I come from the emo-generation. The generation of skinny pants, My Chemical Romance, and equating choosing a major with an “existential crisis.” Despite the recent proliferation of angst in American culture, it’s Germany that has made the entire histrionic self-reflective process possible.
The German language welcomes almost as many types of angst as High School Musical 2. From “sturm und drang” which describes the intensely emotional literature in the late 18th-century to “weltschmerz” which literally translates to “world pain,” German has been able to anticipate the origins of a great many existential crisis. From Kierkegaard, to Goethe, to Marx, only the Octomom rivals German angst in the number of wacky offspring produced. In 2009, Evan Wright became the latest American author to import German angst to compose a remarkable work, Hella Nation (Putnam), a collection of formerly published essays from Rolling Stone.
Wright credits “weltschmerz” in his high school and college years with focusing his attention on the alienated. As a student of history, Wright learned about the horrors of civilization, the futility of utopian projects, and the permanence of violence in human relations. Flirting with nihilism and drowning in alcohol and narcotics, Wright began his career at Hustler, the armpit of American journalism. Since then he has earned his place among the most talented chroniclers of contemporary American life. Editors at Rolling Stone dubbed him, “the unofficial Ambassador to the Underbelly,” and his mature reporting has earned him two National Magazine Awards (2).
In Hella Nation, Wright fashions a remarkable picture of Unknown America. Instead of Joe the Plumber we have Rebecca the Neo-Nazi, Nikki the Rock Star, and Wingnut the Anarchist.
His essays beg comparison to Tom Wolfe’s work, including Wolfe’s collection of essays, The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Baby. Wright’s talent lies in his exploration of the seemingly insignificant details of an event, then expanding them to reveal larger truths about culture. Following the basic writer’s creed to show, not tell, Wright takes another step to show people, places, and circumstances that otherwise would remain on the fringes.
Half cultural psychologist, half-detective, Wright handles his subjects contextually but incorporates the details that make them come alive. In “The Bad American,” Wright’s prose recalls Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, as he traces the historical, social, and psychological forces that contributed to the horrific murder of Konstantin Simberg, an immigrant from the former Eastern bloc.
“Piss Drunk,” an essay about part-time pro-skateboarder and constant alcoholic Jim Greco, evokes Greco’s character through well-placed restraint. In a passage about Andrew Reynolds, his roommate and supporter, leading an inebriated Greco into the apartment, Wright observes, “Greco’s eyes are rolled back. He has strings of goo hanging from his chin. The two look like they’re performing a set piece from a comedy in which someone has to walk around with a corpse and pretend it’s alive” (45).
Always illuminating, evocative, and well-researched, Hella Nation firmly places Wright into the ranks of established journalists. Pick up a copy at your local bookstore. Best when served with a plate of eggs, two aspirin, and a slight hangover.
