The Imperfectionists
There are lots of newspapers famously hanging on by their fingernails 鈥� pummeled by the Internet, the economy, and all those bloggers willing to write for free 鈥� but the journalists at the English-language daily in The Imperfectionists are fortunate for two reasons: (1) They鈥檙e fictional. (2) They鈥檙e in Rome.
Brad Pitt reportedly has snapped up the movie rights to Tom Rachman鈥檚 wistfully incisive debut novel, which chronicles life at a true gray lady 鈥� not only has the newspaper not got its own website, it still publishes in black and white. Since it鈥檚 down to its last 10,000 subscribers, the paper is either a paralyzed relic of a bygone era or an uncompromising bastion of a vanished way of news-gathering. (Rachman is pretty clear upfront that the correct answer is not the second option.) 鈥淭he Imperfectionists鈥� strikes a tone that鈥檚 humorously painful, rather than painfully funny.
With its bittersweet satire set in the waning days of a once-flourishing enterprise, the novel calls to mind another recent workplace debut, Joshua Ferris鈥檚 鈥淭hen We Came to the End.鈥� Less scathing than Evelyn Waugh鈥檚 classic 鈥淪coop,鈥� 鈥淭he Imperfectionists鈥� is a must-read for any rueful journalistic types hanging out in the hinterlands and wondering why they didn鈥檛 choose to study accounting or computer technology. (Oh, that鈥檚 right: There was all that math.)
Rachman opts for a format 鈥� one chapter per character 鈥� that feels very much like the interlinking short-story format that鈥檚 proved so satisfying in recent years in works such as Pulitzer Prize-winner 鈥淥live Kitteridge.鈥� This isn鈥檛, a reader gradually comes to realize, just to be trendy.
Headed by chapters blazoned with headlines such as 鈥淓uropeans Are Lazy, Study Says鈥� and 鈥淲orld鈥檚 Oldest Liar Dies at 126,鈥� 鈥淭he Imperfectionists鈥� checks in with the beleaguered staff, from its washed-up Paris freelancer to its hapless publisher, who would rather be walking his basset hound, Schopenhauer. The new Cairo stringer is completely cowed by a visiting war correspondent, who blithely appropriates everything from his hummus to his laptop, while the professionally savvy economic reporter chooses to play dumb about men. The most moving chapter belongs to obituary writer Arthur Gopal, while I鈥檓 prepared to build a shrine out of red pens and dog-eared 鈥淪trunk & Whites鈥� to the paper鈥檚 stalwart standards bearer, Herman 鈥淐redibility鈥� Cohen.
Over 30 years of battling typos such as 鈥淯ntied States鈥� and spell-check glitches like 鈥�Sadism Hussein,鈥� Herman has compiled an 18,238-entry style guide, which, sadly, didn鈥檛 rate publication as a companion volume. Here鈥檚 a taste: 鈥渓iterally: This word should be deleted. All too often, actions described as 鈥榣iterally鈥� did not happen at all. As in, 鈥楬e literally jumped out of his skin.鈥� No, he did not. Although, if he literally had, I鈥檇 suggest raising the element and proposing the piece for page one. Inserting 鈥榣iterally鈥� willy-nilly reinforces the notion that breathless nitwits lurk within this newsroom. Eliminate on sight 鈥� the usage, not the nitwits. The nitwits are to be captured and placed in the cages I have set up in the subbasement. See also: Excessive Dashes; Exclamation Points; and Nitwits.鈥�
In between chapters, Rachman includes interludes from the past, offering a look at the birth of the newspaper 50 years prior. Originally headed by a husband who thought he was in charge and a wife who actually did the editing, the paper existed in its own airspace. 鈥淲hen staffers headed down for sandwiches, they鈥檇 say, 鈥業鈥檓 headed to Italy 鈥� anyone need anything?鈥� 鈥�
As the italicized past starts to catch up to the present, a reader realizes that something truly might be lost if the newsroom goes dark.
Rachman was a foreign correspondent in Rome and clearly has studied his subjects in their native, rapidly shrinking, habitat. 鈥淛ournalists were as touchy as cabaret performers and as stubborn as factory machinists,鈥� thinks a former editor. 鈥淗e couldn鈥檛 help smiling.鈥�
That clear-eyed affection helps get a reader past a few bumpy spots. (The female editor in chief is repellent without being interesting.) But what is truly memorable about 鈥淭he Imperfectionists鈥� is the way that Rachman uses the structure of his novel to give meaning to his insecure, scrabbling characters: They might be burned-out and bad-tempered, but in that newsroom, they are greater than the sum of their parts.
Yvonne Zipp regularly reviews fiction for the Monitor.
