High Fidelity is about Rob Fleming’s transition into adulthood. From what? Instead of answering that in one phrase, let me describe who Rob Fleming is. He’s the novel’s narrator, a thirty-ish funny and whiny guy who owns a record store that specializes in hard to find vinyl records. His favorite hobby is making mixtapes for people. He is obsessed not only with music and mixtapes but also with lists, Top Five lists of something he comes up with, to be exact. Obviously, he’s big on music, having shelves and shelves of records that he sorts and re-sorts in an order dictated by his mood, as if his life depended on it.
Is it so wrong, wanting to be at home with your record collection? It’s not like collecting records is like collecting stamps, or beermats, or antique thimbles. There’s a whole world in here, a nicer, dirtier, more violent, more peaceful, more colourful, sleazier, more dangerous, more loving world than the world I live in; there is history, and geography, and poetry, and countless other things I should have studied at school, including music.
And he has been recently dumped by his girlfriend.
The novel opens with a list of Rob’s Top Five breakups, which excludes Laura, the recent ex-girlfriend, from it. The prose, full of energy and practical wit, will surely make one read on to find out why Laura left the self-deluding, self-conceited Rob. Why indeed?
Surely, there are many details omitted, and delayed, by Rob. On the surface, Rob seems like an overgrown teenager who wouldn’t man up. Or a racehorse whose blinders have never been taken off. Is his life a mess? Probably some would say that and more; he’s an immature man who doesn’t think of a good future, who is wasting his talent by refusing to snap out of misery, and who is too blind to see that he is dragging Laura down with him. But, all things considered, I’d rather say that he doesn’t have a clear goal, which makes him meander back and forth, from his list of past ex-girlfriends, whom he all blames for what has happened to him, to Laura.
The novel has a confessional feel to it, like the narrator is letting you in on the big secrets of his life and that he’s letting you help him sort things out by merely listening. You get invested in the goings on of his life but sometimes, you just get tired. Had his miseries about his past reflected the novel’s language instead of the vibrant, jaunty one that pulls it along, this would have been a depressingly shitty book that draws too much from self-indulgence. But it’s not, thank goodness, and I think the author did very well to adapt a voice that people of this generation, a sizable audience for the book, can see themselves in.
Considering the maleness of the narrator, sentimentality is consciously shunned from his storytelling. But look, there are little slips of cheesiness here and there, which says something about machismo and the changing attitude of people on it. Men, at least some men like Rob, may have big and bloated egos, but they will act like little boys when they are trying to win back somebody whom they realize they love.
If it seems like you can’t stand a narrator such as Rob but think of yourself as a person with very good taste in music, read the book still. I didn’t recognize most of the music references but that’s just me. My musical preference is kind of limited but it didn’t stop me from listening to samples of songs that Rob mentions here and there.
[Read in April 2015.]
[3 out of 5 stars.]
[245 pages. Trade paperback.]