What We’re Reading: The First Bad Man

The First Bad Man by Miranda July (Scribner, 2015)

You may know of Miranda July by the films she wrote, directed, and starred in: Me and You and Everyone You Know and The Future. Though she has published books of short fiction and non-fiction, The First Bad Man is her debut novel and my first exposure to her work. Despite not having seen either of her films or read her previous books yet, I was familiar with July’s work, so I knew what I was getting myself into when I picked her novel off the shelf and bought it without reading the synopsis.

July’s writing tone matches the personality of her protagonist and narrator Cheryl: quirky, observant, and undeniably weird. Cheryl is a middle-aged woman who works at a self-defense fitness DVD company. She suffers from globus hystericus, an anxiety-induced lump in her throat that makes it difficult to swallow, and she seeks therapy to resolve the issue. Naturally, other issues arise. Cheryl is in love with an older coworker, Phillip, who seeks her blessing to begin a romantic relationship with an underaged girl. On top of that, her married bosses forced her to host their 20-year-old daughter Clee, who becomes physically violent with Cheryl.

Woefully in love with a man who loves a 16-year-old and unable to stand up to her bosses, others would perceive Cheryl as easy to walk all over. In actuality, she is running an intricate system to keep order in her life and combat feeling “down in the dumps,” and July’s relatable tone of voice makes the reader feel like her humble protagonist’s unusual state of mind is charming. I found myself often relating to the sentiment behind Cheryl’s thoughts and actions, even as they seemed to spiral out of control.

It doesn’t have a name—I just call it my system. Let’s say a person is down in the dumps, or maybe just lazy, and they stop doing the dishes. Soon the dishes are piled sky-high and it seems impossible to even clean a fork. So the person starts eating with dirty forks out of dirty dishes and this makes the person feel like a homeless person. So they stop bathing. Which makes it hard to leave the house. The person begins to throw trash anywhere and pee in cups because they’re closer to the bed. We’ve all been this person, so there is no place for judgment, but the solution is simple:

Fewer dishes.

They can’t pile up if you don’t have them. This is the main thing, but also:

Stop moving things around.

How much time do you spend moving objects to and fro? Before you move something far from where it lives, remember you’re eventually going to have to carry it back to its place—is it really worth it? Can’t you read the book standing right next to the shelf with your finger holding the spot you’ll put it back into? Or better yet: don’t read it. And if you are carrying an object, make sure to pick up anything that might need to go in the same direction. This is called carpooling.

It goes on. Cheryl claims we all do most of these things some of the time, and with her system you do all of them all of the time. The system gives her a smoother living experience, “none of the snags and snafus that life is so famous for.”While you may relate to some of these time-saving tactics, they quickly get out of hand. July writes an exaggerated version of life, to emphasize the oddities we have to put up with, or openly embrace.

July highlights the peculiar relationships in The First Bad Man by having her characters act uncharacteristically for their age. A sixteen-year-old girl and a man in his sixties have romantic and sexual feelings for each other, yet they seek forty-three-year-old Cheryl as their moral compass. While waiting for Cheryl’s blessing to consummate with an underaged girl, Phillip sends her confessions—text messages in all caps describing what he’s most eager to do with the girl, or revealing where they’ve crossed their latest line. These perverse messages interrupt both Cheryl and the reader, as there is rarely a time that they’re welcomed or expected.

Meanwhile Cheryl cannot communicate openly with her twenty-year-old houseguest who never bathes, and when Clee begins attacking her, it actually improves their relationship. They only get along when they’re fighting; otherwise they simply ignore each other. With encouragement from her therapist, Cheryl starts fighting back, and her health improves. She watches her company’s self defense videos to learn effective methods, and eventually she and Clee act out scenarios from the videos. Clee calls herself a “misogynist” and shines in the dominant roles, while Cheryl throws fake punches in response.

Whenever they’re done fighting, Cheryl feels immensely better, and July’s writing helps you feel relieved and oddly proud of Cheryl. She’s not anxious; her globus is relaxed. She becomes a little bolder, but also obsessive over Clee and the violence. She doesn’t seem to understand her relationship with Clee any better than I did. As soon as Cheryl seems to have a handle on things, she starts feeling and thinking what Phillip feels about the sixteen-year-old girl. She insists she’s feeling his feelings, and she even narrates as Phillip, imagining his sexual encounters with the girl.

With so few characters feeling so much passion, it’s not long before the reading becomes uncomfortable. July writes bluntly about Cheryl peeing in cups due to laziness and compounds it with images of Clee’s dirty, smelly feet or the therapist’s pile of Chinese takeout containers filled with urine and feces because the office has no bathroom. The vivid descriptions of sex, violence, and bodily functions begin to feel superfluous, but that’s likely what July intended: to show the “snags and snafus” of life with characters her experience nothing but constant absurdity. It’s not all comfortable, or explainable, or understandable; sometimes life is just weird and gross. July’s funny writing and strange characters offer an interesting perspective on what we all consider to be normal.

Which books have you read that made you uneasy or turned societal norms upside down?