Rupert Thomson on Already Dead by Denis Johnson (1997)
Though some of the novels I can’t live without are concise, finely-tuned pieces of work – So Long, See You Tomorrow by William Maxwell, Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson, and Coming Through Slaughter by Michael Ondaatje, to name just three – my idea of the perfect novel is, paradoxically, one that is flawed. A book with too much ambition, in other words. A book that swerves, and sprawls, and flatly refuses to abide by the rules. That’s why I’m awarding the Folio Prize to Already Dead by Denis Johnson. Set in California in the early 90s, it’s a visceral, anarchic, incendiary book. There is sex. There is menace. There is slapstick. And then there’s the language – and what language it is. On the level of the sentence, there are few writers who can match Denis Johnson for sheer virtuosity. Reading Already Dead, I often find myself thinking, Where did that come from? He approaches at such an oblique, unhinged angle that he achieves a new form of clarity. It shouldn’t work – but it does.