I picked up Miranda July’s new novel, “All Fours,” because everyone was talking about it. Well, maybe not everyone, but certainly a lot of middle-aged women and readers with a penchant for strange and boundary-busting literature. Since I fall into both camps, I gave it a shot.
And oh. My.
Let’s start with the premise: An unnamed multimedia artist is married to a music producer who divides people into Drivers and Parkers. Drivers, like him, are content with life, while Parkers, like her, are bored with it. To prove him wrong, she sets off on a cross-country road trip toward a business meeting in New York. But for reasons she doesn’t understand, she pulls over about 30 minutes outside of town, gets a room at a questionable motel, and launches an obsessive relationship with a younger man.
Thus begins a mid-life-crisis story that is part artistic discovery, part bizarre sexcapades — with a whole lot of kinky, cringey and sometimes grotesque episodes that are not for the faint-hearted. July’s narrator explores every facet of human intimacy, and she challenges most common beliefs about monogamy, marriage and menopause.
I almost abandoned this book halfway through — not because I was grossed out (although that was part of it), but because I found the main character overwrought and exhausting. I stuck with it out of morbid curiosity and eventually decided that maybe I’m just not the target audience. July manages to craft some funny and even poignant scenes, and her imagination is unmatched. In the end, though, this is all about the audacity.
And even if shock value is your currency of choice, this novel comes off more cringey than clever.
