Lemon
by Lawrence Krauser
McSweeney's Books

This is a fine product for the gen-X crowd, now coming into its own in literature. This book breaks not only from worldly problems (war, death, disease, poverty, racism) but also evades fascination with the fake Darwinist consumerism trap our parents' cohort has set for us, to make them rich at the expense of our ethical autonomy. This book sets off instead a new ground zero, transforming the terms of an ancient question mark: the mystery of unrequited Love.

So the boy falls madly in love with a citrus fruit. The specificity of the lemon is no less vital than the painful break from life which love demands. Family, friends, responsibilities--all are stale and false in light of this powerful new affective relationship. Though the lemon throughout remains passive. What does this say about the character of love? This love remains strangely isolated, alone, masturbatory. Is love always a self-effacement reaching out for the other? The book attempts to demonstrate that a person incapable of loving a responsive other can still love. And indeed, is this really so strange? How often do we close our eyes to meaningful interaction only to focus on the sheen of lip, the curve of muscle, the firmness of flesh? Meaning-making may be the stuff of relationships, but the base-line of love is a call to affect prior to and beyond the limitations of communication.

Despite the book's successes, Krauser shows an unwillingness to stop winking at the reader over just how absurd the premise is. One comes away then unsure as to whether Krauser has met obsession on its own terms.

[home]