September 12, 2014
I’ve made two major moves in my life. From Melbourne, Australia to Los Angeles, CA and then a few weeks ago from LA to Birmingham, AL. Both times I preached to anyone who would listen “At least I don’t have much stuff.” It turns out that not only was I full of shit, but I also had a lot of shit. What I thought was my somewhat minimalist existence was, both times, an embarrassing display of consumerism. Yes, I really do have this many pairs of shoes and yes, I guess that is a lot of kitchenware for someone who has only cooked sporadically over the years, but I need it all. It’s mine. It’s my stuff. In 2007 I had to fit the contents of my first 27 years of life into two suitcases. The second time, I channeled my Tetris skills by packing away my seven years in California into my small car. And it turns out that after the umpteenth garbage bag and the endless donations and ebay auctions and tearful debates of what to keep and what to discard, in the end I can barely remember what material possessions I left behind. I remember the people and the places and both times I’ve left with nostalgia and smiling tears but what was that item I couldn’t live without which caused panicky regret in my gut the instant I gave it away? It was nothing at all. This stuff, these bags and boxes and products and relics…none of it was my life. My life, as it turns out, is stored in my head. The rest? Disposable.
In the final pages of Want Not, a son stands in the nursing home room of his recently deceased father asking “What do I do with all this stuff?” The mindless accumulation of possessions and the society of excess in which we all live is the central theme of this engrossing and bitterly funny novel. Miles reveals the hypocrisy and disillusionment of the times in which we live with biting humor and a deep sense of what it feels like to live in the world today. Never before have we had such a surplus and never before have we been so empty.
And when we talk about waste, we’re not just talking about the last piece of pizza growing spores in the fridge or the money we spent on the juicer we’ve never used. We’re talking about people. The way we use them up and throw them out like rancid leftovers. The way we get excited about them in the beginning and then forget about them, like the gym membership we spent a week’s wage on and never put to use.
The characters in this novel are each trying to fill the landfill sized voids inside them. They’re funny because they’re sad and we’re sad so we find them funny. The duplicity of the self righteous, the fruitlessness of our struggles, the complete loneliness of the way our first world lives are structured. Miles absolutely nails it.
In the final pages of Want Not, a son stands in the nursing home room of his recently deceased father asking “What do I do with all this stuff?” The mindless accumulation of possessions and the society of excess in which we all live is the central theme of this engrossing and bitterly funny novel. Miles reveals the hypocrisy and disillusionment of the times in which we live with biting humor and a deep sense of what it feels like to live in the world today. Never before have we had such a surplus and never before have we been so empty.
And when we talk about waste, we’re not just talking about the last piece of pizza growing spores in the fridge or the money we spent on the juicer we’ve never used. We’re talking about people. The way we use them up and throw them out like rancid leftovers. The way we get excited about them in the beginning and then forget about them, like the gym membership we spent a week’s wage on and never put to use.
The characters in this novel are each trying to fill the landfill sized voids inside them. They’re funny because they’re sad and we’re sad so we find them funny. The duplicity of the self righteous, the fruitlessness of our struggles, the complete loneliness of the way our first world lives are structured. Miles absolutely nails it.