Nowhere Man

Just finished Aleksandar Hemon's Nowhere Man, a tale of a Bosnian refugee written by a Bosnian expat.  The dust jacket says he publishes regularly in the New Yorker, Esquire, Granta, and Paris Review.  The book was published in 2002.

The writing was crisp and engaging - well written enough that my original attempts to keep myself reading by scheduling a pace were unnecessary.  The theme is homelessness, the disconcerting sensation of having nowhere you really belong.  The hero (antihero?) is an ethnically Ukranian native of Bosnia who moves to Chicago just before the civil war breaks out.  Vignettes are set in Chicago, Oak Ridge, Kiev, Sarajevo and Shanghai.  The effect of looking at Pronek from multiple points of view is quite striking. 

So, what does Hemon have to say?  And by inference, what do the literary powers that have given him "extraordinary recognition" (dust jacket) want to hear?

• Sex is central (but not sacred, oh no, not sacred). 
• Relationships are doomed from the beginning and we never really understand each other.
• By and large, people are ridiculous.  They should be viewed with cool, detached irony.
• Nationalism is ridiculous - dangerous, murderous, yes - but in the end ridiculous.
• Politics are ridiculous, and politicians are out of touch with reality.  This applies to both the establishment (George Bush, Sr.) and the revolution (Greenpeace).
• War is hideous. 
• Life really has no particular meaning or point.  The closest we come to a point is, well, sex, which is ultimately meaningless too, and doesn't seem to lead to lasting relationships, but it is, well, central.  What few moments of transcendence we get (however, illusory they may be) are from sex.
• Things that seem to have a meaning (Pronek's early passion for music, and his romantic and relationship yearnings) turn out to be ridiculous.
• Life having no point, a plot is, well, pointless.
• Literary criticism, by the way, is also ridiculous - "Queer Lear" and "Karaoke and (Re) presentation."
• Absent the existence of transcendence and meaning, the best thing is to be present and aware of the current moment.  This is almost a spirituality of some kind.

The dust jacket says his prose has "literary verve," "engrossing narrative, engaging warmth, and refreshing humor," with an "exhilarating sense of seeing everything new again."  I did find the narrative engrossing.  I actually enjoyed his technique - split points of view, a pastiche of vignettes, and his descriptive powers are substantial.  I suppose that translates into literary verve?  But I didn't find any warmth to engage with, nor did I find his cool irony "refreshing."