An auto-biographical masturbatory jizz fest. Lots of writers write about themselves. Lots of writers who peaked in the late 1960's through 1980's made an industry out of writing about themselves. Philip Roth and Charles Bukowski are the two that pop right to mind, but I know there are lots more. Sometimes they are pretty clearly the author (as in when Philip Roth shucks the Nathan Zuckermann persona and starts writing about a character named Philip Roth you don't need an PhD in Contemporary American Literature to think, hmmm maybe he's writing about himself) and sometimes it takes just a little bit of work (as in Bukowski's Chinaski, you get it pretty quick that he's a barely disguised stand-in for Big B). Other times (well this one time in particular) the author or publisher decide that maybe the reader won't get the autobiographical wallowing the author has been engaged in. In this case it is best to give a four and a half page mini-biography in the back in the book, just to let the reader see what in the book was taken from real life. With the help of the biography in the back of the book (written before the 1982 problems of Kosinski, when The Village Voice would come out with accusations that the National Book Awared winning author was a) a plagiarist and also b) didn't even write at least one of his own books (as in he paid someone else to write it, something that is a no-no in the literary fiction world, but which is acceptable in the less than savory land of genre fiction) the reader can fill in what parts of the book were taken from his own life. Sometimes a part of a person's name are changed, but mostly much work isn't needed to connect the events in the book to events that happened in the book.This is fine, I've been reading books for enough years that I realize this happens. Some writers I like do this, some I don't do it. Whatever. I think if it weren't for the mini-biography in the back of the book praising him as a messiah of morality (and what does the phrase 'penultimate gamesman' even mean? C'mon if you're going to use hyperbolic praise at least make it mean something). Never mind the praise on the back of the book and in the mini-bio about him being the greatest psychological novelist at work. His main character goes through the book in almost a Forest Gump like trance that only gets broken when he decides to act out a violent fantasy on someone. Yes most of these violent fantasies made real in the context of the book are against people who deserve to be, ahem, treated violently. When he assassinates a bureaucratic official responsible for the torture of intellectuals you can see Kosinski re-imagining himself as a PEN superhero of sorts. Which is noble in a fantastical way. But then what do we make of the violent rape of a teenage girl in a flashback scene to the main characters youth? A scene where he feels enough remorse to be a step psychologically above a sociopath, but still way too removed from feelings that a 'moral' person should have. He feels bad for her after finishing raping her a first time, but his remorse evaporates when he gets a little bit aroused so he positions himself in some position so that one foot pushes the girls face into the dirt, one keeping a shoulder in place while he pile drives into her ass. Even afterward there is an inkling that, oh I did something wrong, and he tries to confess to it, but there is no depth in the character that he really feels like he did anything wrong, more like he feels cheated at people not believing that it was him and not his friend who raped the girl multiple times. The book has more of these scenes that border have the main character (Kosinski) straddling the border of being a narcissistic sociopath. He has a three year relationship with a woman whom he doesn't doesn't even both to find out her real name or anything about her, except for one time that she leaves the room for a few minutes and he rifles through her purse, but he never in all that time thought to talk about anything but himself to her. Even when he recounts his close call with pop-culture notoriety, how he should have been at Roman Polanski's house the night that Charles Manson's family came visiting he doesn't sound convincing at having any feelings, never mind psychological depth. One acquaintance, a friend and one of his best friends from his youth are slaughtered by drugged out hippies and he can admit to feeling sad, but only by saying I was sad. Not really the way Proust would handle the delicate psychology of such a life altering event. And speaking of Proust, whom one can say is a master of the psychological novel; if one is really supposed to believe that Kosinski represents the 1970's pinnacle of style of fiction that Proust excelled in, then well, literature is fucked. Fortunately critics talk out their asses. Kosinski is like a Proust on cocaine, or in need of ritalin, of suffering from ADD, who just can't keep a single thought going for long. Yeah one thing leads to a thought that leads to another thought that recollects and event from thirty years ago or whatever, but when you write them out in staccato and unanalyzed bursts, well, it doesn't really sing masterpiece. So why three stars? Well because all of my annoyances aside I did enjoy the book. There are some great cringe worthy graphic moments in the book, and some of the stories that make up the whole are quite good. It's just the book as a whole seems so fucking self-congratulatory for someone who seems more important in his own head than he is in reality. Maybe this is really only a two star book, but it gets an extra star for gore. Having a scene where a hooker is getting fucked by an old man and his eye pops out of his socket while he's on top of her deserves at least three stars. Nevermind the scene with the saber.P.S. All of that said, I think I'm taking down a star because apparently in real life Kosinski liked to torture small dogs. See! Sociopath! Not Moral! Torturing small dogs is fucked. Back to two stars.
Jerzy Kosinski's "Blind Date" has greatly disappointed me. Perhaps even more than "The Devil Tree" that I have reviewed recently. I have yet to read "The Painted Bird" and "Being There" (presumably his best books), but based on the two mediocre novels, I am not awed by my compatriot's work. Mr. Kosinski clearly has two obsessions: with the rich and famous people and with sex. The latter can be forgiven; it has driven the work of many artists. However, the former is indefensible - it makes large portions of Kosinski's prose quite suitable for celebrity tabloids. The protagonist of the story is George Levanter, an émigrée from Eastern Europe, and a rich investor (whatever the word means). The story is told in an episodic style - vignettes from various periods of his life are arranged in random order. There is a lot of Kosinski in Levanter: the Eastern European background, past struggles with Communist regime, a marriage to an extremely rich woman, and the sexual escapades of a very handsome and supremely confident man. The novel takes its title from an episode about horrible activities that Levanter participated in as a teenager. I have found these pages truly painful to read and their cruelty and brutality gratuitous.Many episodes involve real people: we meet Stalin's daughter, Wojciech Frykowski, Jacques Monod, Charles Lindbergh, and Abigail Folger. We are shown glimpses of one of the most notorious murders in history, peppered with Kosinski's trademark sexual references. Some of the episodes are so mind-bogglingly incongruous and lame that one might suspect the author did not have a wastebasket.In a rare deep insight Kosinski writes "Civilization is the result of sheer chance plus a thousand or two exceptional men and women of ideas and action." That's a true and profound statement, and Kosinski shows that despite the total randomness of life, determined people can achieve some of their goals. Yet the novel could be so much better if only it were not so focused on celebrities and details of sex life. A destitute Michael K. from Coetzee's novella is much more interesting than all Kosinski's billionaires put together. Coetzee's prose is often very painful to read as well, but the pain is spiritually awakening, while reading Kosinski's prose makes me feel soiled.One and three quarter stars.
Do You like book Blind Date (1998)?
Somtimes reading Kosinski is like having your brain shredded. And just when you think you've healed from one strange and discomforting passage he hits you with the next. Fortunately, this strategy works well in "Blind Date." This is probably my favourite Kosinski. It is funny and horrific and interesting throughout. Although Kosinski has what I feel is a very "masculine" voice, in "Blind Date" issues of sex and gender and ownership are dealt with in fascinating, albeit frequently disturbing, ways.
—Kristen Shaw
oh jerzy- back at it again...this is the fourth novel i have read by jerzy. i feel blind date's fundamental similarities to his other works (reading three previously) have dulled the shock value that creates an authentic kosinski work. i read it knowing of his traumatic childhood events (the painted bird), his clever escape from Russia, and the tragic event of how his friends were murdered by the Manson gang. somewhere along the line, i also read that he may or may not have plagiarized some of his works (but the idea seems inaccurate as his works seem congruent). from his works, i have learned that his main characters (i.e. his fictional self) typically have a powerful desire for strange sexual situations that clearly wander into the realm of perversion. also, that their passion for revenge is inconsistent, yet strikingly complex and cruel when acted out. kosinski has created suggestive works of fictional biography by weaving into them events from his own life, ultimately casting a shroud of uncertainty around the actual details of his life.
—Jonathan
Kosinski writes such interesting books - vignettes really - slices of life. Generally short and tightly bound, his books often have unusual plots. Not unusual as speculative fiction might be, but rather unusual in terms of their content. They follow a character through a portion of his or her life and explore their world.In this case, that character is Levantar, a refugee from behind the Iron Curtain who has a made a life for himself in America as an investor. Levantar is not, however, your typical investor. His morals and scruples are nothing one would expect. He does not work on Wall Street, but rather "in the field", looking for prudent investments and pouncing upon them.He does some pretty horrible things along the way. And that is what makes Kosinski's character study so interesting. Levantar should be in jail. One might even say that he is psychotic. Yet, he seems to have a strong moral code. Some of his more horrific acts target people that any reader would despise. Torturers or worse yet, those who make the decision to turn in people to the torturers. They seem like almost rational acts by Levantar as he researches these people like one would research a investment and then disposes of them.At the same time, Levantar finds himself on the other side. His friends suffer horrors themselves, much like those he inflicts upon others, and he struggles to grasp why such things happen to them. He experiences bouts of tremendous fortune and a string of bad luck. Things beyond his control.When you look at the events in the novel - those driven by Levantar both horrible and wonderful - and those that are inflicted upon him, you begin to see the picture of how the world works. Everyone has their reasons for their actions. And to those taken the actions, that rationale is clear. If the world simply followed a single point of view, then, it would make sense. The world, however, is made up of billions of people like Levantar. To each of them, their actions make sense - even if the beguile the minds of others. And in this confluence of events, all driven from different perspectives, our world, with its seemingly random string of action, exists.Its not a particularly new concept. But what makes Kosinski's book interesting is the way he leads us to this conclusion through the snapshots of events in Levantar's life.
—Mike Gilbert
