Completed June 2022
NO ONE IS TALKING
ABOUT THIS
In my first session reading No One Is Talking About This, I read the first chapter. In my second session reading No One Is Talking About This, I read the first chapter again, as I realised I hadn't really absorbed anything the first time. As much as I wish that it was simply a case of adjusting to the writing style, by the end of the book I wasn't finding it any easier. But I can't decide whether or not that's actually a bad thing.
This book is bizarre. There's no two ways about it. A lot of the time I didn't have a clue what was going on as it oscillated wildly between all kinds of disparate subject matter, each paragraph just a bit madder than the last. What this did achieve is an encapsulation of internet culture the likes of which I've never experienced before, and most likely never will again. In particular, when I did understand a reference the buzz of feeling 'in on the joke' it was intoxicating, especially among the sea of utter nonsense. I'm assuming is exactly how Lockwood wanted the reader to feel – hence me reading on. Hence the doomscrolling.
If that was the only effect of this book, it would have been impressive enough, and yet this isn't even scratching the surface. Interwoven between the absurdity were moments of stark clarity which hit like sledgehammers. My eyes went from scanning passionlessly across pages to stopping dead. To reading a paragraph four, five, six, twenty times. Lockwood's power of observation is breathtaking. When she shines a stark light on society, on current affairs, on human nature – I was totally transfixed. There was a section where the main character reflects on a recent school shooting which chilled me to the bone. I took photos of some excerpts on my phone, which I never do. I read sections aloud, which I never do. So it would be unfair to say this book isn't something special.
But my god, this made the rest of it so hard. Reading pages of absurdity which felt like little more than (digital) world building... as effective as it was at achieving that, was a struggle. I can't help but want some answers. In some ways Lockwood positions her characters as inconsequential, ghostly figures without names or identifying features, which would have been fine if we weren't given opportunities to care about them, which mostly we weren't. But then Lockwood would go and write something beautiful. And I found myself invested in this totally undeveloped figure we knew nothing about.
The second half of the book was especially difficult, when the narrative became simultaneously more grounded and yet just as resistant to answering questions. Such a torturous, poignant experience we were never divulged the details of. I just wanted to know what was going on, is that so unreasonable? I couldn't help but care.
In a way this makes me want to seek out non-fiction by Lockwood, so I can experience her phenomenal eloquence without dizzying narratives. Because this one was difficult, and I'm not ashamed to say it. Although, as I'm writing this, I also kind of want to read this book again. What does that say?
“I was just thinking that you and I... have seen very different memes in our lives.”