The Four Spent the Day Together is populated with protagonists chasing after fresh starts, attempting to leave behind drugs or harmful partnerships, only to see hope turn into aggression. Chris Kraus often employs the phrase "fresh start", rendering it deliberately jaded through recurring use. Sentences like "He aimed to start over" and "They chose to begin anew" recur in the narrative. Meanwhile, the author herself seems to be making her own fresh start, since this seems a new kind of book – fact-based, truly literary. But then it turns out to be packed with the recurring issues and aesthetics as her previous works.
From Unplanned Author to Iconic Work
The writer began as an artist who became a writer somewhat by chance with her 1997 cult classic I Love Dick, which was composed of letters to an unreceptive lover, transforming confessional female writing from self-debasement into rebellion. She continued writing, but the next trio of fascinating and rebarbative novels did not possess the shock and immediacy that the epistolary style brought to the narrative voice of I Love Dick. It didn't help was her identity as a maverick maker who had evolved into a extensive real estate holder, so there was considerable focus on property transactions. It makes sense that she now wants to try out different types of content, directing her gaze to other people's stories, at a time when she claims that contemporary political climate makes confessional writing unnecessary.
Three Generations, One Unescapable Past
The Four Spent the Day Together is divided into three sections, spanning three generations – each trapped by their backgrounds. There is the narrative about Emma and Jasper, representations of the author's parents, moving from the New York borough to a pastoral setting. Then there is the narrative of the author, in the guise of Catt Greene, confronting the delayed acclaim of I Love Dick, the emergence of Trump, and her addict husband a man named Paul. The third thread involves the story of the murder of one directionless individual by another in a town largely deserted by progressive politics only a short distance from Catt's rural residence in the Minnesota countryside.
For this reader drawn to refined literature of the sort Kraus often avoids, I was captivated by the literary tone of the first section.
As a reader drawn to precise prose of the kind that Kraus herself usually avoids, I was won over by the novelistic voice of the first section. There is a fresh level of observation that accommodates minutiae, like the pail that the protagonist as a child dislodges from ice at the opening of the book, aided by her cherished parent. "Look, an ice toy!" she declares; "a nice toy", he answers, "the nuanced interpretations of terms rolling around in their mouths like piece candy". She tells the tale of Emma with interest and closeness. "Emma experienced a dreamlike sensation – not hers, exactly."
Letdown and Fragmentation
I was bound to become frustrated when I hoped this fresh tone could continue through the novel. Kraus notes here that she dislikes the pleasure readers like me have taken from I Love Dick; she's dedicated to disjunction, to the unpolished style she echoes from her hero author Kathy Acker, and the blankness and repetitiveness of her previous novels comes back in the second segment. Catt is working on refurbishing 36 run-down apartments in the city's most challenging districts while shuttling between Minnesota and LA, failing to help her husband curb his addiction. She feels helpless as Paul cycles through low-resource employment as an substance abuse counselor in a world fueled by the rage and anxiety that powers a political win. A significant portion discusses about Catt's social media ostracism on a platform, her listed profession modified from "writer" to "landlord" on Wikipedia. She still gives the impression to care a little too much about this. In a moment she states that she's investigating the murder so that before leaving Minnesota, "she may grasp something about an the nation that her Twitter detractors would be unable to grasp, would overlook entirely".
The Homicide Account
Thus we arrive to the murder itself – and the titular day experienced by the murdered individual with the killer and his companions. Kraus has excellent raw material, and knows hour by hour what occurred as a man named Brandon came to meet Brittney after encountering her on a platform where she marketed explicit images. He was hoping for sex but seems affably to have spent the day alongside her friends, mooching around getting his car mended and covering the cost of food and substances, before being murdered by Brittney's partner a man named Micah – a young, mentally ill man who has repeatedly received inpatient care for aggressive outbursts.
Fascination and Incompletion
Catt gets obsessed by the story, and I found myself captivated by the way that Kraus's dual urges towards accurate chronicling and daring boundary-pushing tussle in this section. Yet I wished her to explore more thoroughly her individual preoccupations here. The most interesting character is Brittney herself, who comes alive partly through the protagonist's connection to her – another bright, bullied girl going off the rails in a troubled, forgotten town. The author informs us that the protagonist communicates with Brittney in prison, but she doesn't dramatise these conversations. The complete segment feels curiously unresolved, to the point that Kraus's narration ends almost mid-par
