BOOKS: The Pleasure of My Company

Better late than never, yesterday's promised book review:

If pirates are the new monkeys, then mentally-challenged savants are the new pirates. Released on the heels of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, about an autistic math genius turned sleuth, Steve Martin's (yes, that Steve Martin) novella The Pleasure of My Company chronicles the life of Daniel Pecan Cambridge, pathological liar, OCD sufferer, math genius (he creates giant magic squares to help calm his nerves), and loner.

Daniel is a prisoner of his compulsions. He can scarcely leave his apartment for fear of having to cross a curb (curbs are highly illogical to him, and thus highly forbidding), and his relationships with people are nearly non-existent (he even ruins his chance at a sexual encounter with his upstairs neighbor by leaving her stranded in the bedroom while he makes sure the wattage of all the lit light bulbs in his apartment adds up to 1125). And the relationships he does have are riddled with fabrications and fantasies. He convinces himself he is in love with Zandy, the woman who fills his prescriptions at Rite-Aid; Elizabeth, the realtor handling the apartment building across the street; and Clarissa, the student therapist who visits him weekly.

After constructing an elaborate relationship with Elizabeth in his head, Daniel finally arranges to meet her, but as his mental tics manifest, Elizabeth becomes disgusted. Daniel assures himself (only half-jokingly) that he can't be held responsible for his failure:

...Elizabeth was at fault here. She had destroyed whatever was between us by making a profound gaffe: She met me.

But that illusion won't hold; he later admits to himself, apropos of the distance his mental disorders force him to create: "There are few takers for the quiet heart."

The book, and his relationship with Clarissa, both take a surprising turn when she unexpectedly shows up at his apartment:

..."Could I ask you a favor?" The request held such exasperation that I worried she had used up all the reserve exasperation she might need on some other occasion.

Clarissa is having troubles with her abusive ex-husband, and needs to leave her baby son, Teddy, with Daniel while she deals with things. She instinctively knows what the reader has come to learn, that despite the lies he can't control, Daniel is a trustworthy person. And so Daniel, whose world is ruled by logic, is suddenly in charge of a highly illogical being. The neuroses which have kept him locked up are challenged by Teddy, and this first step leads him on a greater journey outside of himself.

Martin is no Hollywood opportunist, publishing a book just because his name recognition allows him the luxury to do so. He's a gifted writer, as those who have read his previous novella, Shopgirl, already know. His dialogue is humorous, sad, sweet, and real, and his descriptive prose brightens even the mundanity of Rite-Aid:

The merchandise inside broke the light like a million prisms. Candy bars, laid out like organ keys, glistened in their foil wrappers. Tiers of detergent boxes bore concentric circles of vibrating color. The tiny selection of pots and pans reflected elongated sideshow images. Green rubber gloves dangled from metal racks like a Duchamp, and behind it all was Zandy's yellow hair, which moved like a sun, rising and setting over the horizon of ointments and salves.

The Pleasure of My Company is a wonderful book, smart, subtle, funny and wise, deeply observant of human nature, its triumphs and failures.