The Lost Boys: Sam De Brito
Picador $32.95
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By Jason Walker
De Brito captures Sydney's beaten generation of men
Getting inside the mind of a man in his late 30s is not always the favoured task of many novelists. Consider the leagues of novels where the protagonist is riddled with angst and self-doubt or crippling drug addictions in their late teens or early 20s (Bret Easton Ellis, Jay McInerney, JD Salinger) or men in their forties (Ian McEwan, countless others) who are in the throes of self-examination, denial or divorce.
Sam De Brito, who runs one of the more successful blogs on the Fairfax website, is a writer of caustic strength and sarcastic wit. He runs his unsparing prose along the edges of modern Sydney and the city's tikka-tinged fake tan skin bursts open behind it. But there's an almost Palahniuk-like intensity to the writing too, which makes that skin contract at times. "I am punching my sister and it feels good. She is crying - screaming, actually - but that's not going to do her any good...". Immediately, it sets the tone for the pendulum swing of central character Ned Jelli's life.
Ned's house is built on the shifting sands of Maroubra and Bondi, sunbleached suburbs where violence and sex are as casual as the dress code. But Ned is no cipher. He's not a bad guy but he's not making any boastful claims about himself either. A wastrel now, a writer who is at times blocked, a surfie that doesn't get in the water much, his adult life is a cocaine anxiety dream spent at the Beach Road Hotel, a life hanging by its leg rope while the past drags behind him like a surfboard.
The strongest evocations of the book lie in the myths of Ned's teenage years during the mid-1980s, the pursuit of a $20 bag, a spot out the back and trying to get a root. Twenty years later, that's pretty much where Ned still lives.
The key to De Brito's prose is his impassive eye - his clear regard for character without the unnecessary accretions rings true (just how much do any of us know about our mates?), as does his ear for detail and dialogue. Peppered with salty vernacular, The Lost Boys is an unrelenting unfolding of the horrors of life past age 35 when you find yourself still unmarried, commitment-free and acting like you're 25.
But to be in your late 30s - roughly the age of both De Brito and Ned Jelli - is a tough, sometimes barren place to be, particularly when you're doing your level best both to find your way and lose it occasionally.
This is a very fine first novel.