Dra- Paperback – Feb 14 2012
|New from||Used from|
No Kindle device required. Download one of the Free Kindle apps to start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, and computer.
To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number.
Dra-, the incompletely named anti-heroine of this brilliant novel, is trying to get a job. She isn't sure what kind of job, or where, or what its purpose is, she only knows she must find one. Dra- wanders through the bleak, labyrinthine corridors of some great unnamed workplace getting unsolicited advice, which sounds more like seduction or therapy than career counseling, from characters with names such as Manager and Administrator and Nurse. The quirkiness and clarity of Stacey Levine's language, the comedy and darkness of her vision, mark her as a worthy heir of Jane Bowles. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Kirkus Reviews
Kafkaesque first novel, the 39th entry in Sun & Moon's experimental New American Fiction series, from the author of My Horse (stories, not reviewed). One might almost say that Levine is slavishly Kafkaesque, down to her use of the tired device of incompletely spelling her protagonist's name: ``Dra--.'' Nonetheless, she takes on an important theme, focusing on the modern American obsession with jobs and careers. Poor Dra-- is a confused young woman, shy, indecisive, and paranoid. As the story begins, she's out of money and powerless, and proceeds to a nameless employment agency with the vague feeling that only a job can give her an identity. At first, Dra-- is afraid even to enter the agency because of her irrational fear of a man who works there. Once inside, she must endure a mockingly upbeat lecture on the virtues of holding a job, as well as a sort of group support session for those who have not ``succeeded.'' Finally, she's offered a choice: a job at a ``remote encampment'' researching and classifying dust, and one ``monitoring and maintaining a small water pump.'' Dra--, who seems always near mental collapse, can't choose between these equally meaningless alternatives. Even her employment counselor allows that ``jobs are tedious and death-making,'' and thus it may be that Dra-- is one of the saner inmates of this mad world. As she cringes and hesitates, postponing the inevitable, she eavesdrops on the conversations of working people, all of whom have adapted to that world, and seem truly and completely insane. Work is madness, Levine suggests, and anyone who has not had a ``career'' but has suffered instead through a succession of mind-numbingly banal jobs, is likely to agree. Levine's variations on Kafka wear thin, but her satire of work is clever, unsettling, and timely. -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.See all Product Description
Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.com (beta)
Dra___ is powered by Stacey Levine's keen ear for the oddities of everyday speech. In her short fiction (collected in the award-winning My Horse and Other Stories) as in her day-to-day life (I've known her both as a columnist for this paper and as a close friend over the last five years) Levine delights in the peculiar logic of "normal conversation." Minor concerns such as plot, characterization, even practical discussions, get undermined by the pleasure she takes in phrases like "in the name of living hell" or "for the love of nonsense," and by her fascination with the sink-hole of sudden intimacy that swallows up so many casual exchanges. In Dra___, the imperatives of plot and thematic resolution have been displaced by the demanding logic of everyday conversation.
As a consequence, this Wonderland has none of the arch word-play or punning that afflicted Alice. Instead, people speak as directly as they know how. Like Miss Goering and Miss Gamelon in Jane Bowles' comic masterpiece Two Serious Ladies, the figures in Dra___ burden one another with very plain declarations of their real concerns. "Sometimes it's just good to breathe for a few moments before using the toilet, don't you agree?" a student nurse named Frida asks Dra___. "Dra___ leaned to one of the toilets and delicately opened its enormous lid with her fingertips, a task that drained her so terribly that afterward she sank to the floor to rest. 'I want to see the future,' Frida whispered. 'I want to know how and when I will die, is that so terrible?'"
Shorn of euphemism and politesse, the conversations at the heart of this picaresque novel become menacing engines of intimacy, buffeting Dra___ with a storm of confessions and invasive demands. "We'll talk and talk until there's nothing left but ashes all around us," her Christ-like Administrator promises. "Isn't that what a relationship is?"
In Dra___, everyone talks about relationships (or "the feelings," as watery-eyed, balding Nanny calls them). Dr. Jack Billy, the "absent-minded doctor of long silences and sudden grimaces" wants to "open his mouth onto another mouth and inhale everything then choke on the lack of air, because the need to damage himself and others was consuming, as it had been all his life." Marla, a clinging woman with "small and scaly-red" eyelids, listens to her confidante, Slim, suggest "'supposing I learn all the most personal, intimate things about you-as if looking right down into your body. And suppose I take hold of those threads that are wound tight around your heart, choking it...Wouldn't it be wonderful? My profession is based upon a form of love, you know.'"
These enthusiastic speeches get spewed out like some kind of corrosive agent, a medium transforming hidden human needs into airborne viruses, poisons which infect and make us sick. Thus released, intimacy begins to blur with the real toxins of the work-place ("odorous, dark-soiled plastic sheeting," "buckets filled with soured soup") forming a pathogenic shroud of disease beneath which the hopeful applicant, Dra___, devolves toward hairlessness and torpor.
Most of the women are losing their hair. Sores and raw patches pepper their skin. The psychic economy of the body has erupted onto the surface, so that everyone is marked by wounds. They all appear to be dying "They're dying? From what?" Dra___ asks the Adminstrator. "From exposure, my dear, exposure! You know-to the poisons of the worksites, to the people close to them-aren't our deepest feelings known to be poisonous as well?"
Dra___ wanders from one enabler to the next, drawn by her search for the job site, and a swelling undertow of desire for Dr. Jack Billy's handsome Nurse. Her episodic narrative is framed by visions of the Man with No Hair, a tiny-footed, recurring figure, whose periodic cameos (carrying a basket of rubber bulbs, pouring pills into his mouth ) give the novel its shape and pacing.
This labyrinthine journey is brilliantly mimicked in the architecture of the prose. Levine creates cozy little warrens, small safe spaces made of short clear sentences, then sends the reader spiraling down long broken passages, fragmented by colons and semi-colons which give a halting, lurching gait to our progress.
A quest, a comedy of manners, and a parable, Dra___ is, above all else, a philosophical novel concerned with the most basic questions of living. It seals us inside a world where "contact becomes an attack" and where Dra___ can only cry out "until her mouth burned with the simple, punishing taste of wishes.
None of this describes the reading experience of plowing through this long-novella length work; it's a joy to read, and so prose-poetic, you could probably break parts out and call them poems.
Never mind about that. Settle in, and let Ms. Levine show you a post-modern, modern World! You'll be glad you did.