The most complimentary thing I can say about this book is, I finished it. I’m not sure why I picked it up in the first place. Certainly the provocative, high-gloss cover was a selling point. I like the underwear the cover model is wearing? The title? I don’t know. My indifference to this book prevents me from providing reasonable answers to my own questions.
The novel is written in a series of short paragraphs which weave in and out of at least half a dozen different story lines all pertaining to the main character – a prostitute and heroin addict living in New York. The opening paragraph is instantly intriguing:
“I met a man, when I was a whore in Dubai, who shook my hand and then passed it to his other palm and held it there. At the time it was mildly confusing. Now I know what he was doing. He was trying to see if I was wide-open, if he could fill my mind with anything.”
Possibly, this is the best written paragraph in the entire book. Maybe there were others, equally well-crafted, and I was too disenchanted to notice.
It was difficult to settle into the characters, because the book keeps jumping around from story line to story line in short bursts. Doubtless, the fractured framework was intentional. The main character’s personality, like the flow of the narrative, is rather splintered. There will be some readers who are deeply satisfied, and find hidden depths in this literary structure. I would argue that such depths are very well hidden, indeed. Usually, I’m down with a story that ticks back and forth between narrative elements. In the case of this book, however, everything felt supremely underdeveloped. It was as if the author apathetically threw out each paragraph with nary a care for the arc of the story, nor character depth. It read as such:
Paragraph: Prostitute has gross sex with client and pretends to like it.
Paragraph: Prostitute has gross sex with another client, and pretends to like it.
Paragraph: Prostitute meets equally broken army vet in bar and begins to date him, but not really date him.
Paragraph: Prostitute partakes, often in large doses, of drugs; usually heroin, sometimes coke.
Paragraph: Prostitute flashes back to memories of a bomb-making Sheikh she dated in Dubai. She loved the Sheikh; it’s not clear why.
Mini Paragraph: Prostitute gets her nails painted.
Mini Paragraph: Prostitute agrees to be physically harmed for money, and pretends to like it.
Mini Paragraph: Prostitute buys some groceries.
I’ll stop before revealing the ending, lest I give away the entire book. I’m sure, by this point, you’re itching to know how it ends.
If you turn to the copyright page, it lists the “Subjects” the book should be filed under – “Prostitutes – Fiction. | Terrorists – Fiction. |GSAFD: Suspense fiction.”. That is a scintillating combination of subjects. Then again, I don’t know that I’d call this book suspenseful. I think it’s mostly dull with a few salacious details thrown in. The suspense part comes in the last five pages of the book – the first time the plot picks up at any noticeable pace. By then, unfortunately, it was too late for me to care.
To be fair, I do think there are people who will really enjoy Ultraluminous. It was compelling, in its own way. There was a clear narrative tone; a bit of a dark, ambivalent ambience that carries through from start to finish. It seemed as though the author knew where she wanted the story to end, but struggled a bit with the getting there. You may find it entertaining. It wasn’t my cup of tea, or rather, coffee.