Every Little Thing is the second novel from St. John’s-based songwriter, photographer, and author Chad Pelley. The novel is structurally similar to a classic noir, beginning after the major events have already happened and then piecing the story together through flashbacks. We join protagonist Cohen Davies in a prison cell and the main love interest even functions a little like a femme fatale (though a much more everyday fatale).
Similar to a story like James M. Cain’s Double Indemnity, the reflections in the novel have the feel of a confession or hopeful justification for the state of affairs in the present tense. Indeed the cover blurbs and promotional descriptions paint the novel as something resembling a crime drama. Though these crime elements are central to the novel’s structure and effectiveness, Pelley’s treatment of the noir elements removes the sense of tired familiarity that can sometimes accompany them. Consequently the crime drama label falls short of describing what the novel has to offer.
Part of how Pelley makes these noir conventions his own is by dedicating much of his prose to the small details of the space of each scene. There is a moment near the beginning of the book where Pelley describes the porous concrete of Cohen Davies’ prison cell:
He’d sit on the edge of his bed, staring at his feet, dizzy from another sleepless night. Or he’d lie back down and stare up at the ceiling’s cold, porous cement. There was one solidified drip in a corner, like a stone icicle.
This emphasis on texture is a perfect example of how Pelley’s novel has the potential to show something interesting or peculiar in any setting or situation. The image of the cement actually made me pause, take my eye off the page, and turn back to the cover to inspect its similar (I imagine) porous texture. Somehow seeing this visual echo sitting underneath the giant white block letters of the title conflated the two. The title font screams at the reader that every little detail matters, while an interesting but easily overlooked texture sits just beneath it. This loose but significant connection to the prison cell helped to expand the notion of what sorts of ‘little things’ matter in the novel, focusing on both the explicit as well as the ambiguous. The focus on detail and observation is openly privileged later in the novel as the narrator tells us of Cohen, “he’d always equated intelligence, or intellect, with curiosity.”
The particularity of the novel is also helped by the fact that Cohen does not quite reflect the classic noir man who is regretful and at his wits end from the outset. The hopeless fall into the clutches of the femme fatale does not go along with the script either. Rather, Cohen’s situation is puzzling because of how normal he is. The prison setting is very difficult for Cohen, but the six-month sentence that he is serving does not feel like an eternal punishment, and a regular life never seems too far away. Even during intense situations, the awareness of everyday life that Pelley maintains every step of the way makes it feel as though nothing can ever push it out of the picture.
Though there is a lot to like about the way that Pelley takes these noir conventions and makes them his own, there is still an uncomfortable constriction present in both the beginning and end of the novel. This might seem appropriate in relation to the prison narrative that is going on, but there is a simplicity that is inconsistent with the rest of the story. The book ends with a hint of noir tough-talk, “He used to call her Allie Cat, for short. And for the way she’d come crawling into his life on the rooftop.”
For me this felt like a retreat into convention and was inconsistent with the Cohen that inhabits the rest of the book. This ending did not leave enough room to bring along the most interesting moments of detail and ambiguity that add up throughout the preceding chapters. It suggests that Cohen only partially understands how the little details matter. His considerations only go as far as the chain of cause and effect that generated his problems and speaks to a narrowing of his awareness. The Cohen at the end of the novel seems separate from what is actually at stake: “There was just a hint of something happening outside, just a hint of the world out there, carrying on without him.”
One gets the sense that the beauty of the little odd things that go on around Cohen in the course of the novel are some kind of epiphany waiting to happen, but he never finds a way to make it stick. This tension between beautifully strange details and Cohen’s partial indifference makes the book compelling in the same way that synchronicities tease our sense of purpose in day-to-day situations. Rather than pushing into the mystery of these ambiguities the resolution is tragically narrow and we are left with an unsatisfying pessimism about Cohen’s potential to engage with the world, and I am not convinced that this was intended by the author.
The prison scenes begin to feel like they are connected to Cohen’s lack of direction and inability to digest the ‘little things’ in life. Several times Pelley draws attention to the intensely thick window in his hero’s cell, so thick that it reduces the effect of sunlight and distorts or dilutes the transparency of the glass. The descriptions of the window and the cell could suggest that this novel is brushing up against the anxieties of middle class people who, having too many available decisions, feel trapped and are unable to believe that there is one ‘right’ path to take.
The novel is reaching for something, trying to pull in detail from everywhere and to synthesize it through the life of Cohen. Many reviewers have suggested that the use of metaphor is in need of some paring but because I was convinced that Pelley was attempting to deal with the big question of why details matter, I was willing to wait and see where he was going.
One minor incident involving the rescue of an injured bird captures the atmosphere that Pelley so deftly creates and exemplifies how this novel treats details that are ambiguously linked to the characters:
The wings falling open and unfolding like decorative fans. Its neck slung backwards and spilled over his knees, slowly rocking back and forth like a pendulum. Its chest bulged out, rising and falling. He scooped its head up as Lee appeared in the doorway.
Here Cohen is in momentary communion with something that feels strange and significant in ways that are just beyond reach. What is essentially interesting here is the way that Pelley spends time with an image that does not easily slot into a thematic metaphor. Though much of the novel gives explicit attention to the coincidental series of events that dictate Cohen’s imprisonment, this attention becomes a mechanism that opens up the rest of the details in the novel. Sometimes Pelley fails to make the ‘space’ in his scenes entirely interesting, but the level of ambition in his effort is laudable and very satisfying when it works. We can only hope that Pelley will continue to push in this direction with future projects.
Breakwater | 320 pages | $21.95 | paper | ISBN # 978-1550814057
‘Every Little Thing’ by Chad Pelley
Book Reviews
Every Little Thing is the second novel from St. John’s-based songwriter, photographer, and author Chad Pelley. The novel is structurally similar to a classic noir, beginning after the major events have already happened and then piecing the story together through flashbacks. We join protagonist Cohen Davies in a prison cell and the main love interest even functions a little like a femme fatale (though a much more everyday fatale).
Similar to a story like James M. Cain’s Double Indemnity, the reflections in the novel have the feel of a confession or hopeful justification for the state of affairs in the present tense. Indeed the cover blurbs and promotional descriptions paint the novel as something resembling a crime drama. Though these crime elements are central to the novel’s structure and effectiveness, Pelley’s treatment of the noir elements removes the sense of tired familiarity that can sometimes accompany them. Consequently the crime drama label falls short of describing what the novel has to offer.
Part of how Pelley makes these noir conventions his own is by dedicating much of his prose to the small details of the space of each scene. There is a moment near the beginning of the book where Pelley describes the porous concrete of Cohen Davies’ prison cell:
He’d sit on the edge of his bed, staring at his feet, dizzy from another sleepless night. Or he’d lie back down and stare up at the ceiling’s cold, porous cement. There was one solidified drip in a corner, like a stone icicle.
This emphasis on texture is a perfect example of how Pelley’s novel has the potential to show something interesting or peculiar in any setting or situation. The image of the cement actually made me pause, take my eye off the page, and turn back to the cover to inspect its similar (I imagine) porous texture. Somehow seeing this visual echo sitting underneath the giant white block letters of the title conflated the two. The title font screams at the reader that every little detail matters, while an interesting but easily overlooked texture sits just beneath it. This loose but significant connection to the prison cell helped to expand the notion of what sorts of ‘little things’ matter in the novel, focusing on both the explicit as well as the ambiguous. The focus on detail and observation is openly privileged later in the novel as the narrator tells us of Cohen, “he’d always equated intelligence, or intellect, with curiosity.”
The particularity of the novel is also helped by the fact that Cohen does not quite reflect the classic noir man who is regretful and at his wits end from the outset. The hopeless fall into the clutches of the femme fatale does not go along with the script either. Rather, Cohen’s situation is puzzling because of how normal he is. The prison setting is very difficult for Cohen, but the six-month sentence that he is serving does not feel like an eternal punishment, and a regular life never seems too far away. Even during intense situations, the awareness of everyday life that Pelley maintains every step of the way makes it feel as though nothing can ever push it out of the picture.
Though there is a lot to like about the way that Pelley takes these noir conventions and makes them his own, there is still an uncomfortable constriction present in both the beginning and end of the novel. This might seem appropriate in relation to the prison narrative that is going on, but there is a simplicity that is inconsistent with the rest of the story. The book ends with a hint of noir tough-talk, “He used to call her Allie Cat, for short. And for the way she’d come crawling into his life on the rooftop.”
For me this felt like a retreat into convention and was inconsistent with the Cohen that inhabits the rest of the book. This ending did not leave enough room to bring along the most interesting moments of detail and ambiguity that add up throughout the preceding chapters. It suggests that Cohen only partially understands how the little details matter. His considerations only go as far as the chain of cause and effect that generated his problems and speaks to a narrowing of his awareness. The Cohen at the end of the novel seems separate from what is actually at stake: “There was just a hint of something happening outside, just a hint of the world out there, carrying on without him.”
One gets the sense that the beauty of the little odd things that go on around Cohen in the course of the novel are some kind of epiphany waiting to happen, but he never finds a way to make it stick. This tension between beautifully strange details and Cohen’s partial indifference makes the book compelling in the same way that synchronicities tease our sense of purpose in day-to-day situations. Rather than pushing into the mystery of these ambiguities the resolution is tragically narrow and we are left with an unsatisfying pessimism about Cohen’s potential to engage with the world, and I am not convinced that this was intended by the author.
The prison scenes begin to feel like they are connected to Cohen’s lack of direction and inability to digest the ‘little things’ in life. Several times Pelley draws attention to the intensely thick window in his hero’s cell, so thick that it reduces the effect of sunlight and distorts or dilutes the transparency of the glass. The descriptions of the window and the cell could suggest that this novel is brushing up against the anxieties of middle class people who, having too many available decisions, feel trapped and are unable to believe that there is one ‘right’ path to take.
The novel is reaching for something, trying to pull in detail from everywhere and to synthesize it through the life of Cohen. Many reviewers have suggested that the use of metaphor is in need of some paring but because I was convinced that Pelley was attempting to deal with the big question of why details matter, I was willing to wait and see where he was going.
One minor incident involving the rescue of an injured bird captures the atmosphere that Pelley so deftly creates and exemplifies how this novel treats details that are ambiguously linked to the characters:
The wings falling open and unfolding like decorative fans. Its neck slung backwards and spilled over his knees, slowly rocking back and forth like a pendulum. Its chest bulged out, rising and falling. He scooped its head up as Lee appeared in the doorway.
Here Cohen is in momentary communion with something that feels strange and significant in ways that are just beyond reach. What is essentially interesting here is the way that Pelley spends time with an image that does not easily slot into a thematic metaphor. Though much of the novel gives explicit attention to the coincidental series of events that dictate Cohen’s imprisonment, this attention becomes a mechanism that opens up the rest of the details in the novel. Sometimes Pelley fails to make the ‘space’ in his scenes entirely interesting, but the level of ambition in his effort is laudable and very satisfying when it works. We can only hope that Pelley will continue to push in this direction with future projects.
Breakwater | 320 pages | $21.95 | paper | ISBN # 978-1550814057