The through-line that draws me to Revoyr’s work again and again—besides her insider’s renderings of
Jun, despite being a ham, hates to ruffle feathers, and would like to believe that if he lost a job or two, it was because of negative publicity surrounding the murder of one of his directors, not because of a larger injustice in the world. Over the course of the novel, which flashes between the ‘20s and the ‘60s, he realizes that society doesn’t reward patience and compliance the way he’d hoped, but that he has more control of his own fate than he once thought. Imagine Norma Desmond narrating her own story—she might seem a little less crazy and a little more empowered.
Revoyr’s prose in this novel are like Jun himself: simple but elegant, contemplative and—at first glance—almost dry. But this is all part of a carefully layered character portrait, and the thoroughly juicy mystery at the novel’s center, coupled with descriptions of
*Yes, that was a Sunset-Boulevard-the-musical reference. Peter will appreciate it even if no one else does.