Steve Martin's "An Object of Beauty"

Read: February 3, 2012

One of the many book clubs I belong to recently split along common lines: some wanted to read fun, fluffy books, while others wanted more aspirational titles. I initially tried to straddle both groups and doubled up on my reading. I found it amusingly ironic when the first book club, looking for a less artsy choice, picked Steve Martin's An Object of Beauty. Ironic because the book is, after all, about art. It was, however, much fluffier than the second book club's pick, Anna Karenina. Ultimately, I was unimpressed with the book, though it did have some redeeming moments.

An Object of Beauty is a recollection of the narrator's early twenties and the enigmatic, fireball woman he knew (and obsessed over), Lacey. I think the narrator's name was Daniel (it's always so easy to forget narrator's names). The novel follows their path from studying art in school and attempting to break into the art world, Lacey in art auction houses and Daniel in art journalism. The novel is more atmospheric than plot-driven, focusing on the art world during its boom and bust of the late 90s and early aughts and Daniel's obsession with Lacey.

The first part was the most fascinating (and redeeming) part of the novel. Martin clearly is very knowledgeable about the often inscrutable art world. The inclusion of full color images of the pieces of art which the book mentions truly made this a unique experience for me. I have a passing familiarity with some art history, but these pieces really made the book's discussions of modern art, the motivations of art collectors, and the question of how we define value in art come to life.

Despite that, I found Martin's characters very flat. As with Shopgirl, the novel had the feel of an older man remembering his young self and, through that young perspective, an obsession with a youthful beautiful woman. Lacey seemed to be blind ambition incarnate, wrapped in a total disregard for anybody she stepped on along the way. I think it's difficult to write such a one-dimensional character without that person coming off as flat. There's always the question of the unreliable narrator (are Daniel's recollections skewed because he was screwed over by this woman?), but there's no hint towards what Lacey's other motivations may have been. She's something of a femme fatale who uses sex as a weapon to climb her way to the top and thus seems to embody all that is shallow about the art world.

I don't think I would recommend anybody against reading this book. It has the niche quality that suggests that if you think you'd find this interesting (if you love art, for example, or have liked Martin's previous works), than you might love this book. I just don't fit into that niche very well.

PS I'm currently SIX MONTHS behind on blogging what I've read. Oops. Currently in attempts to catch up.