The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets by Kathleen Alcott

The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets Reviews

• 
  Grace Hobbs

  Didn't love this. I picked it up after seeing it in the top ad banner at The Rumpus half a million times; didn't know quite what to expect but the blurb sounded intriguing. There are two main problems for me: first, that the book is too writerly - almost too much attention is paid to the construction of beautiful sentences, which tend to be beautiful individually but fall flat when taken in context - the cadences don't vary enough, there's a lot of descriptive listing that just isn't necessary. It's technically good writing that is almost divorced from the content. And second, the content itself. I just don't believe in any of the characters, Ida or Jackson or James; the accounts of their childhood shenanigans are like stills from a twee indie movie and their adult pain is too vague to empathize with. Then there are certain verbal tics in the writing that I find annoying, in particular the "nouning" of adjectives like 'lost' and 'gentle' (example: "...his mania was so generous it felt like an assimilation of gentle" - and really, what does that even MEAN?), which feels like an attempt to be linguistically innovative but actually just distracts from the story. And the thing is that I don't know how I'd change the book overall, which I guess maybe speaks to the inevitability of the plot or the power of its propulsion, or maybe just speaks to how much I don't care. It's a book I read that I have no connection to, that leaves me feeling nothing.
• 
  Oriana

  Wow. Beautiful and spooky and beautiful and bleak and sad.
  
  This, like so many books I read these days, was found on the curb; I knew when I saw it that I'd hear of it somewhere, but I'm unsure where. Good grief, I am so lucky to live somewhere where amazing books practically grow out of cracks in the sidewalk.
  
  This is a pretty incredibly, and incredibly immersive, story of a girl and the two brothers she lives next door to and has loved and been loved by for her entire life. It's a story of dissolution, of people giving themselves up into each other, destroying and rebuilding each other, falling apart and apart and apart. It's about art as a release from and destruction of the mind. It's about the fucked up power of love and the fucked up power of sex and the families we make and the ways that making those families both ruin us and keep us whole.
  
  It's really fantastic.
• 
  Lydia Presley

  The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets is a debut novel for Kathleen Alcott - but you wouldn't know it from her writing. This is a complex story about three people: Ida, Jackson, and James. Jackson and James are brothers, and Ida the young girl who grew up with them. The three form a bond as close as family - cemented by mutual loss. They have each lost one parent.
  
  With stark, beautiful language, Alcott puts this story out there, weaving between time successfully. I say she was successful because I was able to move from past to present back to past easily without being confused - and that indicates that something was right. When I read this book I felt as if I was slowly peeling back the petals of an artichoke, each piece giving me just a bit of a taste of the heart to come until it's there, beautiful and delicious and ready to be savored.
  
  I found so much beauty in this book. There's an entire chapter in which Ida details everything she knows about Jackson. We learn everything from intimate body details to favorite things. If you've ever taken a writing course, you know an exercise is to just write down facts about a character - to get inside that character and know him/her. Well, the chapter that does just that to Jackson is a perfect example of how wonderful that exercise is. I almost wept, it was that beautiful to read.
  
  This is a worthy novel, and one that would not only make excellent book club reading and discussions, but deserves every bit of attention it will doubtless receive. And to think it's Alcott's debut... wow. This is an author I'll be following, for sure.
• 
  Bandit

  A great title doesn't necessarily make for a great book, but it does attract attention. The book itself was a story of a family/a love affair, tightly interwoven, told from a perspective of a young woman in her roles as a lover/sister/daughter/friend/etc. The love affair and its repercussions take the primarily focus with its not technically so, but still too proximal to incest undertones. It actually isn't as sordid as all that, but it's somewhat odd. It's a well written book in that particular sort of literary exercise way, heavily narrated, minimal reliance on dialogue, consciously stylized, exuberantly prolix sentences and it all works for what it is, which is a very short read. One sitting, 2.5 hours to its vague ending, seems like a perfectly decent way to spend the time. Any longer and the book might have gotten tedious and so its brevity must be commended, like a guest who is aware they may not be the greatest company and they mustn't overstay their welcome. Interesting and not without talent, but ultimately doesn't really wow the reader like its striking title might do.
• 
  Antigone

  Beautiful use of language; clever approach to the subjective rationale. Sadly, beneath such exquisite wrapping paper lies an empty box.
  
  And this brings to light my chief complaint with literature today.
  
  I find it frustrating that so many new (and nearly new) novelists who are lost to themselves are being encouraged by academics, workshops, publishers and each other to believe the simple act of navel-gazing constitutes story. Some form of resolution, if not reached, must at least be actively sought. Do not expect me to pay for the privilege of watching you shrug your shoulders.
  
  There's a difference between a reader and a therapist.
  
  Figure it out.
  
  
• 
  A.M.

  Okay, so technically, I did finish this book by skimming from page 70 through the end and then reading the last ten pages backwards. It really didn't matter.
  
  Like much of the contemporary literary fiction written over the last two decades, The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets is full of beautifully written prose but empty of plot and meaning - a scrapbook of finely crafted vignettes that really don't make an engaging story - or even any sense. I neither liked nor could relate to any of the characters, either.
  
  All this said, my younger self would probably have enjoyed it.
• 
  Annery

  I haven't been reading literary novels lately so perhaps that's why it took me a bit longer than usual to read the 200+ pages of this book, but I think I was in no rush to find out what happened next. I wasn't meant to, that isn't the point. Savoring the writing is the point and I thoroughly did.
  
• 
  Ashley Wang

  The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets sacrifices plot, fluency and depth for attempts at poetic writing. Although the theme of the novel is initially interesting, Alcott creates intense metaphors that actually diverge from the novel's direct concepts. I found most of the characters hard to relate to, mostly because their experiences and personalities are distant, once again sacrificed for poetic writing.
  
  I feel like Alcott tried too hard to fit today's idea of "contemporary writing". True, there are some beautiful metaphors and analogies throughout this novel; however, it is littered with incredibly dense ones that sometimes made no sense.
  
  When Alcott imitated the writing styles of iconic contemporary authors, it seems forced. When it is her style alone, it's, well, staggered and choppy, as if the thoughts are not completely connected or developed. For example, Alcott uses adjectives in their original form as nouns, which doesn't really make sense; it seems like an attempt to be "hipster", but ultimately it results in awkward syntax.
  
  However, Alcott did a great job building suspense throughout the novel. The last 15% of the book was significantly better than the first 85%, as if Alcott began to solidify her writing and craft precise metaphors that accurately related to her novel.
  
  Personally, Alcott's writing style isn't for me. Nevertheless, if Alcott had just connected her ideas more fluently and decongested her metaphorical tangents, she would have significantly purified the muddled plot and increased character growth, thus making her novel much more remarkable.
• 
  Ben

  This book is cringey for many reasons but mainly because it is angsty and solipsistic, and the author doesn't seem to be aware of these qualities. For example, at some point the protagonist/narrator is making the case that her childhood was more badass than those of other kids because she drank and occasionally did drugs and lingers on this point for several pages in a way that has no relation to the story. Overall, it just feels like a compilation of loosely related vignettes with a lot of beautiful lines interspersed that serve no purpose except to be beautiful. The book could have been a thousand pages or ten and it wouldn't have made a difference. Often, chapters and paragraphs will start with something completely random that seems only to be coming from the author's experience unrelated to the novel. For example, one section starts with, "A false cognate that's always struck me in French, 'attendre,' is not to attend but to wait." This statement has literally no connection to the characters or plot but instead seems to be something that the author just thought of and was proud of writing and didn't have the heart to cut. The major redeeming quality (and reason why I gave two stars instead of one) is there really are some beautiful lines, so maybe the best way to read this book is to just open to random pages and get inspiration for your own writing.
• 
  Lisa

  I picked this up at the bookstore, never having heard of it, because I absolutely fell in love with the title. If there were a star rating system for titles, this book would get at least five stars from me.
  
  I did enjoy this book. The writing is lovely, an excellent representation of current narration style. The book takes place in Petaluma and San Francisco, and the familiarity of the setting is comfortable.
  
  Where I found it lacking was in two aspects that seem to come up all too often in modern novels. The first is that every character is dealing with just a bit too much difficulty in their lives. Dead spouses and dramatic mental illnesses and substance abuse, and on and on. Of course all of these problems are real; people wrestle with them all the time. Yet people also wrestle with problems that are far more mundane yet equally pervasive: the difficulties of juggling time as a single parent, stretching a paycheck, the difficulties of growing up when you are not beset by extraordinary challenges. There is drama in small things, too.
  
  The second aspect that troubles me leads from the first. In novels in which characters are struggling with such huge problems, they seem to have little agency. Things happen /i> the characters are mentally ill, are spouseless/lacking a parent, are addicted to drugs or booze. All acts are inevitable because of, or are in response to, these characteristics. It is as though, having provided this structure to the novel, it must become the raison d'être for all action thereafter. It seems to relieve both the characters and the author of having to take responsibility for characters' actions. And while this may be an accurate reflection of the American psyche at this time, I'm not persuaded that it forms a sound basis for literature.
• 
  Lisa

  I hate it when people level the "MFA" or "workshoppy" accusation at a book... I mean I know what they're talking about, but it seems like that's one of those pejorative terms they toss around to make whatever point about literary fiction they need. That said, The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets did feel vaguely... I don't know, creative-writing-y. Which is to say it seemed more like an artful parable than a storyline with a plot. And that's fine, actually. It was well written and explored some good themes -- how close, in a relationship, is too close? And how much do you want to find that mythical "other half," the person who completes you? The fact that it didn't really go anywhere left me a little high and dry, but I still enjoyed it and would definitely recommend it so long as you're not hot for straight up narrative.
• 
  Sharon

  A long lovely sad poem about a love story, but more about a family - one part born, part made, part destroyed. Quietly shows a great deal of passive destruction that ripple out from one man's departure into the next generation, leading to another departure, and deeper pain. Yet not a melodramatic book, and not a book that overexplains or even redeems - and this willingness to let the ugly be ugly is comforting and beautiful in a dark honest way.
  
  (Side note: it was odd to read a book in which sleepwalking figures largely during a week when I has battling a fierce bout of insomnia!)
• 
  Rebekah

  I found the author, er, narrator, to be boring and self-absorbed, and the love of her life, who is supposedly so fascinating and important to warrant a book, to be very one-dimensional. The only character who didn't make me want to roll my eyes at every page was the brother James, and I wonder why he wasn't the one she became obsessed with (I mean, it is all totally autobiographical, right?). Still, I must have been in the mood for an overwritten self-indulgent style-above-substance page-turner, because I did get sucked in, so three stars.
• 
  Jessica J.

  When I was really tiny – before school started and the concept of friends was clear – my mother used to babysit a neighbor my age, the son of a family friend. His name was Jason and because I was three, I thought that a “Jason” was a type of relation that everyone had. Kind of like a cousin, but more into Ninja Turtles.
  
  That’s what I thought of while starting this book: Ida and Jackson were bonding before they had teeth, with no concept that their relationship could be defined as something as unextraordinary as friendship. They grew up – Ida the daughter of a single father, Jackson (and James) the sons of a single mother – so constantly in each other’s presence that it seemed inevitable that their connection had to evolve into something “more than” friends. This special relationship is best quantified by the fact that Jackson has always referred to Ida simply as “I” – a self-identifying pronoun attached to another person.
  
  Of course, the course of true love never did run smooth. Jackson is a somnambulist – he not only walks in his sleep, but creates works of art and sometimes even behaves violently. This causes problems, first with his relationship with James and eventually with Ida.
  
  At first, I was put off because I didn’t quite understand the rationale behind Ida and Jackson’s behavior; I felt like the characters weren’t quite developed enough for me to understand why Ida pushes Jackson into something he doesn’t want and he subsequently rejects their relationship. I let the book simmer a bit in my thoughts, trying to sort out how to write a coherent review, and it eventually dawned on me: sometimes we are misled into believing our relationships are more secure, more meaningful, even more two-way than they really are. Whether it’s a romantic relationship, a familial one, or a close friendship, the other person often means more to us than we mean to them. It’s not necessarily a malicious thing; it’s just the way life goes sometimes. A failure to recognize it, though, can be devastating. Ida felt as though her lifelong history with Jackson meant their relationship transcended onto a new plane – they were more connected because of their constant presence in each other’s lives. In pushing Jackson beyond his comfort zone, Ida demonstrates that the connection may be something she wants more than something that is.
  
  In the end, this was a thought-provoking book. I just kind of wish that the writing had been strong enough to get me there sooner. Alcott has a way with prose, but her construction is often a series of scenes strung together (a style I’ve never care for, though I know some people prefer that ultra-postmodernism in their writing), and I never really got a sense of the characters. Jackson, in particular, never truly came to life. I hope to keep an eye on Alcott in the future, even though this book ultimately fell a little short.
  
• 
  Sheri

  I loved it. I really enjoyed the tone and suspense throughout. I realize that there are many moments that were overdone or too dramatic and that it was not quite believable. However, the tone was near perfect and after having just finished Toby's Room (in which the incestuous relationship was pivotal but understated), Proximal Alphabets provided a great example of how to highlight the discrepancies between different kinds of love.
  
  This story is ostensibly about Ida and Jackson; it is a love story and the explanation of their ups and downs and coming-of-age. But it is also an exploration of family and love. Alcott defines and outlines the spaces between friendship and ownership; who exactly are the ones that we can push to their limits? How does one know when one has gone too far until, of course, the other ups and leaves out of frustration?
  
  There were some moments (the art store shopping trip, for example) that felt too contrived. And, I'm not sure how willing I am to buy completely into the idea that Jackson's departure was solely predicated by the show (after all, it was his idea to go and he had given permission, even if it was grudging, to have the show in the first place). I was also annoyed with the pregnancy. It seemed like a cheap, easy shot that ultimately was unnecessary for the plot.
  
  I really liked some of the oblique commentary. Alcott has a way with descriptions that capture the essence; sometimes in a few words, other times with longer phrase but always with just the right tone: "who respected her work but more so respected the vision of her balancing two phones against her cheekbones in a busy newsroom, the way her fingers moved on a keyboard, the top button of her white linen dress that she wouldn't notice had come undone."
  or "My father's scissors were rusted and unwieldy, heavy like useful things just aren't anymore."
  and then "a history doesn't guarantee a future"
  but more comically (and not less true): "I'd waited too long to eat and attacked it like a savage; he hadn't used enough flour and it fell to pieces. Eating off the floor is oddly satisfying. Honest."
  
  I also found the discussion of art and schtick to be remarkably funny (in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way). Paul is adamant (and rightfully so) that art does not necessarily come out of a "story". He is resistant to the work BECAUSE Jackson produces it in his sleep. Of course, after seeing (and becoming entranced with) the work, he reverts to a greedy gallery owner who understands the benefit of not only good work, but work with a schtick to sell.
  
  Overall, this book is strongly recommended. It is quick, compelling, interesting, dark, witty, and yet somehow quite sweet.
• 
  Lori

  from BEA12
  
  Read 8/3/12 - 8/14/12
  4 Stars - Strongly Recommended to readers who like their fictitious families shaken, not stirred
  Pgs: 242
  Publisher: Other Press
  Release Date: Sept 2012
  
  "Family" is a complicated concept. By definition, we are told a family is a group of people who live together; people of common ancestry; people united by certain convictions; a unit of crime syndicate operating under one geographical area (I'm throwing this one in for fun!)
  
  It's no wonder, then, that the characters we come to know and love in Kathleen Alcott's debut novel The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets are as confused as we are about what family is. Ida, James, and Jackson - fiercely attached at the hips since infancy - have never known life without each other. Everything they've ever experienced has been experienced together. And so Alcott, by muddying the waters and confusing familial lines, sets the stage for a story about discovery, disappointment, and the severing of limbs you thought you would never be able to survive without.
  
  When the novel begins, Ida - who grew up an only child and neighbor to brothers James and Jackson - is struggling to deal with her father's ailing health and Jackson's absence, who we realize has recently ended their near-life-long relationship. As she shares stories from their childhood, listing every sweet and painful secret, we delve deep into a world where lines that were once crossed refuse to uncross completely.
  
  How do you let go of someone who has become a physical part of you? Who do you talk to when the only people you've ever confided in leave you? Is it even possible to move on?
  
  Alcott addresses love and loss and the terrifying reality of letting go as she seamlessly moves us through past and present day, through memories and back again. Her writing, which takes some time to get used to, sits uncomfortably on the tongue yet blossoms beautifully across the page.
  
  As the story of Ida and James and Jackson unravels, the title of the book seems to become more of a question for the reader. Were Ida and Jackson meant to be together, as close to one another as their initials sit in the alphabet? Was there a shared magnetism simply due to their proximity - proximity of age, location, children of single parents? Would they have lived the same lives had their names/proximity to one another been different?
• 
  Caitlin

  This book is an example of great writing getting in the way of storytelling.
  
  It's the story of Ida - "I" for short (and for completely derailing sentence syntax) - who has grown up with considering the neighbour's boys as virtually her brothers. With one of them, Jackson, she develops a Cathy-Heathcliff siblings-cum-soulmates intense relationship, which has gone sour and the story is told through switching from present-day to the past. Jackson and his brother James have their own issues, mainly excessive trouble with sleep walking/talking - which takes an artistic and at times accidentally violent turn.
  
  For such a short novel, this was heavy going - I found that while the writing was crafted, it was at times trying to be too clever. Things like shortening Ida's name to "I" is an interesting idea in a poem, but for the length of a novel, it wasn't really kept up or noticeable (to the point I'd actually forgotten they did this until I suddenly couldn't understand what someone was saying.) There was other basic stuff that meant I had to re-read or flick back to understand what was happening (and I'm not exactly an idiot.)
  
  Here's an example:
  “Just after the deterioration of Paul and me, and just before James’s terrifying walks, he appeared in my doorway and we began sleeping together.”
  I had no idea if she was talking about Paul, James or Jackson - not just after this sentence, but the entire chapter gave no clues at all.
  
  I wasn't sure about the structure of the story itself - I thought it would be about an individual mooning over a relationship with brief vignettes about their childhood - but this didn't always pan out. Suddenly, about 4/5ths of the way through, the other brother got a mention - and suddenly it turned out Ida and James were close friends too, having not really chatted about him for a while. I also got a little sick of the hipster-sweet montages of cute couples things Jackson and Ida did, continually emphasizing how cool and unusual and quirky their relationship was.
  
  I had expected a lot more out of this book, especially by a writer who obviously has studied her craft - but it was just like listening to a friend get over a break-up, and I kind of wish I'd abandoned it when I wanted to towards the beginning.
• 
  Ellyce

  The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets is a story about love between childhood friends that counted themselves as brother and sister. It's very dark, very sad but also very beautiful. The language is really well done; its prose is pleading in some ways, it begs you to remember as Ida remembers even though she fears inheriting the "never being able to forget" curse that her father had. At just about 200 pages, it doesn't take much time at all to finish and when I was reading it I could not put it down. I love the title, I love the idea that the three of them - especially Jackson and Ida, but James too - are three parts of a whole, I love that they know each other so intimately: "Of course I remember, he would say. Just in a different way. I remember by never putting too many ice cubes in your drink, because your teeth are ultra-sensitive to cold. I remember by watching where you put your keys and pointing them out to you later. I remember when it's early in the morning and I'm in the shower feeling the BB pellet you put in my back. I remember by watching you while you cross a room with the same stride you've always had, uneven and heavier on the right foot and bold. I remember by not having to explain myself. I remember. I remember. I remember."
• 
  Janet

  A death by immolation, a drug addiction, a borderline personality disorder, a reluctant art prodigy, a sleepwalker engaging in criminal destruction. This book wants it's reader to believe all of these exist within the small nuclear family of a single person within the span of 30 years. I guess they're meant to stand in for an actual plot, since there isn't one. Unfortunately, I couldn't become invested in any of the characters either; they're too fantastical to feel real. The exception might be Julia, but she exists mainly as a prop to explain why the main character Ida spends so much time with Julia's two sons, Jackson and James, rather than a fully developed character herself. The authors use of strange phrasing in an effort to be writerly just got in the way in places and made this a slow read: "that insistence that the audience look and listen" Ida thinks at one point, apparently channeling the author herself. I found myself for the first time ever hoping for the "it was all a dream" ending, because that would have at least been interesting. Alas.
• 
  Hilary Hanselman

  This was beautifully written and perfectly captures the lore and magic of growing up in Petaluma. I'm so happy to have a book that encapsulates the unique wonder of it all. I think it's interesting that a book so focused on characters and relationships leaves its central character so obscured. Ida is a reflection of the people around her, molding herself into their curves both figuratively and literally. At times, I did find the emotional pitch overwhelming, but I think it serves to push the reader through the lavishly descriptive and revealing, but relentlessly quiet moments. Looking forward to reading more of her work.
• 
  Millie

  Too vauge to be engaging or admired as the writerly piece it is. Themes were lost to adjectives, metaphors and for the sake of it scenarios.
  
  I got through it, but it's exactly that. I struggled, hoping for character arcs etc. but nothing seemed to change. There was the illusion of change in characters, but they still felt blah at the end of it. It seems the author is in constant battle to make each sentence as technically beautiful as the last, which means they all blur together rather than there being a few stand out lines which stuck. I'm so disappointed, as the premise was so promising.
• 
  Jeb

  Alcott writes like Terrence Malick directs. Images flicker past, building up layers of impressionistic moments, dreams and waking meld into a single consciousness.
  
  Not that DOPA doesn't provide passages of clear-eyed prose. The beauty of Ida's telling of her parents' courtship is a highlight.
  
  But it's in the dreamy and ethereal telling of Ida's own relationships and personal losses that really drive this book.
• 
  David

  The emotion that this book evoked absolutely stunned me. I felt an ache the entire time I was reading that was both terrible and wonderful. The intensity and necessity of the intimacy Alcot creates between the characters, the way that things go wrong and change...it is just so wonderfully done. This book moved me, and that's really all I should say.
• 
  Colleen

  I loooooved this! It is full of heartbreaking, beautiful, honest vignettes. I will re-read this often as a testament to the depth of my relationship, regardless of the books overall negative tone and doomed relationship narrative.
• 
  Timothy Faust

  Not a single goddamn word wasted.
• 
  Joanie Driemeyer

  I couldn't relate to the characters. They didn't speak like real people.
• 
  Trevor

  The Dangers of Proximal Alphabets by Kathleen Alcott - on Overdrive - DNF too much crap I didn't want to be reading.