“To Rise Again at a Decent Hour” is Joshua Ferris’s third best-seller, with other notable credentials including “The Unnamed” and “Then We Came to the End.” Notably, Ferris has already been awarded the PEN/Hemingway award for his first novel, ‘Then We Came To and End”; released in March 2007, and was recently the recipient of the International Dylan Thomas prize for his latest works, so it comes as no surprise that “To Rise Again at A Decent Hour” is a must-read.
A novel which can only be described as darkly comical and hugely entertaining the American tale follows the story of a New York dentist, baseball fanatic, insomniac and anxious atheist; Paul O’Rourke. Despite the evident prosperity of his Park Avenue Dental Practice, it immediately becomes clear that O’Rourke’s life is lacking something…something even he can’t pinpoint;
“Everything was always something, but something…..could never be everything.”
Then, after falling victim to a case of stolen-identity, O’Rourke's life is permanently transformed as he sets out on the spiritual journey of his life to discover the origins of his internet-impersonator; along the way tackling controversial issues such as religion, culture and genetics, whilst considering how they contribute towards his own identity.
Without giving anything away, Ferris tackles deep and somewhat dark issues with a somewhat satirical touch. So, for a taste of what to expect, here is an excerpt from the opening;
“A dentist is only half the doctor he claims to be. That he's also half mortician is the secret he keeps to himself. The ailing bits he tries to turn healthy again. The dead bits he just tries to make presentable. He bores a hole, clears the rot, fills the pit, and seals the hatch. He yanks the teeth, pours the mold, fits the fakes, and paints to match. Open cavities are the eye stones of skulls, and molars stand erect as tombstones.
We call it a practice, never a business, but successful dentistry is very much a business. I started out with a windowless two-chair clinic in Chelsea. Eventually I moved into a place off Park Avenue. I had half the ground floor of an apartment complex called the Aftergood Arms. The east wing was occupied by the accounting firm of Bishop & Bishop—at that time, under investigation by a grand jury for accounting irregularities.
Park Avenue is the most civilized street in the world. Doormen still dress like it's 1940, in caps and gloves, opening doors for old dowagers and their dogs. The awnings extend to the curb so that no one gets wet on rainy days stepping in and out of cabs, and a carpet, usually green, sometimes red, runs underfoot. With a certain cast of mind, you can almost reconstruct the horse-and-carriage days when the first of the nabob settlers were maneuvering their canes and petticoats through the Park Avenue mud. Manhattan suffers its shocks. The neighborhoods turn over. The city changes in your sleep. But Park Avenue stays Park Avenue, for better or worse—moneyed, residential, quintessentially New York.”
