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Summary: Moody's like the off-duty cop who uses his siren to get home
Review: Certain metaphors ought to come with expiration dates, no less than milk or medicine. Rick Moody's third novel, "Purple America," is an ambitious, funny, beautifully written book whose prevailing metaphor -- the faltering promise of the nuclear age, and behind it the decline of the American nuclear family -- has begun to curdle. The military and civilian uses of atomic physics have been with us for only half a century, but somehow their fictional uses, irresistible over the years to numberless writers and filmmakers, already seem as inert as a spent fuel rod. This subtle handicap never keeps "Purple America" from succeeding as an uncommonly empathetic fugue of voices from what's left of the Raitliffe family of Fenwick, Connecticut, during one night in 1992. The novel starts with awkward, stammering, prematurely middle-aged Hex Raitliffe (christened Dexter but lefthanded) fumblingly bathing his paralyzed, vaguely senile mother, Billie, in the upstairs bathroom of their once-stylish home. "If he's a hero," Moody writes with grace and compassion of Hex, "then heroes are five-and-dime, and the world is as crowded with them as it is with stray pets, worn tires, and missing keys." For the second chapter, perspective shifts to Billie. In a pattern repeated throughout the book, we at first resist such a wrench, having spent the previous pages inhabiting Hex's mind with an intimacy only very fine writing can create. But before long we are Billie's, and the subsequent sidesteps into Billie's overwhelmed second husband Lou's company, or that of Hex's unforgotten ninth-grade love, Jane, are just as wrenching. We're sorry to leave each one of them, even as the next one waits. Reading "Purple America" can feel like dancing a quadrille with four very different partners. On we go, propelled from consciousness to consciousness by Moody's prodigious gift for ventriloquism and large, supple vocabulary, readjusting to each point of view before trading it back for another. Along the way Billie asks Hex for his promise to help end her life, and Lou troubleshoots a crisis at the Millstone Nuclear Power Plant, where he works. The action of the book obeys the unities, taking place over a single night on Long Island Sound, but this doesn't keep Moody from flashing back twice to the letters of Hex's late father, who worked on the Manhattan Project in what seemed the golden age of atomic experimentation, long before it became such a Millstone around the national neck. These brief interludes hold the key to "Purple America's" portentous title, in which the colors of an atomic blast -- and of Billie's favored household decorating accent -- combine to suggest an America where purple now connotes garishness and violence, instead of the regal confidence it once did. The climax avoids sentimentality, perhaps even more rigorously than an emotionally invested reader might wish. Connecticut character studies and nuclear questions aren't incompatible, as John Cheever showed in the classic short story "The Brigadier and the Golf Widow," where an upper-middle-class man building a backyard bomb shelter ultimately confronts the possibility that he wants the world to end. But in "Purple America" the cosmic stakes feel just slightly extrinsic, an overlay, estranged from the urgency of the story. Occasionally mistrusting his considerable powers, Moody's like the off-duty cop who uses his siren to get home even when he's got the turnpike all to himself.
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Summary: absolutely beautiful
Review: I don't know how people could have found this boring. But everyone is built differently, I guess. I found the lyricism of his writing deeply moving. I was totally captured by the internal workings of mother and son in this story. This is surprising, since on the exterior these characters seem to not warrant any attention. But mostly it is the style of his writing that is so attractive. Others have commented that they could not read the pages fast enough, but I swept through this book.
Rating: 
Summary: America in Decline?
Review: In following Hex Raitliffe and his distressed family through the course of one weekend, Rick Moody takes a slice of middle class suburbia and slides it, this microcosm of American society, under his magnifying glass to diagnose the ills of a decaying culture. The story in Purple America takes place over the course of one weekend, at the beginning of which Hex Raitliffe has returned home to suburban Connecticut to care for his deteriorating mother. While Moody slips the main character trough one mishap after another, he tours the realities of a mortal family as well as a diseased society. The book at times can be disheartening to read, because Hex Raitliffe is a sympathetic main character, but Moody's diagnoses for America points to rampant toxicity, radiation, the myopic misuse of technology, pollution, nervous overconsumption, and a male preoccupation with weaponry. By the end, when the remains of Hex's mother's body, a nuclear power plant, and nearly every human relationship has broke down, the author seems to have skipped any prognosis, deemed America past decline and created an autopsy for his bruised purple nation. Despite the sad underlying tone, this book should pull you in by the sheer force of the language. The first two sentences, describing Hex giving his invalid mother a bath, make the most powerful opening to any novel I've read. The book in many ways reproduces the promise of that first chapter. The language soars, but is used to describe the most everyday activities. The brilliantly written sex scene of Hex's awkward reunion with his high school crush is an example. One reviewer for this reason, and accurately I think, calls the book a "domestic thriller." It is about the most ordinary of guys in an ordinary family, but in duress. It was interesting to read Moody catalogue the excesses of suburban living-inside the Raitliffe manse, the "mahogany couch-with-end-tables, the carved Brunswick Craftsman-style pool table, the inlaid music cabinet with Victrola, the rosewood love seat and parlor set, the imitation British pub-style bar with Waterford crystal low and highball set, the early Magnavision monochrome television receiver, the floor-model French birdcage with stuffed parrot, and more"-listing the material possessions that the Raitliffes and others in their neighborhood have amassed. In that sense, the book is a kind of elegy for a class. The purple of America and the purple that Billie Raitliffe longs to surround herself with is the classic purple of royalty, but Hex's family-his ill mother and skipped-town step father-never meet their "ideal of rural paradise." Instead, words come easily to no one; communication within the family is stilted; Billie, the mother, resignedly talks through a computer; Hex stutters uncontrollably, and it seems they have just as little fluidity of access to their emotions. Billie wants someone to end her suffering. Her second husband, Lou, goes AWOL when he gets bored caring for a woman who doesn't want to live and her son balks at the possibility of euthanasia, choosing instead to stuff his face with a cheeseburger. Hex's sense of duty toward and simultaneous flight from the responsibilities of home create much of the tug and pull throughout the remainder of the book. And in Rick Moody's hands, it is a worthwhile, if not always upbeat, weekend to spend with the Raitliffes.
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Summary: Well-crafted, deliberate prose
Review: Moody's prose reminds me more of old-timers like Updike, Steinbeck, and Salinger, than of his contemporaries. Why? Well, first of all, it's rich, layered, carefully plotted, crafted with care. Moody is patient; he's not worried about rushing to the end of a sentence, paragraph, or chapter just so he can execute a clever postmodern sleight-of-hand. He's more concerned with the process, the care that goes into describing a suburban backyard on an autumn night, or a crowded seafood restaurant. Postmodern prose jockeys who get off on wordplay, thwarted expectations, and other narratological trap doors might be disappointed with Moody. But I'd like to see more writers doing what Moody does: blending the best of the new and the best of the old. Purple America is a shift away from the realm of most postmodern prose: hyper and seemingy directionless narratives, cultural subversion, deconstruction of character and narrative. As I see it, Moody shares only the best devices of his postmodern peers. Like them, he is a young writer bred on the postmodern literary climate, who knows hardly anything else. But he also realizes the worth of comparatively "conventional" twentieth-century forms as explored by writers like Salinger and his ilk. In Purple America, I feel he has blended the best of both almost seamlessly. He admits that it's still all right to write a story with no disorienting chronological jump cuts. It's all right to write a story where characters' life histories are fully divulged, from birth to death. It's all right to write a story where a terminally ambivalent man is worried sick about his dying mother.
The postmodern gestures are still there, but they don't ruin the novel because they don't obscure the narrative. They exist only in service to the telling of a compassionate and well-rounded story. Moody's writing is very deliberate: Every word is there for a reason. Puns and various double meanings don't just happen-you can tell he's not being glib; they're not just insouciant tricks, they are devices enriching their context, the story. Even during excruciating and emotionally difficult passages such as the introductory scene in which Hex bathes his mother, I welcomed Moody's drawn out and meticulous descriptive technique. He cares about the reader's total apprehension of and identification with a given event in the novel. Like Hex, Moody is a quiet, obsequious provider-eager to be of service to his audience.
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Summary: Decay in the American Family
Review: Purple America is an impressive book because of the many problems of American life that it takes on. It is the story of a man who returns to his childhood home to take care of his diseased mother, but must first come to terms with his own troubles. The issues that have sealed themselves in the past are brought to the forefront over the course of one weekend. The story of Hex Raitliffe is tragic, and it seems as if the world has it in for him despite his good intentions. What causes all the strife, however, is Hex's irresponsibility. He is an isolated person, afraid to reach out to anyone. He cannot handle the daily events of a normal person (such as renting a car) because he lies to himself and always seeks escape. He finds this in alcoholism and drugs. Lou is Billie's husband who has left her because she does not put any "effort" to stay alive. He is having trouble himself at the nuclear plant where an accident has caused spillage into the bay. This plant will serve as a powerful metaphor for the Raitliffe family. He meets an old interest, Jane Ingersol, who opens herself to him and becomes his first true relationship with a woman. Hex is much better at relating to women anyway, as can be seen by the poor relationship he has with just about every male he meets. Jane is strangely interested in him because he is so dependant. What makes this novel so lyrically beautiful and intriguing is the intense details to the thought processes of its characters. When we are inside the head of Billie, Hex's ailing mother, we see her disjointed and hopeless thoughts. When the focus is on Hex, we see how he rarely holds himself accountable. Rick Moody's craft for characterization is finely tuned in this work. Another comment made by Moody is the way family members communicate. In the Raitliffe family, this is at an extreme. Hex has a stutter, so no one usually listens to him. Billie can barely speak at all and must use a computer to talk coherently. Lou leaves him with only a note to explain his abandonment. We also see the breakdown of morals in America through the contrast between Hex's childhood and the present downfall. Living in New London, the Raitliffe's were traditional, affluent, and loving. Now, after a war, two fathers, and many years apart, the family is nearly destroyed. He and Jane visit a gay bar in a renovated church, a strong symbol of moral decline. Moody is very good at giving the reader clues to how to read his book. Most interestingly, he uses colors to represent different emotions. The varying shades of purple in the book can be seen as the things that influence Hex through his life - his lavender bedroom, etc. Purple America is not a book for everyone. It is often very depressing and very real, confronting some of the darker matter that finds itself into families. But that is what makes it so powerful as well. If you want a unique and moving look at where America is going, you will enjoy this book.
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Summary: Purple America, Lyrical and Heart-felt
Review: Purple America is not the ordinary novel that you might be used to. It is by far one of the most beautifully written novels I have ever read. The lyrical style that Rick Moody uses can seem painstaking to read at first but once you get past the first page the writing opens itself up and pulls you in. With that aside, the story that Moody reveals is heart-felt and tragic. The words themselves, as well as the dramatic presentation will send you into a swirl of emotions from laughter to sadness, from anger to acceptance. Rick Moody's vision of a world set in suburban Connecticut is far from the norms that we know of. Or is it? The answer is yes and no. Rick Moody manages, through his main character Hex Raitliffe, to create a setting that can be familiar to everyone in some form or another. Hex Raitliffe has come home to visit his invalid mother only to find out that her second husband Lou has decided to leave her, leaving Hex the only person to take care of her. As the story opens we get the gruesome details of the daily routines that those who have taken care of, Billie, Hex's mother. At the end of the chapter Moody asks that if Hex is a hero for doing this than heroes are "five and dime, and the world is crowded with them". Moody suggests a character that is like everyone else as they struggle with life's obstacles. Hex's character must not only deal with his mother but he must also deal with his past, his stutter, and his drinking problem. As if that wasn't enough Hex eventually finds out that his mother wishes for Hex to end her suffering. As mentioned before Moody writes this novel with a lyrical craft that is unsurpassed, but he also captures his characters inability to communicate with each other in a way that comes off as beautiful and sincere. As Hex still deals with his father's death at a young age, and becomes desperate to find Lou and get answers the story unfolds as not only a desire to have some fortune in life but also the desire for a family. Lou's story is told along side of Hex's and as you read you begin to see how much Hex and Lou are alike. Hex truly lives up to his name as he never can find relief in life. From, women, to his job, to his troubling childhood the reader can't help but take sympathy on Hex and root him on and hope that he achieves happiness. The novel draws many of its symbolism from color. Purple and its many shades become a separate personality in the book and it keeps pace with the emotional changes within the novel. For example as Hex finally gets a chance with the girl of his dreams the color of purple shifts to a bright fuchsia. The only way to find out if Hex succeeds is to read this novel. It will reward you with its poetic words and take you on a journey of self-discovery as does Hex.
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Summary: Wasp Death
Review: Reading Rick Moody's Purple America is like spying on a dysfunctional family's bathroom, you see everything. Read this novel at your own risk, for you will experience decay and destruction with little catharsis. The writing is as well done as you could ask. The characters are well rounded and believable. My only issue with this novel is that I came to the table ill prepared to handle the depressing narration. So, read it but realize what you are in for.
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Summary: A novel of suburbia with a very '90s twist
Review: Rick Moody's Purple America is a novel of suburbia, with a very '90s twist. All of the events in this book take place during one horrible evening, and include spousal abandonment, attempted euthanasia, kinky sex, drunken combat (and combative drunkenness), return home, and filial love (and duty). Despite the short time frame involved, the plot is not easy to summarize. The main character, Dexter ("Hex") Raitliffe, has returned home to care for his almost totally paralyzed (but mentally sharp) mother, Billie, who herself has been abandoned by her husband. Billie wants nothing more than to die, but her paralysis makes suicide impossible. Hence her plea to Hex to do the deed. Hex, enraged over Billie's abandonment, sets out to find (and punish?) the husband who abandoned Billie, in a night filled with peril and unexpected surprise. Moody is a daring writer. While told in the third person, each chapter assumes the point of view of a different character. Moody's sentences range from fragments to periods which would make Cicero swoon (the second sentence in the book is more than four pages long). In a lesser writer's hands, these devices would seem forced, or simply fail. Moody holds it all together, and creates a breathtaking novel. This book requires patience and careful attention, but rewards both greatly.
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Summary: Death of the nuclear family
Review: The chronicle of the last days of a (literally) nuclear family-- _Purple America_ begins when Hex, the stuttering alcoholic son of the house, returns to find that his wheelchair-bound mother Billie has been abandoned by her second husband. Hex is left to sort out which of the family responsibilities (including a shocking request from his mother) he is both willing and able to take. The story is told in a shifting array of voices which carry the language and perspective of all the characters. Symbolism is the order of the day, with both of Billie's husbands having nuclear pasts and the varying shades of purple being used to create a thematic unity. The quality of the writing is difficult to debate-- at points where I had lost some interest in the story I found my attention carried by the craftsmanship involved in the language itself. There were times where I felt as though Moody didn't realize how strong of a story he had created (the mixed horror and pleasure with which Hex must tend his mother's useless body) and relied on the more symbolic elements at points where that reliance was useless and even distracting. The ending is often criticized, and I think that the criticism comes from that fact that while the ending functions very well on the symbolic level, it's less fulfilling in terms of the story. Instead of finally being drawn into Hex or Billie, the spectacular surrealism of the final pages had more the effect of putting me at a distance- perhaps exactly what was intended.
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Summary: Moments of Brilliance
Review: This is one of the most touching books I've ever read. If you want to know what it's like to live in suburbia, this would be a good start (also check out Davit Leavitt's Family Dancing). Rick Moody is a master stylist, rivaled only by E. Annie Proulx and Michael Ondaatje. All the characters in this book are refreshingly original; there are no heroes and no villains. Rick Moody delights in vivid imagery and clever metaphors (concerning a hamburger, "it's rareness almost an emergency, crimson and raw like a splatter wound"). There are moments of brilliant writing unmatched by any living writer. Don't miss the shocking ending. Could've worked without the techno babble about nuclear plants, and the only weak character is Louis the stepfather. But this is the greatest perfect imperfect book. Skip the potboilers and see what contemporary fiction is all about.
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