into the solar plexus

Gibraltar.

Brown Lipstick.

Shuhmun.

Styrofoam Peanuts.

Master Of The Universe.

Campbell.

The Last Of The Great Smokers.




If the words, names and phrases above mean not much of anything to you, or certainly nothing beyond He-Man and Skeletor in one instance, then it would be safe to assume that you have never read The Bonfire Of The Vanities by Tom Wolfe. You would, then, be well advised to stop reading this and immediatley seek out a copy of this wonderful novel.

It’s difficult, if not impossible, to describe this novel as anything short of being the greatest work of literature produced in my lifetime. I guess I should say “to date” with that, but 20 years on from publication and not one single novel has come close to holding a candle to the Bonfire.

Now how can I justify the claim above? The justification is in the story of the novel as much as it is not – ostensibly, it’s the tale of a wealthy Wall Street financier with a somewhat tangled web of a life, and him possibly being involved in a hit-and-run incident with a black youth in an area of New York that he would not and should not have been in.

The socio-political overtones and content of the broad plotline certainly make it a significant review of the times, but the tale of Sherman McCoy has much more resonance than a simplistic, quasi-update of something like To Kill A Mockingbird.

Sherman, Maria, Larry Kramer, Reverend Bacon et al are some of the finest literary creations you will ever read of and digest. This is, partially at least, because they are characters we, as the world at large, have created. They are figures which are symptomatic of the late 20th Century, in particular the excessive eighties. To use the old analogy, these characters were there to see, hidden in plain sight, Tom Wolfe merely etched a way a bit at the surface to make them clearly visible.



And in doing so, there lies the strength of this novel. The rich fabric of words that Tom Wolfe has woven in The Bonfire Of The Vanities makes it something of a guilty pleasure to read. Despite having 7 or 8 “new” books to read eventually, I find myself currently reading Bonfire once again. I have lost count of how many times I have read it in the last 15 – 18 years, to be honest.

The Bonfire Of The Vanities underlined my own desire to be a writer, and reading it again, whilst a sheer joy to the senses, makes me feel guilty for not writing anything of consequence myself, or at least trying to do so. It ignites a desire to start writing once again – I find myself with all sorts of ideas for novels and stories in my head, presumably inspired by reading this great work.

Once again, then – if you have not read The Bonfire Of The Vanities yourself, be not ashamed, but be determined to go out, find a copy and read it as soon as possible.

A strong word of warning for the lazy – DO NOT, under any circumstances, opt out and find a copy of the film “version” of it. The film version is awful – bad casting, a mockery of the language, concepts and ideas of the novel, and is pretty much unwatchable. It is almost as if they deliberatley set out to make the worst movie in the history of cinema.