TC Boyle’s New Novel Looks at the Mind of a Chimpanzee


TALK TO ME
by TC Boyle

Through his collection of more than two dozen novels and short stories, TC Boyle deftly dug up the self-obsessed weaknesses of baby booms in the process of attracting a loyal readership that rivals updike and Roth, two other cynical observers of the broken mid-century spirit. The result of their efforts has often produced fun and absurd threads that examine the distinctive, private, and problematic morality of Generation Me.

His strange new novel explores this familiar terrain in a story told from three different perspectives: those of an arrogant, posh academic; attractive, adorable licensing assistant; and Sam the rowdy chimpanzee that binds them together.

Guy Schermerhorn is swimming in his shallow reputation as a California university professor teaching his award-winning chimpanzee to communicate in sign language; it’s a feat that landed them on the game show “To Tell the Truth”. (If the appearance of Kitty Carlisle isn’t a clue enough, you know it’s the late 1970s because everyone smokes and has a wall phone.) Guy believes he’s on the verge of a scientific breakthrough and, more importantly, reaching the clinician. The academic fame he clearly aspires to – by proving that chimpanzees have deeper thought processes and intellectual ability than was previously known.

Fascinated by Sam’s television antics, your standard-issue cynical, disgruntled undergraduate, Aimee Villard, applies to be Guy’s assistant, and the story quickly turns into “Miracle Worker, Sam, as the eager-to-learn Helen Keller and Aimee’s ardently believing Annie Sullivan.” . Aimee dedicates her entire life to Sam overnight, feeding him, playing with him, and sharing a bed with him—that is, when she’s not sneaking out to have sex with that greasy Guy.

Aimee is the kind of sullen, milky-skinned anti-hero Jennifer Jason Leigh stopped playing her career in the 1990s, and it’s equally disturbing. While it’s made clear that Sam gives him a much-needed sense of purpose – “It’s like a door that has been closed all his life suddenly opens” – the motivation behind his slavish devotion to a mad chimpanzee never makes sense. discovered. She simply takes on the ungrateful role of Guy’s moral compass, taking increasingly desperate measures to protect Sam from other corrupt villains who see him as just a meal ticket.

As for Sam, he drinks gin and tonic and gets along on pizza, sweetened cereal, and the occasional lizard. When he wishes, he deftly plays the role of a side show curiosity, dazzling his audiences with Machiavellian clarity. In the end, it turns out that the one really responsible is Sam, the puppeteer pulling the strings of those around him. The stakes increase as more and more gravitate towards “human” behavior and Guy and Aimee face their own Frankenstein’s monster: What if you can no longer control your own creation?

The book spins between Guy, Aimee, and Sam’s perspectives, and Boyle is commended for tackling such a daring task: It takes courage to devote a third of your novel to the imaginary, often incoherent thoughts of a chimp, and readers will happily accompany it. Boyle’s human characters—the steely waif, the narcissistic professor, the cold-hearted cultivator complete with the eye patch (I wish he had a mustache to curl!)—are deeply flawed people whose layers might be interesting to peel off. But their coats remain intact, none of them watered down in any way to make them accessible or even somewhat interesting, making you miss their return rather than their salvation. This includes Sam, who appears to be what he is at the end: a spoiled and arrogant 4-year-old boy.

Boyle also has a pacing problem; One minute, Sam is “interviewed” as a possible guest on Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show,” and the next moment, suddenly, a year later and the whole deal is dead. That’s when Boyle’s clumsy narrative gradually descends into the rabbit hole of the little details of Sam’s life. For some reason I kept thinking of watching Suzanne Vega’s old song “Tom’s Diner”, the coffee being poured and people kissing their hellos. The story is further complicated by ill-advised distractions such as the sudden appearance of a fourth perspective (no less than the wife of a trailer park manager), a ridiculous hiatus involving Sam’s baptism by an actual Catholic priest. A Wikipedia-like history of J. Fred Muggs, the famous “Today” show chimpanzee of the 1950s, is randomly placed in the middle of the story, like a feature from Parade magazine.

Why did Aimee need Sam so much? And why did she instantly bond with him and only him from the moment they met? How much can chimpanzees really understand, learn, think? All the interesting questions came up and unfortunately were never really answered. Finally, Boyle offers a sullen, hollow solution that leaves you wondering exactly what the point of all this escapism was: Are monkeys just apes? Do these people suck? Is science bearing its own horrific moral costs? Maybe all. Or none. Without the richer, livelier characters and motifs, it all feels like a cup of coffee at Tom’s diner.



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