Harold and Kumar's Mom Dies of Cancer

Puff

By Bob Flaherty
p. 2005
 

Puff is one of those books where nothing happens and everything happens. Set throughout the sixties and seventies in South Boston, Puff is the story of two twenty-something brothers, John and “Gully” Gullivan, as they brave a blizzard to snag a coveted bag of weed and keep getting sidetracked by side missions, accidents, and reunions of all sorts.

Flaherty’s first (and it appears only) novel is not a chronological story; interspersed with their ‘mission’ are multitudes of deviations down memory lane as our narrator John recalls events long past but certainly not forgotten, which have guided him through his 23 years and led him to where he is at present. It is an effective technique when fleshing out characters because it draws out the story and makes interjections when relevant instead of relying on clumsy exposition dumps at the start. Puff already reads like an autobiography; the interplay of old anecdotes and new adventures (as appropriately random as the flashbacks themselves) make Puff feel almost like a work of creative nonfiction. If it weren’t for a few series events and a lot of exaggerated humor, I would have no problem believing it was all lifted from Flaherty’s experiences.

John’s story is told mostly for laughs—and there are a lot to be head, especially for the nostalgic crowd—but there is an undercurrent of bittersweet sadness to the whole affair. The Gullivan clan’s matriarch is dying of cancer in the hospital the whole time, her passing coming just a few years after the untimely loss of their father, who suffered from heart problems. I found it a little unnerving that the boys would be so cavalier about fucking around when their mother is slowly wasting away in a nearby hospital, but then, I suppose I’ve never had to deal with the slow, debilitating death of a cancer-ridden loved one. Maybe I would try to avoid the inevitable too if I were in John and Gully’s position.

Death is nothing new to the Gullivan brothers. It is a strong recurring theme throughout the book, present in flashbacks and often dwelled upon by John. It’s rather fitting for one so surrounded by it, especially someone so wholly lacking in direction as John Gullivan. For that matter, it is appropriate that the character spends the entire novel wandering about from one errand to the next without conviction because it properly reflects the state of his life.

Some people may read Puff and see 200+ pages of two stoners driving around talking about the past, but it is more than that. It’s a story about reexamining one’s history and applying it to the present, about growing up when you least expect it, about finding a direction after wandering for so long. John may not have had the revelation himself but the reader can see the change in him.

I’m glad I picked up this novel from a friend years back, but it’s a little shameful it took me this long to pick it up because it’s really quite the quick read. Witty and laid back with mostly hijinx, but a few scenes with true heart and depth that will stick with you.

My only real complaint is the title. Unless I missed something, the only reason Puff is titled as such is to be an unsubtle play on words--a reference to the weed the boys are seeking while also being the name of their family pet, a vicious cat no one likes. If Puff--the cat--played an important role in Puff, the novel, then the title might be excusable, but he does not, and in fact, neither does the weed, really. It seems like something Flaherty thought was funny once and decided to work into the story. Maybe it was what sparked the rest of the novel and he wanted to pay it homage, but I feel like it should have had more to do with the rest of the novel if it was going to be the title.

On A Big Ol' Road To Nowhere

Paperback Original 
by Will Rhode
p. 2003

Paperback Original, by Will Rhode, is a travel-themed, drug-fueled, crime-caper adventure that I unfortunately judged by its cover: I thought it looked exciting; I was wrong.

I picked this book up over a year and a half ago and could not get through it, despite proclamations from various reviews that the story resembled Alex Garland’s The Beach (a novel which I have yet to indulge in, though I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I see the comparisons, story-wise, but I hope the real Beach novel is not so dry). I didn’t end up finishing the book until months later, and then only because I went on a road trip (seemed an appropriate venue, given the story’s setting, i.e. largely on the road) and this was the only book I brought with me. Still had a hard time choosing it over staring at cars through the window.

All right, so maybe I’m being a little harsh. Paperback Original is not a wretched book, by any means. It’s got layers and colors—how could it not, taking place in a setting as vibrant and messed up as India?

I guess my initial problem with the book is the false advertising. The blurb on the back is largely concerned solely with the content of the first chapter: British slacker son of a millionaire, Josh King, is told in the wake of his estranged father’s bizarre suicide that to inherit his father’s fortune he must get off his lazy entitled ass and do something. The task? To write a bestseller within 5 years. Unfortunately, Josh is too busy being idle and underachieving and masquerading as a journalist for a shitty paper in Delhi. That is, until he gets wind of a legend in the drug underworld: Baba, a mysterious figure he hopes to use as inspiration for his bestseller.

I suppose the Baba hook should have sufficed to pique interest in the story without giving away too much, but they could have given us a little more to work with. Here I was expecting a character-driven travel adventure in which our protagonist comes to grips with his dead father and learns to grow up and take on some responsibilities in life. In actuality, Paperback Original is the story of Josh deciding to root out a legendary drug dealer named Baba, first under the pretense of journalistic endeavors, then with the notion that he could use it as inspiration for his novel. He gets in over his head, falls for the girl, becomes addicted, gets clean, gets close to the criminal underworld, and in the peak of the novel, recruits some friends to help plan a jewel heist that would screw over his new kingpin boss who has come to trust Josh.

Normally, I would fault a book for not living up to its misleading cover descriptions. Authors don’t always have control over how their book is marketed, but I can fault the book for being overly long, largely pointless, and possessing only self-centered, moronic characters with too many irredeemable qualities.

Josh is the worst of them. His story starts with his father’s death and his lackluster attempt to make a buck off it, but the action doesn’t start until he meets Yasmin, resident love interest and exotic babe who causes nothing but trouble. Of course, Josh is too busy following his external organ to really notice this, but it’s painfully obvious to any remotely seasoned reader that Yasmin has tricks up her sleeve. That she turns out to be a double crosser is only a surprise to Josh, and it’s pretty difficult to get behind a protagonist who is so vapid and naïve, especially when the girl he’s been lusting after with reckless abandon is with someone else for the entire novel and he knows it. Josh learns nothing by the end of this story, nor do any of the other characters. I suffered through 454 pages of drug trips, poorly written love plots, and chasing shadowy figures through India’s packed side streets only for Josh to realize he’s chasing an illusion of a girl he likes while the reality fucks him over for the money. Okay. I might have felt sorry for him, but he was such a covetous dickhead that I didn’t care.

Due to Josh’s downward spiral when he comes in contact with the criminal world, all thoughts of the novel he’s supposed to be writing—the entire fucking reason he started this nonsense—vanish within the first fifty pages. It’s mentioned again at the end in a half-assed nod, but no one cares about it anymore, least of all Josh. It should be a sign of growth that he doesn’t care about the money, but considering he still doesn’t care about anything or anyone else and still lacks a direction in life, it’s not really growth at all, just a less volatile style of stagnation.

And the biggest kick to the face of all is this paragraph, which occurs near the end as Josh’s walls start crumbling around him with the revelation that the girl he’s been idealizing all along isn’t who he thought she was:

“Why am I like that? It’s not even as if my illusions are that charming. They’re certainly not worth dying for. I mean, Jesus, this whole episode has been little more than paperback formula. In fact, when I think about it, my whole life has been nothing but one big paperback novel. Wanting to be different, wanting to be original, has kept me rewriting the plot (life) and constantly casting myself as the hero. And this is just one more episode in that rather sad trend.

I should read some better-quality literature. It might improve me.”

So, let me get this straight. It takes Josh 440 pages to realize that his life sucks and he romanticizes everything because he’s a narcissistic, entitled fool? Great. I’m so glad I stuck with him for all that. Still, I’ve got to hand it to the book for pulling a fast one on us like that. All along they had me thinking I could be reading the makings of a bestseller before admitting lamely in the endgame that perhaps this story really is just ‘paperback fare’, i.e. something you’d read on the beach on a lazy afternoon. And here they had me fooled into thinking this all would amount to something worth reading.

Touché, book. Better quality literature, indeed.