A remarkable novel about the pornography of everyday life. Filthy, funny and ferocious, it imagines a world where shopping reigns supreme, sex has ceased to have anything to do with love, and pregnancy has become the final fetish.
Well, one thing is for sure... I am simply envious of Joe Stretch's writing abilities, his disgustingly accurate metaphors, his frank and clinical descriptions, his seamless syntax. All I wanted to do the whole way through reading this book was just cry at how beautifully it was written; an altogether strange experience considering that the subject matter is so ugly and the content so obtrusive. Stretch's forceful, physical descriptions of the most mundane acts and objects conveys imagery so brilliantly that Friction is almost theatric in its execution. Throughout the whole book I couldn't help but think, "This would make a fantastic play - the best parts of Sarah Kane, DV8 and Antonin Artaud all rolled into one."
I really, really enjoyed this book. So often a book is sold to me on how shocking it is, how confrontational, how controversial and "in your face". Well, for once I actually agree with the hype. Friction starts off predictably: graphic depictions of sex, sex toys, strippers, the inevitable disenchantment with our society and its obsession with sex and stimulation. Whatever. We've read it all before. This is 2013 after all, and sex just isn't all that shocking anymore. Equally graphic scenes can be found within pretty much any novel, the only difference being that for those other novels are not solely about sex, as Friction is. Granted, one of the characters "trying out" a sex toy in-shop was a bit weird (and gross), but otherwise I found myself thinking, "Yes... I can relate to all of these characters. I can relate to none of these characters."
And then things just got weird.
And then they got weirder still.
And just when you thought we had reached the height of weirdness...
It gets weirder,.
But Friction is remarkably funny too, and delightfully cynical in its satire, often hitting uncomfortably close to home. As I said above, it is also brilliantly written and a very easy read, and pretty much the only reason I did not rate it a full five stars out of five was because I really did not like the Epilogue; it almost spoiled the rest of the book.
Definitely recommended if you fancy something a bit confrontational and reading outside of your comfort zone.
- Very Bret Easton Ellis / Anthony Burgess in its conception, but Easton Ellis / Burgess would have distilled the six slightly fucked-up characters down into two really fucked-up characters. As it stands, Friction's characters do still have some slightly likable characterists.
- Still can't decide if the ending (the very end, not the "end") is a work of genius or a total cop-out - it treads a very fine line.
- It is as funny, filthy and ferocious as the reviews would have you believe.
"Catcher in the Rye" if a mediocre Holden had thought only about sex, the sorry state of people's sex lives, and how to perfect sex. Another comment here uses the word "uncomfortable". Everything about the book is uncomfortable: the writing, the characters themselves, and how I felt about the characters (both for their fucked-up-edness and second-hand embarassment). By the way: sex. Fuck Power!
...accetta con riluttanza, solo per dovere...accetta perché oggigiorno declinare gli inviti è una forma di automutilazione. IL SOCIALE E' TUTTO. Colin sospetta che quando è lontano dagli sguardi vitrei degli altri, non esiste. E non esistere è doloroso.
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Intanto armeggia con il cellulare. Non riconosce quasi nessuno dei nomi della rubrica: Andy, Ankam, Ben. Sono i nomi di persone con le quali non è riuscito a restare in contatto, fallimenti in ordine alfabetico.
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Justin è convinto che si possa amare solo una o due volte nella vita. In ogni caso, l'amore è la più grande bugia occidentale, una bugia pietosa, forse, ma pur sempre una bugia. L'amore è una cosa banale, una cosa scontata. Dio, ti prego, fà che sia così.
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Dov'è che si vivono i momenti belli? Dimmelo tu, ti prego, dove?
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In quale corsia stanno i cuori in scatola? Sotto quale voce hanno messo l'AMORE IN CONSERVA?
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Il ricordo delle ex fidanzate gli balla il can can in testa. Tutte le ragazze accanto alle quali si è sdraiato. i rituali ripetuti senza mai ammettere che tutto è stato già fatto, che si è vissuta la stessa intimità con qualcun altro, quasi esattamente nello stesso modo. In fondo siamo abilissimi a ricordarci di dimenticare, permettendo che il vecchio si travesta da novità.
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Ecco perché si coltiva la pianta del caffè, ecco perché si conducono ricerche, si inventano e si perfezionano le macchine che preparano il caffè e quelle che rendono schiumoso il latte. Affinché si formi un legame fra le persone che l'istinto, il caso o il desiderio ha costretto a stare insieme. Dobbiamo provarci. Questo esigono l'amicizia e la moralità. Non c'entra il sesso telefonico, quanto piuttosto la convinzione ampiamente diffusa che la solitudine sia un'inculata.
A great first novel. A collision of Martin Amis, Chuck Palahniuk, J.G Ballard, & Bret Easton Ellis. Don't read if you are weak of stomach, or on public transport, unless you don't mind your fellow passengers reading chapter headings like 'The Curious Wanker' or 'Super Slut'. Already working on the follow up, which is great to know when you've discovered a very promising talent. And he's only 26! The bastard!!
This book manages to be intriguing and compelling as well as slightly uncomfortable. Very well written and brilliantly documents the descent into depravity of all the main characters.