The Four Spent the Day Together features individuals chasing after new beginnings, attempting to leave behind addictions or harmful partnerships, only to see hope turn into aggression. The author often employs the phrase "clean slate", making it willfully cynical through constant reiteration. Sentences like "He was ready for a new beginning" and "They decided to make a fresh start" are scattered across the text. And yet, she seems to be making her own fresh start, since this appears a novel form of writing – observational, genuinely novelistic. But then it proves to be laden with the same dilemmas and aesthetics as her previous works.
Chris Kraus began as an creative who transitioned to writing almost accidentally with her 1997 cult classic I Love Dick, which was composed of letters to an unreceptive lover, transforming confessional female writing from self-debasement into rebellion. She kept producing books, but the following three compelling and abrasive novels lacked the shock and immediacy that the letter form imparted to the tone of I Love Dick. It didn't help was her position as a renegade artist who had turned into a major property owner, so there was significant attention on housing investments. It is logical that she presently aims to try out new kinds of material, turning outward to external narratives, at a period in which she asserts that Trumpian politics turns intimate literature unnecessary.
The Four Spent the Day Together is organized into a trio of segments, encompassing multiple eras – each trapped by their histories. We encounter the narrative about Emma and Jasper, representations of her own mother and father, transitioning from the urban environment to rural Connecticut. There is the story of Kraus herself, in the character of protagonist Catt Greene, confronting the delayed acclaim of I Love Dick, the emergence of Trump, and her addict husband her husband Paul. And there is the narrative of a homicide of one lost young man by another in a town mostly forsaken by progressive politics only 80 miles from Catt's cottage in rural Minnesota.
From my perspective as a reader drawn to polished prose of the kind Kraus herself typically rejects, I was captivated by the novelistic voice of the initial segment.
Being a reader who favors precise prose of the variety that Kraus herself often disregards, I was won over by the literary tone of the initial part. There is a new quality of attentiveness that makes room for minutiae, like the bucket that the youthful Catt frees from the ice at the opening of the book, assisted by her adored dad. "I discovered a frozen plaything!" she declares; "a great plaything", he answers, "the ambiguous meanings of language rolling around in their mouths like hard candy". Kraus writes the tale of Emma with inquiry and familiarity. "Emma felt like she'd stepped into a dream – not hers, exactly."
I was fated to feel let down when I hoped this new voice could continue through the novel. Kraus notes here that she dislikes the pleasure audiences such as myself have gotten from I Love Dick; she's dedicated to fragmentation, to the untidy aesthetics she has in common with her idol Kathy Acker, and the void and recurrence of her earlier works returns in the second segment. Catt is trying to renovate multiple decrepit residences in the most troubled areas of Albuquerque while moving between the Midwest and the West Coast, unsuccessful in assisting Paul curb his addiction. She experiences powerlessness as her spouse moves between poorly supported positions as an recovery specialist in a society fueled by the hostility and dread that powers a political win. Multiple pages are devoted about Catt being cancelled on a platform, her occupation changed from "novelist" to "landlord" on Wikipedia. She still gives the impression to care a little too much about this. In a moment she says that she's investigating the murder so that before leaving Minnesota, "she could potentially understand something about an America that her Twitter detractors would not understand, would not even see".
So then we come to the actual killing – and the referenced day spent by the murdered individual with the killer and his friends. Kraus has excellent raw material, and details moment by moment what occurred as Brandon came to meet Brittney after meeting her on an app where she offered adult photos. He anticipated intimacy but seems amiably to have occupied the day alongside her friends, wandering about having his vehicle repaired and funding treats and narcotics, before being shot by her romantic interest Micah – a individual with mental health challenges who has repeatedly received inpatient care for aggressive outbursts.
Catt develops an obsession by the story, and I was intrigued by the way that the author's conflicting impulses towards accurate chronicling and daring boundary-pushing wrestle in this part. However, I would have preferred her to explore more thoroughly her personal fixations here. The standout figure is Brittney herself, who comes alive partly through Catt seeing herself in her – another bright, bullied girl going off the rails in a struggling, neglected community. Kraus tells us that the protagonist communicates with Brittney in jail, but she fails to enact these dialogues. The whole section feels oddly unfinished, to the degree that her narrative ends almost mid-par
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