Vol. 2 No. 2, Fall 1997 (#7)
Pack of Lies
Gilbert Sorrentino
Dalkey Archive Press ($21.95)
by Rick Henry
Pack of Lies brings under the same cover three of Sorrentino's earlier novels: Odd Number (1985), Rose Theatre (1987), and Misterioso (1989). The rebinding of these books offers a slight variation on many of Sorrentino's own concerns about the status of the original and the variant, and how competing versions of a story (or character or point of view or narrative technique) amplify or undermine our understanding of the characters, perspectives, and narrative styles therein. So is Pack of Lies a bona fide variant of the three earlier novels? Or is it merely a repetition of the same? Either way, Sorrentino's work demands rereading, indeed, demands revisions of the reading process, and in so doing is rewarding for several reasons.
I: A carnival of characters:
Sorrentino assembles a stupendous group of sexual, intellectual, and
artistic adventurers, mobile-like in their interactions, and often doubled,
tripled, or quadrupled, either by conflicting reports of their behaviors,
by their own masks and charades and pseudonyms and remakings of themselves,
or by alternate versions of characters that are mutually individuated but
often similar enough to confuse the inattentive reader: Lou Henry, cuckolded
by Sheila Henry the sometimes nymphet and lover of Bunny Lewis, who is
on her second marriage despite her blatant lesbian tendencies and whose
first marriage was to the sadomasochist Harlan Pungoe, business partner
and sometimes lover of Dr. Ann Taylor Redding who cannot manage to complete
her penning of an "erotic rècite" unlike Leo Kaufman, whose novel
Isolate Flecks may reprise all of this and more; Leo, husband of
Anne Kaufman whose nom-de-plume may or may not be Anne Leo and who had
a brief affair with Lorna Flambeaux who is to be confused with neither
Annie Flammard nor Annette Lorpailleur, the same Annette who attempted
to draw April Detective into something of an orgy featuring Lou and Sheila
and Bunny and Harlan—April who, despite her sometimes naïveté,
cannot help but note the unending parade of 'Karens' that suffer her sweet
husband, Dick: Hi! I'm Karen Blonde, Karen Cornfield, Karen Fairgrounds,
Karen Forage, Karen Gash, Karen Heineken, Linda (the American Karen), Karen
Millpond, Karen Minet, Karen O'Grady, etc.
These, then, are some of the varied authors, directors, producers, characters, and plagiarists of Steelwork, Metalmouth, La bouche mètallique, The Metal Fly, Orange Steel, The Orange Dress, The Metal Dress, Steel Orange, On Their Metal,Metallic Constructions—an orgy of novels, films, sculptures, screenplays, and operas that share more than the few words in their titles.
II: A cacophony of narrative
technique and intertext:
Sorrentino is a formalist of the first order. Odd Number comprises
three sections, each purporting to reveal something about the sometimes
sordid, sometimes tawdry, always suspect events at a party and the subsequent
death of Sheila Henry who is run over by her husband on a dark and foggy
night in a scene that is reminiscent of a scene from Leo Kaufman's Isolate
Flecks—or so the first section reports. The other two sections give
different versions until one begins to doubt that Sheila Henry died at
all. From there, it is a small step to doubt whether or not a party took
place, indeed, whether we have any grounds for belief in either the fictional
or factual worlds despite apparent consensus among the tales. Was Sheila
really involved in a menage-a-trois with her husband and Bunny Lewis while
Harlan Pungoe sat in a corner watching? Do the events reported in Odd
Number really reprise emsolate Flecks, or are they more reminiscent
of a blue movie called The Party starring Sister Rose Zeppole? Or
are the events a parody of an earlier party held in Vermont, which was
itself "a parody of a comedy of manners" with "a lot of sex and jealousy
and weeping" and "people sick and depressed"?
Rose Theatre is similarly dense, but given over to the women and their concerns (a subtle evocation of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales? or Dr. Redding's unfinished eroticism "Shadowie Lumpe"?). Misterioso is the most structurally adventurous of the three, an odd and anecdotal index of characters, loosely alphabetical and covering characters both in these early novels and in Sorrentino's other work.
III A celebration of sentences:
Sorrentino is a virtuoso. I select, almost at random, the following
from Misterioso: "It might as well be mentioned, now that Tadeusz
Creon has been once again hauled out and dusted off, so to speak, that
he is prominently mentioned in April Detective's memoirs, Strange Coincidences,
as one of the many unsavory men who took advantage of her temporary nymphomania,
during what she rather cryptically calls her 'Struttn' With Some Barbecue'
period." Where to begin with such a delightful series of qualified mentionings
and cryptic callings that offer the perspectives of two speakers and a
half-a-dozen veiled layers between the reader and matters of fact? What
are readers to do when such a statement can be detached from one context
and reapplied to another as easily as a post-it note? Might any of the
hundreds of reviews contained inside the fiction—of the above novels,
screenplays, and operas reported herein—be attached to Pack of Lies?
"A subtle bas-relief of a grey world?" "Compelling? Or merely fashionably
obscurantist?"
Sorrentino's work invites endless variations, each a tentacled venture into literature (his own, Faulkner's, Joyce's, Dreiser's, Wharton's, etc.) and the cinematic and plastic arts. As a gesture toward assembling Sorrentino's work, Pack of Lies is suggestive, but hardly enough. One expects an astute and future editor with ample budget will bind all of Sorrentino's work in one volume, thereby accentuating the author's sustained exploration of narrative techniques and continued reevaluation of his characters and their circumstances.
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