This latest work is populated with characters pursuing clean slates, trying to break free from substance abuse or harmful partnerships, only to see hope turn into violence. Chris Kraus frequently uses the phrase "new beginning", making it willfully cynical through recurring use. Phrases such as "He aimed to start over" and "They chose to begin anew" appear throughout the text. And yet, Kraus herself is embarking on her individual reinvention, as this seems a different type of work – observational, truly literary. But then it turns out to be filled with the recurring issues and approaches as earlier books.
Kraus began as an creative who entered the literary world somewhat by chance with her 1997 cult classic I Love Dick, structured as missives to a distant beloved, converting personal female narrative from humiliation into assassination. She continued writing, but the three subsequent fascinating and rebarbative novels lacked the power and directness that the letter form imparted to the narrative voice of I Love Dick. This was not aided by was her identity as a maverick maker who had turned into a extensive real estate holder, so there was considerable focus on real estate deals. It makes sense that she now wants to explore different types of content, turning outward to the experiences of others, at a time when she asserts that Trumpian politics turns intimate literature obsolete.
The Four Spent the Day Together is structured in three parts, encompassing three generations – each trapped by their backgrounds. There is the story of characters Emma and Jasper, based on her own mother and father, relocating from the New York borough to the Connecticut countryside. Additionally the narrative of the author, in the character of Catt Greene, confronting the late recognition of I Love Dick, the rise of Trump, and her partner struggling with addiction Paul. And there is the story of the murder of one troubled youth by another in a town mostly forsaken by liberal ideals only a brief drive from Catt's rural residence in rural Minnesota.
From my perspective as a reader fond of refined literature of the sort Kraus typically rejects, I was captivated by the literary tone of the opening part.
Being a reader who appreciates honed writing of the style that the author usually avoids, I was seduced by the literary tone of the initial part. There is a fresh level of observation that makes room for minutiae, like the container that the protagonist as a child pries out of frozen water at the beginning of the narrative, aided by her cherished parent. "Look, an ice toy!" she declares; "a lovely toy", he answers, "the elliptical meanings of words rolling around in their mouths like hard candy". She tells Emma's narrative with inquiry and familiarity. "Emma felt like she'd stepped into a dream – not precisely her dream."
I was bound to become frustrated when I wished this new voice could persist to the end. The author states here that she resents the satisfaction audiences such as myself have taken from I Love Dick; she's dedicated to disruption, to the messy artistic approach she has in common with her inspiration author Kathy Acker, and the void and recurrence of her previous novels reasserts itself in the central part. Catt Greene is attempting to do up 36 run-down apartments in the most troubled areas of Albuquerque while shuttling between the Midwest and the West Coast, unsuccessful in assisting Paul control his drinking. She experiences powerlessness as Paul moves between poorly supported positions as an recovery specialist in a society driven by the rage and anxiety that powers a political win. There are several pages about the protagonist facing cancellation on Twitter, her occupation changed from "novelist" to "landlord" on a reference site. Kraus still seems to be overly concerned about this. At one point she states that she's looking into the killing so that before exiting the region, "she could potentially understand something about an the nation that her social media opponents would fail to comprehend, would overlook entirely".
So then we come to the homicide in question – and the referenced day passed by the victim with the perpetrator and his friends. Kraus has great source material, and knows hour by hour what happened when the victim Brandon came to meet Brittney after connecting via an application where she marketed explicit images. He anticipated intimacy but seems affably to have spent the day alongside her friends, mooching around getting his car mended and funding treats and narcotics, before being shot by her romantic interest a man named Micah – a young, mentally ill man who has repeatedly received inpatient care for violent rage.
The protagonist becomes fixated by the account, and I was fascinated by the way that Kraus's dual urges towards ethical reporting and daring boundary-pushing clash in this segment. However, I would have preferred her to delve deeper into her personal fixations here. The compelling persona is the character Brittney, who comes alive in part due to Catt's identification with her – a similarly gifted, tormented individual derailing in a troubled, forgotten town. Kraus tells us that Catt speaks to Brittney in prison, but she doesn't dramatise these conversations. This entire part feels oddly unfinished, to the extent that her narrative ends almost mid-par
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