This is a profound philosophical tale set in the late 1950s in New Orleans. The protagonist, Binx, is an intelligent 29-year-old man leading a relatively easy and genteel life. However, he is constantly questioning the "everydayness" of his existence. A dream prompts him to embark on an undefined "search" for something, perhaps the very meaning of life. He ponders how a man should conduct his life and whether there is more to existence than just existential absurdity. He wonders if people are so深陷于日常琐事 that they haven't even considered the possibility of a search. Binx is a true southern gentleman, tender-hearted in his relationships. With his Aunt Emily, an older woman unable to see or accept the changing values of the old south, and his younger disabled half-brother, Lonnie, he shows great care and compassion. He is also always there for his cousin, Kate, providing her with the emotional support she so desperately needs.

Prior to writing this book, Walker Percy delved into the existential tracts and works of Kierkegaard, Camus, Sartre, and others. It appears that Percy crafted an existential character in Binx (Jack) who is more attuned to the mysteries of life than Camus' protagonist in The Stranger. It's important to note that Binx was a veteran of the Korean War. He witnessed the horrors of war and was wounded, both physically and emotionally. This story isn't driven by a traditional plot. Instead, it focuses on a man and his relationships, a man who seems adrift in life. The smooth and easy writing style is a perfect fit for the laid-back atmosphere of New Orleans. There are some truly fascinating southern characters, and I particularly adored Aunt Emily, whose "rant" at the end of the book is a classic. In my opinion, Percy created a work that should make the reader reflect on their own station in life. Written in 1961, I believe it still holds relevance today, as it contains timeless and universal messages. Just think a little, open your eyes to the world. This is a book I will definitely read again, a 200+-page masterpiece of southern literature. After all, we're all just poor wayfaring strangers.

A blurb on the back of the copy I read describes The Moviegoer as combining "Bourbon Street elegance with the spiritual urgency of a Russian novel." As I delved into the pages, I indeed found myself making comparisons to The Brothers Karamazov. Just like Dmitri Karamazov, Binx Bolling is caught in a turmoil, torn between his earnest longing for a meaningful life and his own inability to take meaningful actions. His relationship with his family is complex, much like that of the Karamazov brothers. And his erratic step-cousin/sometimes-lover Kate reminds me of Dmitri's unpredictable lover, Katerina. (See, even the names have a certain similarity!) Wikipedia reveals that Percy was inspired (in a general sense, if not specifically for this book) by Dostoevsky, and there is undoubtedly a kinship between the two, especially in their faith-tinged brand of existentialism.

This book is hard to define. There is a sense of movement, yet no clear structure. The prose is deceptively brilliant. At first glance, it may seem almost lazy, but that laziness is masterfully calculated. Binx, like those characters in Russian novels, engages in his brooding and questioning in a surprisingly cheerful manner. In the absence of any firm conviction or guiding principle, he seeks solace in the mundane, the generic, and the banal. He adores his world of business relationships, cozy radio programs, and predictable films. When any aspect of his tightly managed life goes wrong, he is pushed nearly to despair. He convinces himself that he is embarked on a mystical "search," a quest to break free from "everydayness," but in reality, it is the everydayness that he clings to.

I didn't love this book, but I liked it a great deal. I hope you found what you were looking for, Binx.

This is one of my top three favorite novels, perhaps even number one. I have read it three times.

The first time I read it, I liked it very much. The second time, it was still good. But I think I enjoyed it the most on the third read.

Probably because the characters, language, and themes still held my interest, but I was better able to appreciate the structure of the novel.

This novel is not what I would call "plot-driven". Instead, it is "theme-driven".

If you only like page-turners with exciting plots, this is not the novel for you.

However, if you can do without a coherent plot-thread but appreciate wit, good writing, and existential themes, then you might appreciate this one!

It offers a unique reading experience that goes beyond the typical expectations of a novel.

The author's skillful use of language and exploration of deep themes make it a truly remarkable work.

Even on multiple readings, there are always new details and insights to discover.

It has the power to engage the reader's mind and emotions, and leave a lasting impression.

Whether you are a fan of literary fiction or simply looking for something different, this novel is definitely worth a read.

The Sacramental Kiss of a Bloody Finger

Binx Bolling marries Kate Cutrer, a union that surprises onlookers and even the Cutrer family, as their love is not obvious. "The Moviegoer" is the奇特 story of one week in Binx's life, on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, which coincides with Ash Wednesday. Binx is in search of something in life, but he's not sure what. He's a normal guy living in Gentilly, a suburb of New Orleans, with a regular job as a stockbroker in a nice office, earning a good living. Externally, Binx appears normal and fine, and the plot of the novel reflects this with almost no external action or adventure. Internally, however, Binx is far from fine, and Kate is seriously unwell. We often see Kate's illness when she plucks at her thumb, leaving her skin as fragmented as her soul in this modern world filled with "malaise."

If you haven't read "The Moviegoer," I hope you will. I can think of few novels that better understand the need for a sacramental life, especially in modern times. Percy never explicitly preaches the Gospel in his novels, leaving that to the Church. Instead, he hints and points at the Truth artistically, leaving the reader puzzled by this modern world and longing for hope. In the end, Binx shows us hope as he finds peace and a new life in work, worship, and marriage, which is his sacramental redemption.

It's important to note that "The Moviegoer" is not a novel about the Sacraments (with a capital "S"); rather, it's about sacramental life (with a small "S"). It's literature, not theology, and the Sacraments are not defined or numbered. Instead, the novel shows us the need to live sacramentally in this life because any other way of life is incomplete. Binx has spent his life searching for meaning and unity in a fragmented modern world. He can't find a real sense of time and place, so he chases women and lives in perfect American conformity, seeking some American ideal. But then he meets Kate. Kate is far from ideal. She's physical, broken, but real. Near the end of the novel, as they discuss their marriage, Kate worries even more and "started plucking at her thumb in earnest, tearing away little shreds of flesh." Binx takes her hand and kisses away the blood.

Binx and Kate find life and hope through the little things like work, worship, and marriage. Before Kate, Binx was a committed moviegoer, trying to live as the stars on the screen suggested. They preached sex and success, perfection and following-your-heart drama. Kate brings the opposite: brutal honesty, little sex appeal, and no perfection, just simple, weak flesh. She is the main sacramental image in the novel because caring for her flesh, as weak as it is, is exactly what Binx needs. They need each other, plain and simple, yet powerful in grace.

Theologically, the Sacraments are holy signs and seals of God's grace. They set apart the Church as God's people and feed God's people. But when it comes to living sacramentally, literature is an essential counterpart to theology. Literature points and shows, providing a vision of truth, while theology and philosophy try to define truth. Binx and Kate's redemptive marriage doesn't define marriage, much less baptism and the Lord's Supper, but their marriage shows us how the simple, tangible things can be vehicles of grace. And that's the sacramental life - experiencing grace in the ordinary things.

Now, as normal modern Americans, it's natural to be reluctant at this point. What does Percy mean when he says the modern world is full of "malaise" and that men are "dead, dead, dead," and that matrimony, among other things, is a cure? What kind of an idea is that? In the 21st century, matrimony itself is up for redefinition or even elimination. What's the value in such an "institution"? What we probably want are some numbers and statistics, something scientific to show us the way. We probably want an idea, something we can understand. After all, it's in our nature to think that ideas and rationality are the most important things.

I think Percy expects us to be reluctant. Maybe that's why his fiction is so strange (see "Love in the Ruins"). Then again, we need something strong to break through our thick modern shell. Like O'Connor's grotesque images, Percy wakes us up with shock value, if nothing else, to remind us that we have bodies, that our bodies need other bodies, that our bodies need food, and that all of this is very spiritual. This is perhaps the heart of the matter, especially for evangelical Protestants: we live in a dualistic world where the spiritual doesn't really interact with the physical. We think of eating as an enjoyable and essential physical activity, but we don't see what's really involved in eating. As Alexander Schmemann reminds us, what's really behind eating is sacrifice because something has to die (plant or animal) so that we can live. Is this just a coincidence with our Lord who was crucified for us so that we may live? Or consider Christ who comes to claim the Church as his bride. Coincidence? Impossible. The Church as bride is not just a metaphor, but a real metaphor that shows the real essential connection between the two things. Matrimony is a means of grace for many reasons, but primarily because it represents the marriage between Christ and the Church. Matrimony is not just biological. We're not destined by our DNA to desire one (or more) person of the opposite (or not) sex to fulfill our biological needs. The proper term is not biology, but flesh, and yes, the flesh needs marriage, but even the flesh is not the main reason for matrimony. Christ and his bride define matrimony.

This is why the story of Binx and Kate is comical. Kate needs Binx, and Binx needs Kate. Matrimony alone doesn't heal them, nor is it the end, but artistically, this sacramental couple points to a transcendent Goodness. Their simple, ordinary love in holy matrimony is grace in a fragmented, soulless world.

Finally, we should remember that while matrimony, work, and worship may be the main themes Percy brings to light, these three are far from an exhaustive list of things for a sacramental life because a sacramental life includes everything under the sun. Everything is an opportunity for grace if we get rid of the false dichotomy between spirit and flesh. Moreover, we know for sure that Percy's literature is not sacramentally exhaustive because he hardly deals with one of the most important sacramental aspects - food! Food seems more prominent in film than in literature, perhaps because food is more sensual than imaginative. Nevertheless, no discussion of sacramental life is complete without food. Peter Leithart reminds us that God's gift of food, not man, is the climax of the six days of creation. "Genesis I ends with a menu." Leithart continues, "Adam's menu discloses the secret of human beings in another sense as well. Influenced by Greek and Enlightenment perspectives, modern Christians assume that ideas and thoughts and other functions of reason are superior to the body and its desires. For nearly two millennia, theologians have claimed that the image of God is located primarily if not exclusively in rationality or mental capacities. In no way do I wish to minimize the wonder of the human mind, whose measureless corridors reflect the incomprehensible God. But there is nothing at all said about the brain or thinking in Genesis I, nothing that suggests that silent contemplation is more fully human than eating a good meal. Quite the contrary: when God spoke to Adam, He did not reveal the Pythagorean theorem or teach the intricacies of superstring theory; He offered food. Adam did not come from the hand of God calculating and measuring; he came hungry."

There's no end to exploring sacramental life. Really, it just needs to be lived. We take ourselves too seriously, thinking too much of ourselves as if we really know ourselves and the world when we can calculate and measure it. At the end of "The Moviegoer," true moderns will scoff that Binx kisses Kate's bloody finger and they live happily ever after - meaning that they'll continue to be wounded, but they'll have each other to kiss the wounds. There's no rosy optimism in Percy, and we know Binx and Kate are far from out of the troubles of life. But they're well-equipped to face these troubles, sharing a simple and, dare we say, boring (and that's a good thing!) life together as husband and wife.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm quite certain that nothing in this review will even remotely approach the greatness that Jeffrey Keeten achieved. I'm deliberately refraining from rereading his review until after I pen this one, as it would terrify me to no end.

Note: The remainder of this review has been withdrawn owing to the alterations in Goodreads' policy and enforcement. You can peruse the reasons behind my decision here.

In the meantime, you have the option to read the entire review at Smorgasbook. It's a pity that the full review can't be presented here, but due to the circumstances, this is the best alternative. I hope you'll still find value in the available information and perhaps explore the review on the other platform.

This is not a conventional novel as it doesn't tell a complete story in the traditional sense. Instead, it is a novel of growth where often boring stuff happens to a person. That person, Binx, has given himself the task of "searching" for meaning in the boredom of everyday life.

I focused on the discussion of movies and literature, but really all forms of media can be seen as platforms through which we gain perspective on the reality we inhabit and the experiences we have and share with others. Binx seems to view them in a similar way, as performing "repetitions" that may or may not be part of the "rotations" through which he encounters new and unexpected things.

Although "repetitions" could be taken as endless loops that prevent one from engaging with the real, they are actually scripts with as much diversity as there are people, viewpoints, and ethics from which they come. In this way, the repetitions can be potential heuristics for supporting the contemplation that boredom offers us. Their value lies in their repetitiveness, which suggests the commonality of the viewpoint or experience they represent. To the extent that we reflect on these repetitions and consider if they represent good ways of acting or new ways of thinking about the world of experiences, we can find both ways to act and outcomes to expect and evaluate against our own results. In this regard, the repetitions from media are not very different from those we encounter in other areas like work, family, or religion, except they don't come with the force of an ethical imperative.

The repetitions may facilitate new experiences and actions, but they are not the sole source of authentic experience. Binx may have been searching for a way to have authentic experiences, but I don't think he ever finds it, at least not as a theoretically pure way of interacting with the world. However, as Kate points out at the end of the novel, he is the "unmoved mover." People are the unmoved movers, the sources of their own experiences and those responsible for choosing to experience or not experience.

There is an oblique reference at the end to that "Danish philosopher," which I assume is a nod to Kierkegaard. Maybe it's just my lack of knowledge from not having read Kierkegaard, but I have trouble believing that Percy intended for us to filter the novel through Kierkegaard as a normative framework for dealing with alienation, disaffection, and ennui. This isn't what Binx has done, as far as the narrative leads us to believe. Instead, it is something that Binx has worked through, and the value, as I see it, is in the process of muddling through and trying to make sense.

The biggest question that one should ask oneself here is just how faithful a reader one truly is.

Percy appears to be less inclined towards simply telling a story and shows a greater interest in revealing the nature of people.

The overarching storyline was, at best, rather ambiguous. However, Percy manages to create incredibly beautiful and dark characters.

These are the kind of characters that you hate to find any connection with, yet you are well aware that in certain ways, they are you and you are them.

Overall, it is a great novel. But then again, I have a deep love for Percy's remarkable character development.

The fact that there is virtually no dominating storyline does not bother me in the slightest.

It is this unique combination of elements that makes Percy's work so captivating and engaging.

Even with the ambiguity of the plot, the well-developed characters draw the reader in and keep them hooked until the very end.

It is a testament to Percy's skill as a writer that he can create such a powerful and thought-provoking work without relying on a traditional, linear storyline.

Ever since I finished Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer, I've been grappling with the task of writing a review. It's not just about penning a good review; it's about expressing my thoughts on the book. What makes this book so challenging?

The Moviegoer has been labeled an existential novel and won the prestigious National Book Award in 1962, beating out well-known contenders like Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 and J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey.

As an existential novel, it has been compared to The Stranger. When I first heard this, I was intrigued and hopeful. Since I couldn't find any redeeming value in Camus’ novel, I hoped Percy might unlock the existential code for me.

I struggle to understand existentialism. Apparently, it's characterized by a sense of disorientation and confusion in a seemingly meaningless world. Blessed with a strong faith, I find it hard to fathom how people can see no meaning in their surroundings. My husband says my personality type is to always seek understanding, while I view existentialism as the opposite. Maybe I'm being too harsh or judgmental. Forgive me if so, as I'm truly struggling to understand this foreign concept.

The protagonist, Binx Bolling, chases women, goes to movies alone, and lives a superficial life, content to drift along and comment on the people and events he notices. Binx doesn't believe in God and isn't even interested in knowing Him. It's hard to know what inspires him beyond fantasies about beautiful strangers.

Since I believe in God and the beauty and order of His creation, this type of literature makes me wonder what went wrong. Why was I blessed with faith while others have little or none? Why can't I share my faith in a way that others see life as meaningful? I give away money and possessions, but faith seems non-transferable. Maybe more people focus on feeding their bodies than nourishing their souls, which is why they accept material gifts over spiritual ones like faith, hope, and love.

Although Binx isn't overtly unkind, his disconnection is deeply disturbing. He may seem like a nice guy on the surface, but that's all he is – just surface, and thus soulless.

Is this a modern-day phenomenon? Do air-conditioned theaters and the Internet lead to existentialism and moviegoers? Over two thousand years ago, Plato described prisoners chained to a cave by their lack of desire to learn. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer is extremely well-written. It has given me countless hours of profitable pondering, and I'll read it again and look forward to reading his other works. Did I like it? Um, not exactly, but sort of. It's a very important book.

READ IT!

*And yet, there are times in my life when I've cried out to God in despair and anguish. So, am I saying I have no empathy for what Binx feels? Not at all. I too have had my existential moments. The difference, I guess, is that I see these times come and go like waves.

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This reminds my Goodreads' friend, Matthew, of The Stranger. Now that I've read it, I can see how it's an existential novel, even though Percy was a Catholic. I'm still working on a review and trying to decide how or if to rate it because I can't figure out if I liked it or not and, if so, how much...

I heard somewhere that actors and actresses almost always end up seeing psychiatrists.

They are forced to empty themselves and fill themselves up with the fictional life details and personality of their character to such an immersive depth that they themselves have to believe that is who they are to pull it off.

But the catch is, once they do this trick several times it becomes harder and harder to go back to the way things were.

How would one accomplish this? Would one, by method, begin playing oneself?

This divorcement from who one was/is can become a sort of permanent schism, causing a full out crisis of identity or selfhood.

This is all to say that the main character-narrator (Binx Bollinger) sounds like a man trying to play himself.

He's a moviegoer literally and existentially.

He attends the cinema ritualistically, searching for sublimity in the particular, but he also comes to view his own life as if it were a film.

He is a detached actor, assuming roles, reading social pantomime.

The movies provide concrete, lasting images which provide a home for Binx, a static touchpoint. It is quite a Cartesian Theater.

But all this means he does not know what the self is, let alone who he is.

So he drifts in the role of amateur actor, guided primarily by desire.

His experience with the Korean war provided him a taste of death which left him with the urgency to find meaning in the absurdity of life as physis, the flourishing which can so easily be extinguished without fanfare.

Says Binx:

"Until recent years, I read only 'fundamental' books on key subjects, such as War and Peace, the novel of novels; A Study of History, the solution of the problem of time; Schroedinger's What is Life?, Einstein's The Universe as I See It, and such. During those years I stood outside the universe and sought to understand it...The only difficulty was that though the universe had been disposed of, I myself was left over...Before, I wandered as diversion. Now I wander seriously and sit and read as a diversion." (69-70)

Binx's move seems to me Heidegerrian: He rejects the present-at-hand abstracting as fundamental (even if he recognizes that it underlies the universe) for being, instead taking up the immersion in life as absorbed dealing (the ready-to-hand) which requires the clothing of culture.

Yet that accidentally textured cloth strikes him as meaningless when he reflects on his life.

The existential crisis strikes tidally: the onticle-coping is the sublimity of simple desires attained but the ontological-reflective self lacks direction for projects in its everyday dealing when confronted with death as certainty and axiom as arbitrary exoskeleton.

In the end, he takes a stand on his being, as we all must, though he may not be aware of it, as many of us are not.

Interesting that this beat out Catch-22 (among others) for the 1962 National Book Award.

Perhaps because it instantiates a range of ideas (e.g. Kierkegaard on despair and the self, Camus on suicide as the first philosophical question, the danger of the mediated-ness of modernity, finding meaning in engagement with life as a form of treatment for PTSD or the crushing malaise of the technological understanding of being) while only occasionally lapsing into alien language [and never resorting to uncontextualized jargon which I have done, sorry].

Like a heaping plate of comfort food for me, this novel holds a special place in my heart. It also contains one of my favorite quotes in a novel: “Whenever I feel bad, I go to the library and read controversial periodicals.” Hell yeah. But wait, there’s more.

Binx Bolling, a young man in 1959/1960 New Orleans, seems to have it all. He successfully manages an office of the family brokerage firm, has a series of dalliances with his secretaries, and goes to a lot of movies. However, unlike most of us, he is acutely aware that these things are just attempts to keep the existential despair at bay. He instinctively feels the truth of the quote from Kierkegaard that serves as the novel’s epigraph: “the specific character of despair is precisely this: it is unaware of being despair”. Now that he knows he is in despair, he is, by Kierkegaard’s reckoning, a bit better off, a step closer to the solution. But he still has a long way to go before he can ground himself in religious faith. The forms and husk of religion are all around him in the “Christ-haunted” but not “Christ-centered” South, as Flannery O’Connor so memorably put it. But Kierkegaard too would have recognized the deadness of these empty religious trappings. The best Binx can do is to be aware of “wonder” and reject that which he feels grossly ignores or obscures this wonder.
His step-cousin Kate, who often struggles with a strong depression and may be bipolar, is the one who best recognizes the true nature of Binx’s despair and his inadequate search for resolution. Like recognizes like in a way. She tells him, “You remind me of a prisoner in the death house who takes a wry pleasure in doing things like registering to vote. Come to think of it, all your gaiety and good spirits have the same death house quality. No thanks. I’ve had enough of your death house pranks.” She also tells him, “It is possible, you know, that you are overlooking something, the most obvious thing of all. And you would not know it if you fell over it.” Not that she knows what it is either. In fact, she has given up the search: “Don’t you worry. I’m not going to swallow all the pills at once. Losing hope is not so bad. There’s something worse: losing hope and hiding it from yourself.”
Binx, like Kate and Kierkegaard, understands the common human tendency to hide our despair from ourselves, what he calls “sinking into everydayness”. Even though the three of them, at least in the novel’s current moment, exist in rather different places after having escaped it in their own ways. Kierkegaard thinks he knows the answer. Kate thinks there is no answer. Binx, as befits a more modern-day literary fiction hero, embraces uncertainty. Watching an apparently materially successful African-American man exiting church on Ash Wednesday, the novel’s final day, with ashes marked on his forehead, Binx thinks, “I watch him closely in the rear-view mirror. It is impossible to say why he is here. Is it part and parcel of the complex business of coming up in the world? Or is it because he believes that God himself is present here at the corner of Elysian Fields and Bons Enfants? Or is he here for both reasons: through some dim dazzling trick of grace, coming for the one and receiving the other as God’s own importunate bonus? It is impossible to say.” This moment of uncertainty and ambiguity perfectly encapsulates Binx’s state of mind and the novel’s exploration of the human condition.

He surely knows the art of living a typical life.

It is a pleasure for him to carry out the duties of a citizen and receive in return a receipt or a neat styrene card with his name on it, certifying, so to speak, his right to exist. What satisfaction he takes in appearing on the first day to get his auto tag and brake sticker! He subscribes to Consumer Reports and as a result, he owns a first-class television set, an almost silent air conditioner, and a very long-lasting deodorant. His armpits never stink.

He is an advanced consumer. He knows how to consume. He thinks in movie clichés. Once he attempted to follow a beat generation path but quite listlessly.

They were all pretty good drinkers and talkers and could spiel about women, poetry, and Eastern religion in a rather good style. It seemed like a fine idea, sleeping in shelters or under the stars in the cool evergreens, and later hopping freights. In fact, this was what he was sure he wanted to do. But in no time at all, he became depressed.

His passions are lukewarm. His delights are tepid. He decides that he must search for something. But he doesn't know for what.

...it occurs to him that in the past few days his own life has gone to seed. He no longer eats and sleeps regularly or writes philosophical notes in his notebook, and his fingernails are dirty. The search has spoiled the pleasure of his tidy and ingenious life in Gentilly.

If there is no fire, then nothing will burn down.

This novel, which was published in 1960, introduced Walker Percy to a much wider world.

It presents a truly profound psychological portrait of the existential feelings of an individual.

The story delves into the various ways in which this person attempts to come to terms with the world and those in his immediate surroundings.

It is a work that demands to be read slowly and carefully, as it contains many layers of meaning and nuanced emotions.

By taking the time to fully engage with the text, readers can gain a deeper understanding of the human condition and the challenges that we all face in our lives.

Whether you are a fan of psychological fiction or simply interested in exploring the inner workings of the human mind, this novel is sure to provide a thought-provoking and engaging reading experience.