The Four Spent the Day Together is populated with individuals seeking fresh starts, trying to break free from drugs or toxic relationships, only to see hope turn into violence. Chris Kraus often employs the phrase "fresh start", rendering it intentionally weary through recurring use. Sentences like "He aimed to start over" and "They chose to begin anew" are scattered across the story. At the same time, the author herself appears to be undertaking her individual reinvention, since this seems a new kind of book – documentarian, truly literary. However it turns out to be laden with the same dilemmas and approaches as her previous works.
Chris Kraus began as an artist who entered the literary world unintentionally with her 1997 cult classic I Love Dick, structured as letters to an unreceptive lover, elevating intimate women's literature from humiliation into defiance. She persisted as a writer, but the following three compelling and abrasive novels missed 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 nonconformist creator who had become a extensive real estate holder, so there was considerable focus on property transactions. It is logical that she presently aims to try out fresh narrative sources, looking outwards to other people's stories, at a time when she states that current political era renders personal narrative unnecessary.
The Four Spent the Day Together is organized into a trio of segments, spanning multiple eras – each trapped by their histories. There is the story of Emma and Jasper, versions of her own mother and father, transitioning from the New York borough to a pastoral setting. Additionally the story of Kraus herself, in the character of protagonist Catt Greene, grappling with the late recognition of I Love Dick, the ascent of a political figure, and her substance-dependent spouse Paul. And there is the story of the murder of one lost young man by another in a community long abandoned by forward-thinking policies only 80 miles from Catt's cottage in the Minnesota countryside.
As a reader fond of honed writing of the kind the author herself tends to eschew, I was seduced by the narrative style of the first section.
Being a reader who appreciates honed writing of the kind that Kraus herself often disregards, I was captivated by the literary tone of the opening segment. It possesses a novel degree of detail that allows space for small details, like the pail that the young Catt dislodges from ice at the beginning of the narrative, helped by her cherished parent. "Look, an ice toy!" she declares; "a lovely toy", he answers, "the ambiguous meanings of language rolling around in their mouths like piece candy". The author narrates Emma's story with interest and closeness. "Emma experienced a dreamlike sensation – not hers, exactly."
I was destined to be disappointed when I hoped this new voice could persist to the end. Kraus says here that she resents the satisfaction those who appreciate polished prose have gotten from I Love Dick; she's committed to fragmentation, to the untidy aesthetics she has in common with her idol author Kathy Acker, and the void and recurrence of her previous novels reasserts itself in the second segment. Catt is trying to renovate 36 run-down apartments in the most troubled areas of Albuquerque while shuttling between Minnesota and LA, failing to help Paul manage his alcohol use. She feels helpless as Paul transitions between poorly supported positions as an recovery specialist in a world fueled by the rage and anxiety that underpins an electoral success. Multiple pages are devoted about Catt being cancelled on a platform, her professional designation altered from "author" to "real estate holder" on the online encyclopedia. Kraus still seems to care a little too much about this. At one point she remarks that she's researching the homicide so that before departing the state, "she might be able to learn something about an the United States that her social media opponents would be unable to grasp, would not even see".
Then we reach to the murder itself – and the eponymous day spent by the victim with the perpetrator and his friends. The author possesses great source material, and details moment by moment what transpired when a man named Brandon came to visit Brittney after encountering her on a platform where she offered adult photos. He sought a sexual encounter but seems amiably to have occupied the day in the company of her associates, wandering about fixing his automobile and covering the cost of food and substances, before being murdered by Brittney's boyfriend Micah – a individual with mental health challenges who has repeatedly received inpatient care for fits of anger.
Catt develops an obsession by the account, and I was fascinated by the way that her twin drives towards accurate chronicling and reckless transgression wrestle in this part. Yet I wished her to go further into her own obsessions here. The compelling persona is the character Brittney, who becomes vivid partially because of Catt's identification with her – a similarly gifted, tormented individual derailing in a difficult, overlooked locality. Kraus tells us that Catt speaks to Brittney in detention, but she omits the dramatization of these talks. The whole section feels oddly unfinished, to the extent that her narrative ends almost mid-par
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