as defined by the blitz of images on tiny screens that become as true as true life. I read this novel in one glorious reading punctuated by a glass or two of champagne. It consumed me and pulled me into its world. It’s merits, and the threads it pulls on, are many.

At the end of the day if our lives look perfect then why shouldn’t they feel perfect?

You can find a wonderful copy of Perfection at The New York Review Books (My current favorite publisher… if you couldn’t tell.)

Next week at The Cultural Review: My Dinner with Andre