No One Is Talking About This

Somebody cracks wise on the Internet (I know, I know, but stay with it, it’s fiction after all), and it goes viral. Interviews, guest lectures, panel discussions and world travel ensue until... Until something terrible happens, and everything collapses to the point of disruption. In Ohio, so you know it’s serious. Then, maybe, we see what matters in this big ol’ world of ours.

That’s mostly the story; as you read along, that’s what you’re reading. The story’s written in two parts: the happy part and the sad part. The happy part is happy, jouncing along with one-liners, wry observations and winsome meditations, a bit like a Steven Wright routine, except more Internetty. The sad part is sad, and, unlike the happy part, is capable of being spoiled, which cramps the review a little. It’s probably safe to point out if you’re familiar with Oscar Wilde’s (alleged!) comment about little Nell, then you’re equipped to handle the sad part, except you probably won’t laugh, but more like eye-roll, because Internet.

No One Is Talking About This is written like it’s from the Internet, which it calls the Portal. The effect is possibly supposed to be Twitter-like, but it reads more like it’s from an earlier era: Flutterby, Wonkette or — St. Berners-Lee protect us — InstaPundit. That works fine for the happy part (assuming you overlook the meme-slippage, which, if you couldn’t, they wouldn’t be memes), but it cuts into whatever it is the sad part is supposed to be doing; the pitch turns somber, but the register remains the same. Unless that’s the point: even the Portal-poisoned can recover their humanity, or maybe the hive-mind strength of the Portal can help you through tough times, something like that.

my first thoughts: did this woman just steal anecdotes from twitter to fill her quasi-novel? although couched in poetic language I recognised so many of the useless, wavelength-like arguments seen on twitter. the periodicity of fidget spinners discourse for example: from popular to predictable backlash, to autism/able-ism protection to gotchas on the former-backlashers, then finally excavating the fidget spinner history to pre-colonial times before landing in the ever-conflict field of Israel/Palestine. And, as the author points out, all this in a span of 4 days.

but as I immersed myself in the short paragraphs and disparate vignettes - recognising blow-ups, enjoying fresh interpretations, laughing out loud at absurdities, and recoiling at sudden bursts of profanity, it became clear that the reader was supposed to experience the novel like experiencing the scroll thru social media: what starts out as random enjoyable bits of information, deteriorates to depression. and then part two hit.

wow.

whereas the first part was consumed by 'the portal' and it's distracting reverberations, part two slams back into real, tangible life with a grief so expertly written, it had to come from experience. (and in the acknowledgements, we come to see this is true)

overall I was amazed at this young author's ability to clearly see the absurdity of our current obsession with useless minutia (even while immersing herself in it). I really didn't think the foreground of social media had any value to a creative mind, but she used it as a springboard for emphasizing that life is always much closer.