FAIR

A homeless man wanders the streets and beaches of Los Angeles in search of purpose in Seaward’s literary debut.

Eyan has no sense of time and can’t remember how long he’s been on the streets or even his age. He guesses 20, but he looks considerably older, primarily because he had his rotten teeth removed. Though initially alone, he eventually reunites with Marc, a friend from school who lives on Skid Row with “the professor,” a man who once taught at the University of Chicago. This leads Eyan to connect with Paul, another, more dangerous former schoolmate. Paul’s a criminal, often surrounded by his minions, who enlists Eyan as his drug mule since Eyan walks everywhere and, like other homeless in LA, is effectively “invisible.” Paul’s gang is likely responsible for the dead bodies that are periodically turning up, a string of homicides that local detectives don’t seem capable of stopping. Meanwhile, Eyan struggles with thoughts of death and family, and he always carries a notebook that he fills with words he wants to remember. He has sporadic, “shifting” memories, from his mother and his sister’s disappearance during his first and only year of high school to a girl he once knew who committed suicide. It certainly doesn’t help his erratic memories when detectives question Eyan regarding some of the murder victims and ask about the contents of his notebook. Ultimately, Eyan makes a decision that will forever change his life as well as others’.

With few moments or recollections of happiness, Eyan is the quintessential tortured soul. He’s entirely sympathetic and endearing and only grows more so as readers get to know him. Though the story plants itself in dark territory, it’s not devoid of hope; Eyan’s notebook is an especially potent indicator that he continually strives to understand those around him. Seaward’s narrative is smoothly nonlinear, lucidly depicting flashbacks and memories. And while Eyan’s perspective isn’t strictly reliable (he’s completely unaware of how much time passes), supporting characters are distinctive. Marc in particular shows a kindness toward the protagonist that speaks volumes; he’s one of the few people who doesn’t mock Eyan. The author writes in a plain prose steeped in metaphor. For example, Paul’s minions are “eyeless” because they perpetually don mirrored sunglasses that not only quash their identities, but constantly remind Eyan of his own identity when seeing his reflection. Despite parallels between the City of Angels and passages of Milton’s Paradise Lost, which the professor reads to Eyan, Seaward’s tale is sublimely understated. He, for one, often portrays LA as a realistically grim rather than overtly hellish landscape: “Eyan wanders up and down the boardless boardwalk until the crowds thin to the point of disappearing. It is late at night. He finds his special place. The tiny spot he can crawl into, pull his knees to his chin and place a thumb in a toothless mouth.”

Relentlessly depressing but superbly composed story of a tragically lost soul.