October 6, 2009
When Nick Hornby first hit big with his novel High Fidelity, it was an instant classic among young men whose affinity for pop culture and music trivia are worn on the sleeves of their black CBGB t-shirts.
With Juliet, Naked (Riverhead Books, $26), his fifth novel, it becomes apparent that his target audience is a group of men in their mid-to-late 30s who were once young men who wore their affinity for pop culture and music trivia on the sleeves of their black CBGB t-shirts. They are now, in their age of reason, able to see the folly in a life where an entire evening's conversation might center around the importance of the track order of Nirvana's seminal grunge album, Nevermind. The view taken of their own past selves, however, is not theirs alone, but is filtered through the eyes of their wives, girlfriends, children and ex-girlfriends.
Perhaps Hornby has aged with his audience. Perhaps he has grown just as those of us who devoured High Fidelity and laughed at (with) anyone who might plan a mix tape around a day of the week or an acquaintance's death. Or those of us who might be obsessive over a particular artist. Say, Elvis Costello, for instance. Listening to that man's work day in and day out until his wife pleads to "please, for the love of all that is holy, can we listen to anything else? Anything. Put on Chaka Khan for all I care." ... (read more)
