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Book Review | BACK |
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Exe games | WORDS HUB |
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All men (and women) are not created equal in pop culture chronicler Pagan Kennedy's new novel, "The Exes." Told in four parts, from the second-person perspectives of the members of the fictional Boston indie band The Exes, the story is intriguing even as it leaves you hungry for more. Unfortunately, the rotating narrator approach paints unfinished portraits of the more captivating characters, while spending too much time on the less-interesting ones. That's why they call them frontmen - charisma hogs the spotlight for a reason. Kennedy's decidedly twentysomething niche tale unfolds as ex-lovers Hank and Lilly decide to test the old "let's be friends" line by forming a band; the catch is that everyone who joins the band must be exes, a gimmick the characters mercifully recognize for what it is. For anyone involved in this sort of rock scene, points will ring sometimes painfully familiar, even as they leap from the pages like stereotypes: Hank is a nerdy record-store clerk turned indie-rock guitar big shot; vocalist/guitarist Lilly is an eccentric artist; bassist Shaz (well, of course the bassist is female!) is a darkly exotic bisexual; and drummer Walt is a scientific genius masquerading as a band guy, trying to hold down a "normal" day job even as he's trying to hold onto his own sanity. The not-so-fab four goes through a string of lovers - the German art fag; the bubbly girls slumming it, including one foray into Wicker Park; the moody and extremely serious indie-rock snob. They face fang-bearing gossip from the local rag, and feel like hot shit on the road even as they're nothing in their hometown. Kennedy has obviously been there, done that, and taken notes with a very keen eye - so keen, in fact, you've got to wonder how much backlash she's getting in Beantown. The story she weaves is more interesting than an episode of "The Real World," and zips along just as fast. But even as you recognize these characters' clothes and hairstyles, you want to know more about the people under the dreadlocks and inside the ringer T. (Shelly Ridenour)
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