A while ago, I posted about this book--said that I had started it and that the beginning was great. Now I've finished it, and the rest of it was great as well. I loved it while I was actually reading, and when I could be persuaded to actually put the book down, I babbled about it to whoever was around.
Cayce Pollard is a cool hunter and design consultant. She's become so sensitive to (and in some cases, revolted by) logos that she dresses entirely without them--to the point of having the buttons on her Levi's ground down to erase the emblem. Some brands even set off an allergic reaction:
But down here, next to a display of Tommy Hilfiger, it's all started to go sideways on her, the trademark thing. Less warning aura than usual. Some people ingest a single peanut and their head swells like a basketball. When it happens to Cayce, it's her psyche.
Tommy Hilfiger does it every time, though she'd thought she was safe now. They'd said he'd peaked, in New York. Like Benetton, the name would be around, but the real poison, for her, would have been drawn. It's something to do with context, here, with not expecting it in London. When it starts, it's pure reaction, like biting down hard on a piece of foil.
A glance to the right and the avalance lets go. A mountainside of Tommy coming down in her head.
My God, don't they know? This stuff is simulacra of simulacra of simulacra. A diluted tinture of Ralph Lauren, who had himself diluted the glory days of Brooks Brothers, who themselves had stepped on the product of Jermyn Street and Savile Row, flavoring their ready-to-wear with liberal lashings of polo knit and regimental stripes. But Tommy surely is the null point, the plack hole. There must be some Tommy Hilfiger event horizon, beyond which it is impossible to be more derivative, more removed from the source, more devoid of soul. Or so she hopes, and doesn't know; but suspects in her heart that this in fact is what accounts for his long ubiquity.
She's also a footagehead, part of an already large (and rapidly expanding) world-wide sub-culture--for some time now, someone has been uploading short clips of a mysterious and strangely beautiful film to the internet--as of yet, no one has been able to trace it.
A businessman offers her unlimited resources to find the creator. Shortly after she agrees to the job, the apartment she's staying in is broken into, the records from her former therapist's office are stolen, and she's sure that she's being followed.
There's also the added mystery surrounding her father's disappearence in Manhattan on September 11th.
That's just the bare bones--there's a whole lot more to it. It's worth reading, and I think it'll be worth re-reading, as well. Collomia, if Gabe hasn't already read this one, I think he'd definitely like it.