Lush Life by Richard Price
I have two episodes before I am done with The Wire, and I am sick. I already want more. It might be the best TV show ever made, and though I’m sure I’ll rewatch it from start to finish, it just won’t be the same. Still, I can take some heart: the writers for The Wire are out there writing novels, and if Lush Life by Richard Price is any indication, they are almost as good.
As Dennis Lehane says on the dust jacket, Price is one of the best writers of dialogue this country has. (Actually, Lehane says the best we have ever had.) His writing feels real in a way that even the best writing doesn’t. His characters speak in sentence fragments, with bad grammar, and they often use the wrong words. But the flow is undeniable, and though I’m just a white boy who has led a somewhat sheltered existence, during the hours I’m reading Lush Life I feel like I’ve descended into the eddies of Manhatten as they rush from the housing projects to the happy hours. The book is around 400 pages and I read it in less than a day. Granted, I was sick in bed, but it was that riveting.
Price is not writing the sort of high literature that has us looking to Pynchon, McCarthy, DeLillo or Roth, but I don’t think he wants to be. I don’t want him to be either. This is simply more fun. It might not stay with me in the same way, but that’s ok. I’ll just read it again.