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15 of 17 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Theater for One, or, Life in the Reef, November 7, 2001
Tracy Quan has written a delightful novel about a fictional Manhattan call girl named Nancy Chan, a successful thirty something prostitute who is trying to work out how to continue to pursue her career in the context of an impending marriage to her fiance, Matt, a rising Wall Street type. It's clear that Nancy Chan shares many of the characteristics of her creator, and part of the fun of reading the novel is trying to determine what and where the distinctions are between the fictional Chan and the very real Quan. This is a work of fiction, of course. But it rings with truth as the tiny details of Nancy's life are sprinkled in - she avoids wearing perfume on the job so that her clients won't have to explain a hint of it when they leave; she has a coding system in which her professional name changes from one set of clients to another - if Bob, a voice on the cell phone, has greeted her as "Amber", he must be the Bob from San Francisco. (A variant of, `If this is Belgium it must be Tuesday'.) And she is ultra careful about seeking and accepting new clients; proper introduction only, thank you. This is a dangerous occupation.
Nancy Chan has always done what she wanted to do, and even as a child knew that she wanted to be a prostitute. She has always kept her occupation a secret from her family by claiming to be a copy editor, and intends to do the same thing with her new husband-to-be and his family. And therein lies the motivation and the conflict that make this story work. She worries about Matt staying over in her apartment, "finding things while I'm fast asleep. Like those over-the-top black crotchless panties I wear for Milton. With the red frilly opening. Yikes."
Her new inlaws will include the unbelievably nosey sister-in-law Elspeth, an Assistant District Attorney and her Wall Street lawyer husband Jason. Nancy describes them: "Jason's the money in that marriage - an M&A lawyer. Elspeth, the assistant D.A., sees herself as the integrity." Nancy has asked her two closest hooker friends, one the sharp Jasmine and the other the airheaded Allison, to be her bridesmaids at the impending wedding. Chan, the consummate worrywart, is trying to work out how all of these people can be flung together at her wedding and yet maintain her secret life. This in the middle of a full schedule of Runyonesque clients - "johns", her friends from the New York Council of Trollops, therapist sessions with Wendy, her shrink, gym workouts, nail appointments, telephone calls on various cell phones, concert dates and cab rides that comprise her life in New York. It can be read as pure fluff, empty entertainment. Or, as with all competent works of art, it can be viewed on several levels, showing us insights that make us say, "Yeah, that's the way I am and the way the world is - I hadn't thought about it that way before," and shows us shades of meaning obvious only on reflection. I read "Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl" from cover to cover. Then I tried to set out in just a few words my major perceptions of the book. The two phrases that kept floating to the top of my impressions were, "Theater for One" and, "Life in the Reef". Let me explore them in that order. Theater for One.
The successful call girl at the level of Nancy Chan creates a fantasy encounter for her client for which he is willing to compensate her handsomely. It is repeated and enhanced each time they meet. Both she and her customers know that this is a commercial transaction, but during the encounter, are willing to suspend that belief. She is for one the demure yet hungry coed, for another the naughty little tart, for another the smooth sophisticate, for another the slutty bed partner. She dresses to please his individual tastes and kinks. She is supremely non judgmental, at least in his presence. This is, after all, a performance. And in that sense, it is theater produced for an audience of one. The performer is acutely aware of costume, makeup, stagecraft, lighting, sound, and above all, the interpersonal nuances specific to her client. Like the best actors on stage, she is able to deal with unexpected changes in the script in real time without stepping out of character, and, like her sisters on stage, delights in the response of her audience. What can this performance be but theater? And what better place for theater than New York City?
Life in the Reef
There is a sense in which Quan is describing a coral reef from the point of view of one of those brilliantly colored little fishes that live their lives amid the sun sparkles and light dapples. The little fish interact with the other reef dwellers, each perfectly adapted to its own role and to its own part of the reef. To the casual observer, the bright little fish look as if they care about nothing but frivolity and preening. But they are no less adapted. They live by their wits and by staying just out of the reach of predators. There are parts of the reef to which they will not go, creatures they will not trust. In the reef, nothing is quite what it seems to be; the coral itself is alive. The tasty morsel just within reach is really a trick - gulp it down and you're someone's breakfast. When a shadow appears, hide. It may be a shark. Don't go too close to that dark crevice in the coral. An eel will dart out after you. In this context, the notion of trust is everything. Can I trust this client not to expose me and hurt me? Can I trust my friends to keep their wits about them? Can I keep them from doing dangerous things? Tracy Quan is showing us a lifetime of self preserving nuance in the background as she spins her farcical tale. Life in the reef. Good analogy. Good book.
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