Forgotten Work

July 15, 2020
In the near future, obsessive fans try to find meaning in a band's lost legacy in this eccentric, ambitious debut novel by Canadian poet Guriel. Novels about legendary but unsuccessful artists are not unheard of--see The Commitments, This Is Memorial Device, or Juliet, Naked--but this may be the first rock 'n' roll novel written in iambic pentameter. Composed entirely in heroic couplets, Guriel's book chronicles the long, strange trip of a one-hit-wonder band called Mountain Tea, led by madman composer James Gordon and backed up by Dennis Byrne, Louis Reed, Hal U. Hawks, and a drum machine. The boys released a brilliant album called The Dead in the early 2000s, along with one single, and then promptly disappeared. Some half-century later, a motley crew of fans are chasing down every scrap of information they can find about the band. They include the tragic Patti Devin, a reporter for MOJO magazine who wrote one of the fundamental pieces about the group. Others include a triptych of competitive buyers seeking out rare vinyl copies of The Dead as well as a timid bookstore owner and an English student who find themselves on a strange pilgrimage into a disaster zone to find the heart of Mountain Tea's mystery. To make things even stranger, Guriel has crafted a dystopian scenario that includes bots, an odd Google-ish syndicate called Zuber, and fake nails that can record conversations. The book's rhythm takes a little getting used to, but the story is oddly compelling, particularly when the seekers eventually discover the band members' fates. Name-checking dozens of artists ranging from Nick Drake to Lester Bangs, the novel is strange and affectionate, like Almost Famous penned by Shakespeare. A love letter to music in all its myriad iterations.

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July 27, 2020
Guriel’s playful debut novel (after the poetry collection Satisfying Clicking Sound) explores the nature of fandom and inspiration. Writer Geoff Gibson is obsessed with musical auteur Jim Gordon and the only album produced by his group, Mountain Tea, titled The Dead. Guriel begins with passionate Jim putting together his “garage band” with sky-high artistic aspirations while under the influence of Nabokov (he considers calling the band Pale Fire, after his favorite artwork of any medium). The fact that band members Lou, Hal, and “wet and woeful” Dennis have different passions augurs ill for the group. Years later, they get a rave review and attention from an influential writer, which impresses the dogged Gibson. After Gibson expresses his devotion to the group’s legacy, a former “Tea” member sends Gibson a message requesting that they meet. A feast of allusions—musical, literary, and cinematic—is the book’s most entertaining aspect, and it speaks to the powerful currents flowing between artists and artworks across disciplines, as well as to the effect of art on its consumers. The name Mountain Tea, for example, comes from an obscure poem, while the work of Orson Welles is a touchstone throughout and Gibson writes in a coffeeshop called Swann’s Way; the narrative itself is written in iambic pentameter. Guriel’s bountiful celebration of connections between art finds an inspiring, infectious groove.