Eden superimposed over Guernica -- an L.A. metaphor
I've been thinking about L.A. a lot lately. Not really 'due consideration' thinking, more like 'passing fancy' thinking. I've been thinking about L.A. and L.A. literature and L.A.'s purpose and zeitgeist and worth. I've been hankering for Ellis L.A., having recently read an article about him in Interview, and that hankering led to wanting to re-read Less Than Zero, his debut novel about rich L.A. kids 'who do lots of drugs and never learn to be human'. And when I was thinking about about that book and L.A. and the smattering of thoughts I've been having about that Otherworld I remembered this scene from the book between the main character and a girl. And the more I thought about this vaguely remembered scene, in all its surreal partiality, the more I began to see it as my metaphor L.A.. The way that scene reads and how I feel is what I think it must be like to live in L.A.; no, not just live there, but what it must be like to live for L.A., and subsequently Hollywood. What I think about L.A. and how I feel about L.A., as a Midwest nobody who's never seen that coast or known those people but knows the idea of those people and the concept of that place, is wrapped up in that awkward, anonymous scene.
I re-read it yesterday, having "coerced" my roommate into checking it out from the library for me, and it's just as I remember. Finer in detail now, but the notion and emotion are the same.
This is L.A.
The girl comes back and we walk out of After Hours, past the girl who said "hi" to me, crying in the doorway, and the gay porno star smoking a joint in the alley; past the four Mexican guys teasing the kids who go in and out of the club, and past the security officer and the parking attendant who keeps telling the Mexican boys that they'd better leave. And one of them calls out to me, "Hey, punk faggot," and the girl and I get into her car and drive off into the hills and we go to her room and I take off my clothes and lie on her bed and she goes into the bathroom and I wait a couple of minutes and then she finally comes out, a towel wrapped around her, and sits on the bed and I put my hands on her shoulders, and she says stop it and, after I let her go, she tells me to lean against the headboard and I do and then she takes off the towel and she's naked and she reaches into the drawer by her bed and brings out a tube of Bain De Soleil and she hands it to me and then she reaches into the drawer and brings out a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses and she tells me to put them on and I do. And she takes the tube of suntan lotion form me and squeezes some onto her fingers and then touches herself and motions for me to do the same, and I do. After a while I stop and reach over to her and she stops me and says no, and then places my hand back on myself and her hand begins again and after this goes on for a while I tell her that I'm going to come and she tells me to hold on a minute and that she's almost there and she begins to move her hand faster, spreading her legs wider, leaning back against the pillows, and I take the sunglasses off and she tells me to put them back on and I put them back on and it stings when I come and then I guess she comes too. Bowie's on the stereo and she gets up, flushed, and turns the stereo off and turns on MTV. I lie there, naked, sunglasses still on and she hands me a box of Kleenex. I wipe myself off then look through a Vogue that's lying by the side of the bed. She puts a robe on and stares at me. I can hear thunder in the distance and it begins to rain harder. She lights a cigarette and I start to dress ....
Ellis, Bret Easton. Less Than Zero. 120-121
I re-read it yesterday, having "coerced" my roommate into checking it out from the library for me, and it's just as I remember. Finer in detail now, but the notion and emotion are the same.
This is L.A.
The girl comes back and we walk out of After Hours, past the girl who said "hi" to me, crying in the doorway, and the gay porno star smoking a joint in the alley; past the four Mexican guys teasing the kids who go in and out of the club, and past the security officer and the parking attendant who keeps telling the Mexican boys that they'd better leave. And one of them calls out to me, "Hey, punk faggot," and the girl and I get into her car and drive off into the hills and we go to her room and I take off my clothes and lie on her bed and she goes into the bathroom and I wait a couple of minutes and then she finally comes out, a towel wrapped around her, and sits on the bed and I put my hands on her shoulders, and she says stop it and, after I let her go, she tells me to lean against the headboard and I do and then she takes off the towel and she's naked and she reaches into the drawer by her bed and brings out a tube of Bain De Soleil and she hands it to me and then she reaches into the drawer and brings out a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses and she tells me to put them on and I do. And she takes the tube of suntan lotion form me and squeezes some onto her fingers and then touches herself and motions for me to do the same, and I do. After a while I stop and reach over to her and she stops me and says no, and then places my hand back on myself and her hand begins again and after this goes on for a while I tell her that I'm going to come and she tells me to hold on a minute and that she's almost there and she begins to move her hand faster, spreading her legs wider, leaning back against the pillows, and I take the sunglasses off and she tells me to put them back on and I put them back on and it stings when I come and then I guess she comes too. Bowie's on the stereo and she gets up, flushed, and turns the stereo off and turns on MTV. I lie there, naked, sunglasses still on and she hands me a box of Kleenex. I wipe myself off then look through a Vogue that's lying by the side of the bed. She puts a robe on and stares at me. I can hear thunder in the distance and it begins to rain harder. She lights a cigarette and I start to dress ....
Ellis, Bret Easton. Less Than Zero. 120-121