Character study of brewing violence

American Rust By Philipp Meyer. Photo / Supplied

"There's a great streak of violence in every human being. If it's not channelled or understood, it will break out in war or madness," wrote film-maker and screenwriter, Sam Peckinpah. These words are so attuned to the rationale of Philipp Meyer's first novel, American Rust, the author might have used them as an introductory quote.

The novel examines the impact of random brutality upon the lives of 20-something Pennsylvanian best friends, Isaac English and Billy Poe. What elevates American Rust beyond the crime novel genre is Meyer's skill at telling a fascinating story while - a la Peckinpah's quote - analysing the genesis and effects of violence.

Undoubtedly the book's success relies on Meyer's exquisite ability to articulate the viewpoints of an eclectic array of characters while giving each a raw, credible voice. Be it stymied, intellectual Isaac; brawny, wild, former college football star Billy; his guilt-ridden, trailer-living mother Grace; or unassuming, dependable police chief Harris, Meyer summons up authentic narratives for each person that allows them to tell their own stories and baton-pass the plot forward.

Although Isaac and Billy are the protagonists, it's supporting characters like Grace and Harris who ultimately steal the show. Burdened as much by her mid-life crisis and rocky love life as with her son's wrongdoing, Grace is reminiscent of the gutsy matriarchs played by unsung second-tier stars of 50s American film like Thelma Ritter (All About Eve; Birdman of Alcatraz).

Drawing parallels between a first novel and the silver screen might seem specious, but the analogy is relevant because so often in American Rust it's the dramatist in Meyer that impresses the reader. The chapters, which rotate around a character's internal logic, are, essentially, soliloquies in substance and style, their transcription of first-person points of view underpinned by a beautifully wrought poetic cadence camouflaged beneath Meyer's pitch perfect notation of Pennsylvanian drawl.

While the action which motivates the plotline is a mix of drama, comedy and tragedy, it draws out answers to such questions as: what makes a son steal from his ailing father? What social pressures turn a promising young sports player into a drifter? Why does a woman reject the love of a steadfast man for passion with a faithless malcontent? Here, like the best playwrights, Meyer offers solutions to problems, posed by his work, which are dependent upon the subtle contradictions of human nature.

American Rust's cinematic qualities are also enhanced by Meyer's camera-like eye for describing landscapes like Isaac and Billy's dilapidated hometown Beull, and decaying Pittsburgh. For example, we locate Grace's trailer-park by travelling down a road "angled away from the river to cut through a steep sunless valley... a narrow fast road with the trees tight along both sides." Such aesthetic descriptions, evoking "the shellbark hickory, ash and larch" and "the historic stone buildings" are impeccably counter-balanced by the imprint of economic decay.

So Beull's "neat rows of white houses wrapping the hillside, church steeples and cobblestone streets" are offset by the "ancient ruin" steel-mill at its heart. Everywhere the titular rust infects environment and characters. When Isaac surveys his surrounds and describes his neighbours "acting like the last living souls", he conveys the decay he sees in the terrain and himself. It's the clever connections Meyer makes between scenic and social dereliction which craft absorbing layers of meaning into the book.

American Rust offers a riveting portrayal of contemporary America, its ruined landscapes and displaced communities, and ultimately of the strength of the human spirit.

American Rust
By Philipp Meyer (Allen & Unwin $37.99)

* Siobhan Harvey is an Auckland writer. Philipp Meyer will appear at Unity Books in Auckland on Thursday May 28 at 6pm.