Email this review


 Every stale bohemian pose issues from the fictional journals of two 20ish New Yorkers, a straight woman recently arrived from Ohio and a gay man already steeped in the city's debauched amusements. Their respective ``Fruit Cocktail Diaries'' (so named because of the fruit printed on their covers) are salvaged from a Lower Manhattan junk bazaar and read by an anonymous third person. It's all here: the crummy jobs--both forlorn romantics wait tables; the mondo-hip downtown venues populated with trashy lounge denizens and the odd rock star (``I turned around, and there was Bono, leaning against the elegant doorframe''); a parade of former boyfriends for him and a cryptic club god for her (``You know, the guy who stares into space and dances around it''); and the obligatory catalogue of late-century, pop-culture detritus. Nothing happens to either of these dunderheads and with good reason--they're bores. Glum party boy pines for the lost '70s glitz of Studio 54 and snorts coke while his sunnier female counterpart bungles after the aforementioned dance-floor deity, who might just turn out to be her co-diarist. That the plot's main tension resides in a sitcom case of mistaken sexuality is the least of this first novel's problems; it's easily trumped by the protagonists' boozy collision at a costume party. Things perk up after that--he gets hit on by a new boss, she recovers some self-esteem, they finally meet over a haircut. But who cares? Not even the promise of the hero's faux Kerouac road trip and the heroine's continuing search for Mr. Goodbar on the subway can save this. (9 b&w photos)

Pub Date: Jan. 1st, 1995
ISBN: 0-312-11796-5
Page count: 192pp
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online:
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 1st, 1994