Riley never meant to be a photographer; he was a professional skateboarder until a bad landing put him in a coma. When he woke up, his job on the tour was gone, and now he feels dizzy whenever he tries to get back on a board. Eventually, he settles for becoming a Phoenix-based skate photographer instead. From shooting skaters, he moves to parties, where he becomes the unofficial candid nightlife photographer of a beautiful model called Ashli Rose. After that, his career takes off. “Riley, the photo guy,” he narrates. “Ashli’s photo guy. My name loosely strung to hers a passport to every party, a seat at every table, a bottle or a can or a rolled up twenty passed my way. Head nods and hugs and so many smiles when I entered a room whether I was pointing my lens or not.” It’s a scene in which nobody is interested in feeling their emotions, which is just fine for Riley, who blunders from one bed or bender to the next without much thought as to why he is doing it. By the time the party lifestyle starts to catch up with his new friends—who begin dropping dead with alarming frequency—it may be too late for Riley to find his way back to normal life. Duffy has a talent for sketching the brilliant desert landscape of Phoenix and its surroundings, both geographically and psychologically. “Light for light’s sake,” the Chicago-born Riley says of Christmas-bulb-strung palm trunks. “To illuminate our path to the next booth or barstool. Meaningless here where years didn’t end, but simply reset. Where time folded in on itself, and as the calendar turned, we celebrated with debaucherous parties.” The novel’s characters and their plots never quite achieve the level of pathos that the book’s language and themes are so clearly calibrated to evoke, but fans of a certain tradition of masculine literary fiction will find in Riley a kindred damaged spirit.
English (US) ·