Are you familiar with Chris Kraus’s writing? I have never read her seminal work, I Love Dick, but did enjoy the TV series based on the book that came out a couple of years ago. It’s certainly not necessary to have read her previous work to appreciate her latest ‘novel’ (it’s actually a combination of  autofiction, memoir and true crime), The Four Spent the Day Together, however, I suspect it would have been a richer reading experience had I.

Written in three linked parts, the book follows Catt Greene (Kraus’s ‘literary avatar’) through her childhood and rebellious teenage years in the working-class town of Milford, Connecticut; her success as an author and the slow breakdown of her marriage to Paul, a struggling alcoholic; and finally her obsession with a meth-fueled murder committed by a group of teenagers in Minnesota’s Iron Range.

There’s much to unite the three distinct parts of the book, most notably, the sense of being alone in the world, and how our environment shapes our experiences. Catt and Paul find themselves in Minnesota (where the murder takes place), after buying a cabin that is initially used as a retreat for Catt to write, but later becomes the place where Paul self-destructs with alcohol.

Who were these people? The assassination-style shooting occurred on the same eighty-mile trail where she and Paul rode their bikes through the woods every summer… The newspaper article said, The four spent the day together. Were they friends? What did they talk about? She longed to investigate.

As Catt learns more about the individuals involved in the murder, particularly the teenage girl, Brittney Moran, the parallels between her own teenage years (and her attempts to belong) and Brittney’s experience in a place that is described as one where there is ‘…no regional culture beyond mining’, are clear. Of Catt as teenager, skipping school and hanging around bars and diners with bikies –

Losing her virginity was on her list of aspirations, but in a lower place than learning to read French and tripping. If there had been women offering these things, she would have gone with them.

What emerges, is broader commentary on our increasing isolation and false sense of community.

This is a political book. There is much said about the Trump election, white liberalism, gentrification, poverty and racism in America. And, because of the clever format (is it Catt or Kraus speaking?!), Kraus avoids both lecturing, and giving opportunity for critics to dismiss it as simply an opinion piece. Instead, it lands somewhere in the middle and feels informed and intimate.

I have not said much about the middle section of the book, focused on Catt and Paul’s relationship. I actually found this part the most engrossing but also really difficult (because I have a close friend battling alcohol and the cycle of rehab and relapse is relentless). The deterioration of Catt and Paul’s relationship is painful reading.

The second part is thinly veiled autofiction – there are multiple references to I Love Dick; its online discovery by a new generation of feminists; the selling of the television rights; and Kraus’s/Catt’s acquisition of rundown apartments that she aimed to turn into housing that she could rent to people with felony backgrounds (yes, making her a landlord).

Paul was truly happy for Catt. He was proud of her success and, even more, of her writing. If only he could enjoy it… the prospect of attending more dinners, art openings, and book events made him glacial with terror.

I have not delved into the Kraus-criticism-files but I am curious to understand how Kraus-as-a-feminist and Kraus-as-a-landlord have aged. With this book, I got the sense that Kraus decided to set the narrative before it was done for her. But again, I don’t know the extent of recent attention, particularly on platforms where I Love Dick found a new audience. So we’re left with a very clever contradictory dialogue around female success and it’s likely to prompt mixed feelings in readers toward Catt/Kraus.

3.5/5

One night that spring, the family went out for dinner, a rare treat. It was a Saturday night and the back dining room at Pasquale’s was busy. Emma let herself order a single old-fashioned, her favourite drink.