Okay so here's the deal.

It's truly puzzling to me that this book manages to appear on so many Top 100 Novels lists. I'll forever remember it (or rather, easily forget it) as "That book about rich white people in New Orleans who don't have any real problems."

I guess it didn't help that I read this after coming off the harrowing "Native Son" and "The Grapes of Wrath", two epic journeys of oppressed peoples who wrestle with genuine life-and-death problems.

The main problem for the protagonist in "The Moviegoer" is that he's mildly depressed. We follow his half-ass search for some meaning in his sheltered, privileged life during a largely structure-less narrative.

I kept waiting for something big, or even just something, to happen, and it never really did.

Also, while admittedly a product of the time in which it was written, the book's treatment of the servile black characters in the background - the way the white characters pass judgment upon, and editorialize about, them - just didn't sit well with me.

This book was a dud... I couldn't get into it. Maybe if someone in Whiteytown had had some real problems, it would have been a different story. But as it was, I was just like, either get over it or get some real, novel-worthy problems before wasting my time. Top 100 my anus!

To be fair, perhaps there are some redeeming qualities to this book that I simply missed. However, based on my initial reading experience, it failed to capture my interest or engage me on any meaningful level.

The lack of a strong plot and the unrelatable characters made it difficult for me to invest in the story. Additionally, the outdated treatment of certain characters was off-putting and detracted from the overall enjoyment of the book.

In conclusion, while this book may have its fans and supporters, it just wasn't for me. I'll continue to search for those novels that truly deserve a place on the Top 100 list and offer a more profound and engaging reading experience.

In 1962, when Walker Percy won the National Book Award for The Moviegoer, with nominees including J.D. Salinger, the future Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer, and Joseph Heller (with the now classic and beloved Catch-22), a small literary scandal erupted. The forty-year-old former doctor and amateur philosopher was unknown until then, and his book hadn't even sold out its first edition.

I first read it in English in the early 2000s, when there were rumors that my beloved Terrence Malick would adapt it for the big screen, and because the title had won me over.

Sixty years after its first publication and twenty since my own first reading, the excellent Greek translation is finally available, and the book remains one of the most curious I've read. It's a marriage of the narratives of the American South with the existential randomness of the other side of the Atlantic, of Camus, Sartre, and Kierkegaard, with doses of pop culture and references to classic Hollywood, a daily language that resembles a monologue over drinks in a bar, and a bitter and ironic humor to cover the "search" of the narrator for something deeper than the "everydayness" of a life mostly spent on meaningless events.

Prophetic for the turn that American literature would take in just a few years, this chronicle of the existential odyssey of the modern man has something of the faded charm of New Orleans and carries the spirit of its era in many ways, but it remains as relevant as reaching an age when you're not allowed not to know what you want to be when you grow up, but you still think about it.

I'll remain in wonder what masterpiece Malick would have drawn from its pages.

I'm a sucker for books that employ existential musings in a way that feels genuine and unforced. Thus, I greatly enjoyed The Moviegoer. It's an ambitious novel for one so slim.

It skims many weighty topics, from hedonism (and its better-dressed twin, capitalism), to religion's place in America, to the nature of responsibility (and that of its incubus, apathy), to mental health and paranoia. There is even a nice riff on Salinger where Percy replaces Holden's "phonies" with those who are "dead" in their hollow interpersonal interactions.

While I was occasionally disappointed at Percy's hesitation to explore some issues more fully, it is this deft reticence that ultimately provides the book with such poignant and unique flair. In the same way that Bolaño's unconsummated digressions ultimately enhance 2666's wild power, Percy's major flaw may in fact be a great asset.

Just as Nick's reliability as a narrator in The Great Gatsby is at times questionable, Binx's own truthfulness (or at least his self-perception) is occasionally suspect. He professes to be apathetic and lazy despite great success with his financial work. The only thing that motivates him more urgently than his day-job is his (highly successful) womanizing career. He goes on and on about his metaphysical "search" and listens faithfully to religious broadcasts while concurrently claiming an inability to consider questions about God, existence, or the relevance of such questions even if the answers are in favor of belief. And while maintaining that his actions come only from selfish impulse, Binx is exceptionally generous with those whose needs he can, at least temporarily, fulfill (i.e. Kate, Lonnie, and even Aunt Emily). In the end, these contradictions serve primarily to accentuate Binx's Dostoevskyan duality - and, therefore, his humanity.

Despite the absence of any inner resolutions for the lead characters, Percy still manages to provide a modestly uplifting message via his unrelenting focus on the malaise associated with "everydayness". It is this heightened perception of the malaise that ultimately allows one to at least recognize the road that can lead to despair - to emotional and moral flaccidity. As the novel's epigraph, quoting Kierkegaard, explains: "the specific character of despair is precisely this: it is unaware of being despair." Awareness, then, is the first step toward the possibility of joy and freedom.

I don't know what I was expecting when I picked up this novel. Was it a nostalgic trip through the golden hours of cinema history, perhaps something similar to Truffaut's works or the more recent Oscar laureate "The Artist"? I didn't even pay attention to the year of publication (1961) or the setting (New Orleans). Mostly, the impulse to read it came from a Goodreads review full of great movie posters, and I was looking for something to validate my own obsession with the silver screen magic. (I had periods when I watched 2-3 movies per day.)

The actual novel surprised me in many ways, mostly in good ways. It turned out to be completely different from what I imagined and from what the opening chapter promised. John Bickerson Bolling, aka Binx, is indeed a kindred spirit. He's a loner with a passion for the larger than life dramas produced in Hollywood's dream factories.

Going to the movies is as natural and necessary to him as eating or breathing. We follow Binx on his leisurely walks through a sleepy neighborhood in the hour before dawn or strolling down Bourbon Street trying to spot a famous actor. I was too quick in judging him as a more amiable, laid-back version of Ignatius J Reilly. But Binx is an entirely different kind of character. His eyes are wide open, his mind is sharp and focused, his business flair is excellent, and his social skills are almost flawlessly those of a classic Southern gentilhomme.

I wouldn't want to give the impression that Binx is an innocent. He's a self-confessed womanizer, and some of the funniest moments in the book detail his slick technique for serially seducing his secretaries. However, behind all the women and the sparkling movie idols, Binx carries a deep-seated despair. He is a man in the middle of an existential crisis, exasperated by the waste of precious moments in trivial pursuits and by the insufficiency of words to capture the essence of life.

The only person who understands him and his torment is his cousin Katie, an extraordinary character in the great tradition of Southern literature. Other memorable characters include the two extended families that Binx is part of: the upper class, pretentious, traditional and mock liberal crowd led by Aunt Emily, and the white trash, down to earth, religious and mostly selfish clan led by his mother and his six brothers and sisters.

The prose of Walker Percy is instantly recognizable as Southern Novel. It's dense, often indirect, allegorical, and oblique. I needed to re-read some passages, but the extra effort was worth it. The pacing is slow, almost sleepy under the Louisiana sun, yet the restrained passions could become explosive at any moment.

I tried to read more about the author and the novel on the net and came across the controversy of the literary prize it received. While I admire Joseph Heller and his "Catch 22", for me, the quality of "The Moviegoer" is not in dispute. I consider it well worth the time I spent with it and even a good candidate for a re-read. Having finished the novel, there are few clear conclusions to be drawn, other than the fact that life is worth living (probably), and that "moviegoer" can be translated either as a "searcher" or as a "romantic", someone still believing in the goodness of the people around him.

It took me a considerable amount of time to truly embrace this book, but I'm extremely glad that I did in the end.

The book is a captivating blend of humor, poignancy, and bemusement. It has a distinctively modern undertone of angst and despair that is ever-present.

The abyss seems to lurk just beneath the surface, even during the most absurd and laugh-out-loud moments. However, there is also a glimmer of hope for salvation, or so I believe.

There are several passages in the book that are among my favorites.

One such passage goes, "Whenever I feel bad, I go to the library and read controversial periodicals. Though I do not know whether I am a liberal or a conservative, I am nevertheless enlivened by the hatred which one bears the other. In fact, this hatred strikes me as one of the few signs of life remaining in the world. This is another thing about the world which is upside down: all the friendly and likeable people seem dead to me; only the haters seem alive."

Another passage that stands out is, “Losing hope is not so bad. There's something worse: losing hope and hiding it from yourself.”

And yet another one is, “Christians talk about the horror of sin, but they have overlooked something. They keep talking as if everyone were a great sinner, when the truth is that nowadays one is hardly up to it. There is very little sin in the depths of the malaise. The highest moment of a malaisian's life can be that moment when he manages to sin like a proper human (Look at us, Binx—my vagabond friends as good as cried out to me—we're sinning! We're succeeding! We're humans after all!).”

These passages add depth and complexity to the overall narrative of the book, making it a truly engaging read.

I am a moviegoer. However, in contemporary terms, I would say that I am more of a movie-watcher-from-the-couch. And I share all the same reasons as Binx for being a moviegoer. I can really relate to this New Orleans stockbroker. He is a relatively disaffected guy in his mid-20s, just trying to figure out life and finding consolation through isolation in film. I must admit that I own more books than Binx, though!

Another thought that comes to my mind is that books written well in the present tense automatically attract me. Of course, what lies beneath the surface of the book is obviously the greater determinant of my eventual enjoyment of it. But still, present tense narrations are few and far between.

I am still conducting the search for that perfect book or movie that will truly resonate with me. And I believe I will be on this search for some time to come. I am constantly on the lookout for new stories and experiences that will touch my heart and expand my perspective. Whether it's through the medium of film or literature, I am always eager to discover something new and exciting.

I went back to read the chapter I most loved, and as I was doing so, I realized something rather strange. And... and... oh. You see, I have this polyamorous (yes, I've been reading Nabokov too) compulsion of having so many books open at one time. Well, in this case, I had accidentally inserted Breece Pancake's story “In The Dry” right into the narrative line of the novel I was reading. I had substituted Ottie for Jack and Sheila for Kate.*

So, the question now is, can I still thoroughly enjoy a novel where the best part of it wasn't even a part of it at all? The answer is yes, and it's because of lines like this that do belong to it: “Nobody but a Southerner knows the wrenching rinsing sadness of the cities of the North.”

*In my defense, the characters were strikingly similar, (it was an accident, an aunt), but really the only way this happened is that— with my habit of marrying each story to the font and size and leading of the lines— the two books were identically typeset. Yipes. It's quite a strange occurrence, but it shows how our minds can play tricks on us when we have so many books and stories floating around in our heads.

3.5 stars.

An easy to read, pleasant, coming of age, philosophical story unfolds. It is about Binx Bolling’s life at around the age of 30. Set in the vibrant city of New Orleans in the 1950s, Binx is a successful stock broker. He spends his days going to the movies and having casual affairs with single women. He is fairly self-involved, living in his own little world. However, things start to change when Binx learns some home truths about himself from his aunt.

Here are a couple of quotes from the book that are representative of the author’s writing style:

‘In this world goodness is destined to be defeated. But a man must go down fighting. That is the victory. To do anything less is to be less than a man.’

‘Where there is a chance of gain, there is also chance of loss. Whenever one courts great happiness, one also risks malaise.’

This remarkable book won the 1962 National Book Award for fiction. It holds a special place as it is the author’s first novel, published when the author was 44 years old. It has left a lasting impact on readers with its profound themes and engaging narrative.

Even among the greatest writers, single-mindedness can have a negative impact on a work. It not only weakens the artistic effect but also undermines the very ideas the writer intended to convey.

Jozef Czapski's statement in "Lost Time" highlights this important point.

I read a certain novel back in the 80's. It didn't leave a particularly lasting impression. A recent article in the New Yorker tried to argue why this book is still relevant. However, I believe it actually shows why the novel is no longer relevant.

Percy's good friend, Shelby Foote, warned him about being overly preachy. Indeed, when Percy concluded the book with what the author calls "the trim certainties of the ‘Baltimore Catechism,’" it felt like ending the book with a religious tract.

It's no wonder that Percy is not widely read anymore, except perhaps by the most devout Catholics.

I haven't read any of Percy's works for a long time. He trained as a medical doctor but developed TB and had to spend two years in a sanatorium, where he began writing. He never actually practiced medicine.

After getting married, he converted to Catholicism. Suicide ran in his family, which spooked him throughout his life and led to heavy drinking, even in his final days when he was dying of prostate cancer.

He seemed to attempt a blend of Catholicism, the South, and existentialism, but couldn't quite match the caliber of Flannery O'Connor. His books definitely give the impression of being dated.

John "Binx" Bolling is on the verge of turning 30. He's a former Korean War soldier, now adrift in life. He's like a lost soul, constantly seeking signs to guide him on where to go, what to do with his life, and even what his very existence means. He works as a stockbroker in an office, sharing the space with his secretary, Sharon, whom he secretly loves. When he goes home, he fills his time by reading books (Arabia Deserta, Charterhouse of Pharma, The Prophet, etc) and watching movies (The Ox-Bow Incident, It Happened One Night, Young Philadelphian, Fort Dobbs, All Quiet in Western Front) at a local theater.

Since the death of his brother when he was 8, his Aunt Emily has taken care of him. His mother remarried and moved to another town after his father passed away before his brother. His aunt wants him to be a successful man, but Binx has no clue what he wants to do with his life. He's suffering from malaise, which Percy defines as: pain of loss. The world is lost to you, the world and the people in it, and there remains only you and world and you no more able to be in the world than Banquo's ghost. (Note: Banquo is the ghost in Shakespeare's 1606 play, Macbeth.)

The plot of the story is simple, and Percy's philosophical musings might bore mainstream readers. However, looking at Percy's life history, it's quite remarkable. He was from the prominent Percy clan in Birmingham, Alabama. His father committed suicide, and his mother died in a car crash that Percy also suspected was a suicide. His lawyer-uncle raised him as an agnostic. He was a tongue-tied young man in front of William Faulkner. He became a medical doctor in 1941, recuperated from tuberculosis in Saranak Lake sanatorium (the same place where President Quezon died), married and had 2 daughters, received his National Book Award (for his first book, The Moviegoer) in 1962, and died of prostate cancer in 1990, just eighteen days before his 74th birthday. He had six novels to his name, with The Moviegoer being the most popular one. TIME even included it among their list of Time 100 Best English-language Novels from 1923 to 2005.

Despite living a full life, while reading the novel, one can't help but empathize with Binx in his loneliness, his Holden-like angst, sense of loss, and confusion. The monotony of his daily life, filled with reading books and watching movies, and the grind of working in the office with a series of secretaries named after the most popular names in the South: Marcia, Linda, Sharon, and the possibility of having Stephanie if he continues working there. He has a cousin, Kate, who he loves, but he doesn't know what to do about it, being as lost as he is. Their dialogs are a joy to read: bittersweet, romantic, funny, and witty. My favorite is the closing scene:

"You're sweet," says Kate uneasily. "now tell me..."

"What?"

"While I am on the streetcar - are you going to be thinking about me?"

"Yes."

"What if I don't make it?"

"Get off and walk home."

"I've got to be sure about one thing."

"What?"

"I'm going to sit next to the window on the Lake side and put the cape jasmine in my lap?"

"That's right."

"Good by."

"Good by."

Twenty feet away she turns around.

"Mr Klostermann?"

"Mr Klostermann."

I watch her walk toward St Charles, cape jasmine held against her cheek, until my brothers and sisters call out behind me.

And then there are the movies. Percy has this theory called certification. It means your life doesn't exist until you see it or a part of it on the celluloid screen. Once you do, it's certified. Just like being in San Francisco in October 2005, where many popular American movies were shot. A couple of months ago, I saw a local tearjerker Sa Yo Lamang, and the opening scene is Bea Alonzo driving in front of SM City North EDSA. She is secretly following her mother played by Lorna Tolentino and is about to discover her mother's long-kept secret: having another child by another man.

Upon finding the secret, Bea, like Binx, experiences a deep sense of loss, confusion, and even pain. However, time heals all wounds, no matter how deep they may be. Bea, like Binx, also spends the rest of the movie confused and bitter. After all, pain is part of our life's journey. Who knows, like Walker Percy, the Beas and Binxes in us may in the end leave this world with well-lived lives despite all of its twists and turns.

The ending of this work is truly one of the best I've ever had the pleasure of reading. There are numerous splendid passages scattered throughout, which add a touch of brilliance to the overall narrative.

However, when it comes to the character of Binx Bolling, I must admit that he is just an extremely annoying, myopic, self-obsessed, and rueful little twerp. His actions and thoughts often leave me frustrated and exasperated.

Despite the flaws in the character, the story as a whole still manages to hold my attention. The author's writing style is engaging, and the plot has enough twists and turns to keep me on the edge of my seat.

Overall, while Binx Bolling may not be a likable character, the quality of the writing and the strength of the ending make this a work that is worth reading.

If the classic TV series “Mad Men” and the renowned novel “Brideshead Revisited” were to somehow transplant themselves to the vibrant city of New Orleans, Louisiana (NOLA) and have a literary offspring, this is precisely the novel that would be born.

The story is a captivating blend of the allure and drama of the mid-20th century, set against the backdrop of NOLA's unique charm and rich history.

I had the pleasure of experiencing this wonderful narrative through an audible book, and it truly left me spellbound. The characters are so vividly drawn that they seem to leap out of the speakers and into my imagination.

I would absolutely love to see this novel adapted into a movie. The visual potential is enormous, with the opportunity to bring to life the lush landscapes, the stylish fashion, and the complex relationships that define the story.

This experience has also made me eager to explore more of Walker Percy’s works. His writing is masterful, and I can't wait to see what other literary treasures he has in store.