Generation X by Douglas Coupland

Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture by Douglas Coupland was first published in 1991.

According to Thomas Reed Whissen’s Classic Cult Fiction no one can set out to write a cult book on purpose, at least not in the same way as you can write a western or a whodunit; cult has to do with reader reaction rather than genre.

But if there ever was a generic cult book Douglas Coupland’s Generation X is a strong contender for the title. It has it all. Already the word “generation” in the title gives away the subculture, spokesman-ambition. And the “X” – symbol of the unknown – catches the spirit of alienation, essential to culthood, perfectly. As if this is not enough, Coupland offers the reader a trip via identification with the narrator, Andy, to the Shangri-la of all cult books: ego-reinforcement and spiritual rebirth. It serves up Mcjob-cynicisms and spiritual sustenance in the same helping and it is all very masculine, white, alienated and intelligent. A counter-culture assault aimed at the kneecaps of mainstream America, Andy thrashes contemporary yuppie culture verbally, while his friend, Dag, who is more physically resolute and subversive, vandalises expensive cars. In between these moments of revolt Andy, Dag and Claire share stories with each other and experience some kind of nostalgic hope.

Do I sound hostile?

I am not, really. It may be that the writing is according to prescription, but I buy it all the same.

The three friends are confused, disoriented. To be more precise, they are lost in the desert of Palm Springs and their disorientation is metaphorical rather than geographical. They are not roaming the desert: they are meditating in it. Very little happens. They relax by the swimming pool, earn their living from unqualified jobs, refuse to take responsibility of their lives, and do their best to keep boredom at bay by going into an ironic self-chosen exile where they can tell stories and anecdotes, decamerone-style, about themselves. But it is not the plague that is being exorcised here, or even the atomic threat (evoked again and again in the book), but rather a sick society that threatens to infect them with a fatal attraction for conventional middle (or should I say middling) class life.

But it is easier to take the rat out of the rat race than to take the rat race out of the rat. Andy, Dag and Claire have chosen their lot as castaways of society. Yet at the same time they want to be part of it. Actually, they want to have the best of both worlds: the adventure of the republic of Bohemia and the security of the kingdom of Boredom. But they cannot, and they are frustrated. This is not as bad as it seems, however: their frustration leads to a delicious sensation of weltschmerz – enjoyable since the pain is able to make up for the lack of meaning and can make them feel somewhat alive.

In real life the options are not that big either. In practice many young people are forced to become castaways, X-ers, outsiders, whatever one wants to call them – they have no choice. The price to pay for a middle class situation in terms of workload and stress increases day by day. Hence, one of the mottoes of Generation X is “reinvent the middle classes”.

Statistics available at the back of the book point to the fact that the polarisation between the rich and the rest (in the US and the rest of the west) is increasing. Rich or poor – soon there will be nothing in between. Given this social context it is small wonder that Andy & CO feel neurotic and alienated.

But to be alienated is not entirely bad. If you are an outsider, you are somebody; you have an identity, since identity to a large extent is a question of defining oneself against a norm. Women, blacks, children, the old and handicapped, the underprivileged are all defined against such norm or “ideal”. But what do you do if you are defined as the norm? Young, white men are per definition without identity – at least if they are well behaved. In my opinion cult books show that these “men without qualities” are special too, and different, albeit neurotic…This explains too the high status cult books enjoy despite their often counter-cultural messages.

When maladjusted young, white man reads about another maladjusted young white man a very special chemical process is started. Boy meets boy = True. Whissen uses words like idealisation, alienation, suffering, ego-reinforcement, behaviour-modification and vulnerability to define this truly platonic love.

Andy is a higher being, despite his alienation. He is supreme because of his intelligence, his radical attitude and, not least, because of his suffering. Identification with Andy leads to a situation where the reader’s ego is stroked and petted. You feel almost as intelligent, radical and brave as he. Yet identification can never be complete and this is of course unsatisfactory. Hence, the ideal cult reader modifies his (it is usually a he) behaviour in order to emulate the idolized and idealized Andy.

Whissen claims that this kind of reading process both depends on the reader’s vulnerability and enhances it. You have to be vulnerable to be receptive to cult books. The problem is that this openness also makes the cult reader an easy prey for ideologies hazardous for one’s mental health. A reader cum disciple is susceptible to simplified solutions and does not take real responsibility for his actions.

I don’t know.

I don’t think it is an ideal to be a superman reader – texts ricocheting from one’s impenetrable breast, texts scrutinized with X-ray vision. Words must be allowed to stab you in the heart, to flash in your eyes, to turn you on – at least for a blissful moment. Anyway, neither Andy, nor any other cult hero I know of would model their lives on a book. If I want to be as smart as X-friend Andy I too have to  realise that I must take the responsibility for my own vulnerable life.

Mule