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After a heartbreak with L, the protagonist—or the Handsome Man—bounces around North America and Europe, encountering old friends and fast acquaintances. Without attachment to a job, a romantic partner, or family, the Handsome Man regales an enviable travelogue of friends and strangers, letting Casey demonstrate the art of falling in love with a moment among good company.
Brad Casey’s debut novel, The Handsome Man, is compiled from a series of vignettes that are woven together with recurring characters and a clean chronology. His meandering sentences stretch moments without overstaying their welcome, keeping the pace light and breezy. Gorgeous scenes make even the dingy feel full and thick with sensory detail, causing even trashy bars and fried chicken to sound sensual.
“And what do you do in Ohio. I go to a Bob Evans restaurant for breakfast, a great big warehouse of a place, and I think everyone here could be the president, all of them smiling white smiles, shaking white hands, there’s a menacing politeness like everything violence behind their eyes.”
The Handsome Man is an implied first-hand account written by the protagonist. Despite its namesake, the protagonist of The Handsome Man is skillfully nondescript. However, the way in which the short-lived characters interact with him give us clues as to his appearance—one man drunkenly professes his hair looks like a poodle’s, and Jean, an Airbnb host of sorts, gives him an abrupt warning:
“Down around here people aren’t too friendly to people like you. You look like a threat. Some kid got shot just a few days ago, right down the street not five minutes away and for what? Nothing. When someone says hello to you they’re seeing if you’ll say hello back. They’re seeing if you’re scared of them or not.”
This could reasonably lead the reader to assume that the Handsome Man is a person of colour and/or visibly queer. This conversation is closely followed by a frightening encounter with a man from Mississippi who acts threateningly toward the Handsome Man after identifying him as a foreigner. These blatant microaggressions show anxiety within the protagonist in relation to the American South.
I was excited by the opportunity to read a North American road trip novel—which are predominantly told through a white lens—turned on its head, teasing a perspective fraught with the dangers of travelling while being a person of colour.
In revealing the protagonist’s name to be Brad on the second to last page of the novel, my speculation was dashed when Casey proclaims himself as the Handsome Man. This not only implies that the entire novel—classified as literary fiction—is based on true personal experiences (which he’s confirmed in interviews and press for the book), but it contributes to an on-going conversation on the “death of the author.”
There’s a long history of readers assuming protagonists of fictitious works are actually the author, and some might find satisfaction in this ending to find that they are correct in this case. The dichotomy that fiction is really a disguised true story, while non-fiction is exaggerated truth, undermines the authority of authors to create and their ability to imagine worlds and people separate from themselves.
This quasi-memoir should have perhaps been more obvious to me with its overt references to Kerouac’s On the Road, a roman à clef work itself. Unlike On the Road, Casey and his friends aren’t public figures. This makes the travelogue feel like a private confession for those in his social circle, alienating the casual reader with its last note.
Thank you to Book*Hug Press for providing Shrapnel with a media copy of The Handsome Man.
AS REVIEWED IN SHRAPNEL MAGAZINE AT https://www.shrapnelmagazine.com/book-reviews/the-handsome-man-by-brad-casey
Brad Casey’s debut novel, The Handsome Man, is compiled from a series of vignettes that are woven together with recurring characters and a clean chronology. His meandering sentences stretch moments without overstaying their welcome, keeping the pace light and breezy. Gorgeous scenes make even the dingy feel full and thick with sensory detail, causing even trashy bars and fried chicken to sound sensual.
“And what do you do in Ohio. I go to a Bob Evans restaurant for breakfast, a great big warehouse of a place, and I think everyone here could be the president, all of them smiling white smiles, shaking white hands, there’s a menacing politeness like everything violence behind their eyes.”
The Handsome Man is an implied first-hand account written by the protagonist. Despite its namesake, the protagonist of The Handsome Man is skillfully nondescript. However, the way in which the short-lived characters interact with him give us clues as to his appearance—one man drunkenly professes his hair looks like a poodle’s, and Jean, an Airbnb host of sorts, gives him an abrupt warning:
“Down around here people aren’t too friendly to people like you. You look like a threat. Some kid got shot just a few days ago, right down the street not five minutes away and for what? Nothing. When someone says hello to you they’re seeing if you’ll say hello back. They’re seeing if you’re scared of them or not.”
This could reasonably lead the reader to assume that the Handsome Man is a person of colour and/or visibly queer. This conversation is closely followed by a frightening encounter with a man from Mississippi who acts threateningly toward the Handsome Man after identifying him as a foreigner. These blatant microaggressions show anxiety within the protagonist in relation to the American South.
I was excited by the opportunity to read a North American road trip novel—which are predominantly told through a white lens—turned on its head, teasing a perspective fraught with the dangers of travelling while being a person of colour.
In revealing the protagonist’s name to be Brad on the second to last page of the novel, my speculation was dashed when Casey proclaims himself as the Handsome Man. This not only implies that the entire novel—classified as literary fiction—is based on true personal experiences (which he’s confirmed in interviews and press for the book), but it contributes to an on-going conversation on the “death of the author.”
There’s a long history of readers assuming protagonists of fictitious works are actually the author, and some might find satisfaction in this ending to find that they are correct in this case. The dichotomy that fiction is really a disguised true story, while non-fiction is exaggerated truth, undermines the authority of authors to create and their ability to imagine worlds and people separate from themselves.
This quasi-memoir should have perhaps been more obvious to me with its overt references to Kerouac’s On the Road, a roman à clef work itself. Unlike On the Road, Casey and his friends aren’t public figures. This makes the travelogue feel like a private confession for those in his social circle, alienating the casual reader with its last note.
Thank you to Book*Hug Press for providing Shrapnel with a media copy of The Handsome Man.
AS REVIEWED IN SHRAPNEL MAGAZINE AT https://www.shrapnelmagazine.com/book-reviews/the-handsome-man-by-brad-casey
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