The Abyss of Human Illusion

Over the course of his long career, Gilbert Sorrentino created an unjustly overlooked body of work revered both for its uncompromising experimentalism and for its deft and sympathetic understanding of the blue-collar class and their clichéd punch-line status in American culture. His final book, The Abyss of Human Illusion, comes to us in the form of a corrected first draft, finalized posthumously by his son, the novelist Christopher Sorrentino. Made up of 50 vignettes that follow no discernible plot line, Abyss has the strengths one has come to expect from Sorrentino's prose and, sadly, its weaknesses as well. The phrase, "abyss of human illusion," taken from Henry James' story "The Middle Years," refers to the strategies of self-deception Sorrentino's near-nameless characters knowingly employ to spare themselves various indignities. In Sorrentino's hands, these schemes invariably fail and, to make matters worse, usually create more troubles than they solve or prevent. Frustratingly, the book progresses, but nothing changes. Like falling dominoes, each story ends in loathing, self-loathing, disgrace, and/or death. There is a relentless bitterness at work coursing through every line, and though Sorrentino's prose retains its dexterous and energized style, here it's wasted on meager material that pitilessly pounds home the same point. There are many dark pleasures to be found in his vast output, but in this final work, Sorrentino's gifts are poisoned by their own sting.