Into the Nearest East River: Let Me Try Again by Matthew Davis – Manuel Marrero
August 12, 2024
Confession: I was an early reader to this. I was tricked by an industry type into thinking I was going to publish it. I lauded it to Matthew before Arcade offered him the bag. He correctly surmised I couldn’t get away with publishing a negative review without compromising my integrity, and kindly offered me a shiny advance hardcover copy. Davis is a numbers guy, and his laugh quotient in Let Me Try Again obliges me to wash his balls, as I despise laughter, involuntary and low status, and yet, I must have a sense of humor because this book had me cackling on the subway. From the first page through the non-boring middle to the slightly anticlimactic ending. And if that’s not enough, the clever bastard tricked me into rereading it with the promise of new additions. I was tickled by an easter egg, found the anticipation of the jokes enjoyable and considered cracking my galley to see how parts had been tweaked but I couldn’t find it in my apartment. In short, Davis cornered me. I realized I was a fan geeking out. A reread afforded me more time to consider what the book was trying to say. Let me be objective: Matthew Davis has studied the blade. If comedy makes you laugh, you will find this book incessantly hilarious. The protagonist is sympathetic, he’s natively Jewish but selflessly stewards his younger sister’s spiritual journey to Christianity, baptizing her himself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I don’t want to spoil the jokes because surprises are one of the most redeeming qualities of art. It may surprise you that the book is an earnestly moral self-reckoning with masculinity, with influences, with faith, erudite beyond Davis’s years, examining things like the role of ethics in dismantling utilitarianism and finance without forgetting to be funny. It’s punchy and doesn’t really miss. The fact that it begins with a backfire of a breakup and the death of his parents and subsequent nonlinear takeoff to ridiculous wealth and frivolity, that it synthesizes screwball, hyperbolic absurdism and buddy comedy, are strong indicators Davis takes this seriously, as much as he might not let on because he’s too art-damaged, a word I thought I’d never type again. And who wouldn’t want to try again? And again and again, demoralized to ludicrous ingenuity, answering the criteria of doing the impossible with aplomb, of resurrecting love that has expired. It’s universal, goes hard in the paint to caricature and self-satirize and set up intricate, rewarding comedic payoffs. It’s the only d*mes squ*re novel that matters. In fact, I think it’s a fitting coda.