Fiction can provide a safe vantage point from which to observe the very worst of humanity. While few would choose to fraternize with such a predatory wretch in real life, a few hours in Humbert Humbert’s company can reveal much about the human condition that otherwise remains hidden. These recent Indie titles provocatively plumb the depths of some very difficult men.
The nameless narrator of David Milnes’ The Graffiti Killer is approaching 70 and can no longer countenance what he sees as the gross vulgarization of modern culture. So, naturally, he turns to murder. Pursuing a vendetta against the “trasheteers” lowering the cultural bar (he counts cheesy balladeer Barry Manilow among their number), Milnes’ protagonist travels through Europe dispatching various lowbrow aesthetic offenders. The killer is a compelling creation with memorable quirks (strikingly pale, this fictional character is said to have played a ghoul in the real-life 1971 movie The Omega Man), but Milnes’ novel lingers in the mind because the killer’s “skewed view of the world, as seen through the lens of his frustration and anger, is, unsettlingly, almost understandable,” according to our reviewer; take a trip around the TV dial or scroll through a random assortment of YouTube videos and see if you don’t agree.
@UGMan assumes the Herculean task of humanizing one of contemporary society’s most noxious archetypes: the terminally online “neckbeard,” a socially maladjusted male who takes to the internet to give full rein to his most toxic impulses. Mark Sarvas’ off-putting unnamed narrator spends his days indoors, naked, bathed in the light of his computer screen as he spews hateful rhetoric into the void. The narrative makes feints at a plot—is the FBI really after him in the wake of a despised politician’s death?—but the work is truly driven by the nuanced characterization of the lead character. Our reviewer praises the “stunning complexity” of Sarvas’ protagonist, noting the way his “narration achieves great highs of wit and literary reference before plummeting down to the most basic references and internet-speak.” Whatever impulse compels us to slow down at traffic accidents is in full effect here—our reviewer deems Sarvas’ unsettling opus a “chilling, flawlessly executed, and emotionally taxing portrayal of a broken psyche.”
Hive, by Garin K. Hovannisian, features a protagonist who’s a depressingly familiar type: the “canceled” public figure, someone who is publicly called out—and ostensibly censured—for entitled/exploitative/predatory behavior. College professor Adam was once perceived as a provocative, boundary-pushing novelist in the Bret Easton Ellis mold; now, his reputation has curdled as his books get reevaluated as misogynistic, and a sex/suicide scandal involving him and one of his students has threatened his tenure. Spiraling, Adam accepts a mysterious invitation to a remote Greek island, where he joins a group of dubious men including a wealth manager, a conspiracy theorist, and a “lifestyle influencer” (shudder). Their ultimate destination resembles a honeycomb and is presided over by a Queen—uh-oh. Hovannisian plays some intriguing metafictional games with the narrative, but, as our reviewer observes, what will stay with readers is the protagonist’s “toxic worldview”; anyone who, like Adam, whines about a “culture of castration” should proceed cautiously when judgment looms.
Arthur Smith is an Indie editor.
