This One TimeThis One Time

Alex van Tonder


REVIEW: Karin Schimke

You keep thinking, as you read This One Time, that it will be revealed to you how the despicable protagonist became himself. There had to have been a terrible childhood, some awful trauma, early signs of mental disturbances – or perhaps evidence that it was the drugs that turned rendered him devoid of any humanity.

It’s not forthcoming.

Unless you want to head the route of social context and blame “The Internet” and “Social Media In General”, you can get no hook on how a mildly failing and flailing nobody can turn into such a crass, conscience-less, life-destroying maniac.

So you head the way of social context, following the author’s lead, and decide that there is indeed, something inescapably putrid, disruptive and corrupting in social media’s ability to merciless exploitation of even the mildest person’s narcissistic tendencies.

Jacob Lynch had dreams of becoming a writer – in the old-fashioned sense of the word – but when he gets to New York no one is interested in him. “Sonny, you’re not the only writer struggling. We’ll see what we can do, but the internet has changed everything for writers,” a recruiter tells him.

Over a game of chess and some beers with his best friend, Brodie Lomax the blogger is born. Brodie starts off as a parody of the kinds of men Jacob overhears talking about their sexual conquests, but turns into the King of Women Haters and the internet duly rewards him. He becomes the blogger shleb every brand wants to associate with so that he will Tweet and Instagram their products. Brodie knows creating outrage is the quickest link to click-success. He posts revenge porn and leaked sex tapes and his followers lap it up, liking and sharing and retweeting him to fame/infamy.

It gets dirtier and dirtier as Jacob-the-greedy gobbles up the attention, free gifts and endless sex that gets hurled Brodie’s way. And because being a blogger doesn’t necessarily mean a comfortable bank balance, Jacob/Brodie pitches the ultimate plan to the marketing people at a beer company: reality television that works on consumer-generated content. His followers get to Tweet what he should do as he cockroach-crawls his way around New York picking up women and taking them home without them knowing that they are appearing on television in real time.

Van Tonder’s handle on the PR, advertising, television and marketing scene is rock-steady and she is entirely inside the brain of decrepit berk that Jacob has become. When his thoughts lean towards self-insight, she rips him back on to his path of self-destruction before the reader starts nurturing delusions that there might be a scrap of compassion inside Jacob.

The novel shuttles between two locations: the glitz of the New York blogger high life and the isolation of a Gothic Alaskan hunting lodge – complete with stuffed dead animals – where Jacob has retreated to finally write the book his agent has already sold for millions. In the former he is a swaggering miscreant; in the second he is ineffectually pleading for his life while tied to a bed and wallowing, quite literally, in the pigsty he’s made of his life.

He’s being held there by a ghastly kook of a woman, yet you cannot help being just a little bit glad that someone is finally keeping the Brodie toxins off the interwebs. Comeuppenance for the creep doesn’t really play out the way you think it will though.

This thriller is Van Tonder’s first novel (she is, incidentally, a blogger herself) and her ear for external dialogue in the coruscating faux world of money-and-clicks is spot on. The internal dialogue is somewhat less convincing. Also, the New York parts of the book are more riveting than the horror scenes in Alaska, which are too drawn out in places.

This is The Truman Show meets Misery, updated to encompass the gory dog show that is our obsession with and addiction to entertainment and outrage – and all the channels through which those two reach us.

  • This review appeared in Business Day

Posted under: Book Reviews

Tagged as: , , ,

About KarinSchimke


Comments are closed.