What makes Klosterman such an interesting writer is a keen eye for human behavior, not just artistic expression. And that’s why ‘Downtown Owl’ works.

A journalist-slash-columnist — famous for surreal interviews with the mega-famous, off-kilter opinion pieces, and a fascination with the deeper implications of the seemingly mundane — decides one day, “You know, I’d like to write a novel.” He now faces an odd set of expectations. Fiction, after all, is not easy. There is a world of difference between critiquing pop cultural phenomenon like celebrity personalities or rock albums, and sitting down to create stories out of the ether. Even someone extremely talented at one could embarrass themselves attempting the other. However, an established writer with a healthy audience must know: lots of readers will follow him into this new venture, with a certain level of trust in the fact that he wouldn’t be trying at all if he didn’t believe he had something to offer. Surely a writer comes under a whole different kind of pressure for his first novel when he’s already a best-selling author. Why invite the added stress unless you were confident you could survive the transition?

As one of those aforementioned readers, these were the things I wondered following Chuck Klosterman on his first attempt at pure fiction, Downtown Owl.

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I’ve always found Klosterman’s essays and articles both fascinating and hilarious. Whether pontificating on how Saved By The Bell reflects reality more than we think in his book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, or taking a rare stance by defending why he doesn’t care about the Olympics as a writer for Esquire, he’s consistently insightful. Sure, not Nobel or Pulitzer insightful; that’s for the dull and serious like Al Gore or Paul Krugman. Klosterman is late night bar room insightful. Road trip insightful. He’s the kind of person you want a seat next to at the dinner party. His end of the table might not have the most intellectual conversation, but it’ll be the most thought-provoking and memorable nonetheless. He might just be the single most interesting party guest alive, in fact.

I wouldn’t know firsthand, obviously — maybe he chews with his mouth open and hogs the wine — but from his work it becomes apparent that his appeal isn’t just pop culture knowledge. We all know someone who knows a shitload more than we do about books, or movies, or what bands we would be listening to if we were as cool as them. Those people are handy to have around but nowhere near as interesting to talk to for any length of time. Klosterman, on the other hand, takes it a step past just knowing a lot about pop art and comparing its relative merits. He digs in to the art, the people who made it, and where it came from. He considers the people who consume it, what it does for them, and most importantly, what that says about all of us.

His chronicle of a classic-rock-themed cruise (which appears in the essay collection, IV) isn’t about Journey’s music, or the aging fans aboard, but about the way we cling to the familiar and comfortable. His excellent review of Chinese Democracy for The Onion isn’t the best on record because of his superior analysis of the song structures, but because it addresses Axl’s insane process with humanity instead of cynicism — taking into account the opposing unreasonable forces of fans’ expectations and the artist’s desire to create a perfect work. At a certain point, we’re not just talking about a 70 minute heavy metal album any more.

What makes Klosterman such an interesting writer, and presumably the most interesting guest in this hypothetical dinner party scenario, is that he examines culture through a prism of the people who participate in it, and has a keen eye for human behavior, not just artistic expression. He thinks about the bigger issues behind the trivial, and obviously spends a lot of time picking apart just about everything. And that’s why Downtown Owl works.

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If it weren’t for his particular talent at understanding people, not just ephemera, Downtown Owl wouldn’t work at all. It’s barely a novel in the traditional sense: there’s no attempt at a memorable plot. The main characters never interact, nor do they grow or change much over the course of the book. In fact, nothing much happens at all, but that’s obviously intentional, since I imagine not much happens in real-life rural North Dakota either. And the book ends suddenly in a diabolus ex machina sort of way, allowing a quick and tidy close to the proceedings.

None of this keeps it from being as interesting as any of Klosterman’s other work, however, and that’s the trick. Calling it a novel is almost deceptive. What we really get are a few very average characters who act as a device for Klosterman to do what he’s best at, which is observing the behaviors, motivations, and thought processes we all share. He bounces between a teenager, a young adult, and an old man to delve into issues such as peer pressure, gossip, dating, marriage, love, hate, career, retirement, and death. The book reads not unlike his essay collections, only instead of using pop culture as a context to discuss bigger issues, he uses normal, albeit fictional people. One suspects that most of the short chapters in Downtown Owl were ideas he’s been kicking around for years, but couldn’t find the right framework for until he hit on the idea to put them into story form.

Although the book as a whole may not satisfy in the traditional sense, each vignette is just as insightful and amusing as anything else he’s ever written, only now untethered from the filter of pop criticism. Will Chuck Klosterman ever be considered a great novelist on top of being one of today’s most astute pop culture critics? Probably not. Does his talent transcend culture columns, record reviews, and celebrity interviews?  Downtown Owl makes the case that it does. Is Chuck Klosterman possibly the most interesting person alive to be sitting next to at a cocktail party, no matter the topic? He just might be.

A few footnotes:

You can read the first several pages of Downtown Owl for free on NYtimes.com.

Popmatters asks some probing questions of Klosterman about the novel. He gives cagey answers that suggest he doesn’t like being interviewed — possibly disproving my party guest theory, possibly just proving that being interviewed is awkward.

I don’t really do audiobooks, but the audio version of Downtown Owl features passages read by Dazed and Confused & Waking Life’s Wiley Wiggins (presumably as Mitch), Magnolia’s Philip Baker Hall (presumably as Horace), and… Val Kilmer, possibly as the town’s resident sociopath? This is extra funny if you’ve read Klosterman’s Esquire piece on Kilmer, which is classic.

Also: this review may be biased, as early in the courtship phase with my now fiance, we went to see a reading and both got signed copies of Killing Yourself to Live, which now sit side by side in our joint bookcase. Bidding for the extra copy begins below in the comments.