Big Swiss, More Than Sharp & Clever: a book review

I’ve been on a wildly lucky book streak this summer. Through internet rabbit holes, I stumbled upon a string of reads that have been a total and utter delight. My most recent devour is Jen Beagin’s Big Swiss. I honestly enjoyed every word on every page. It is hilarious, and rings like a clear bell through the smoggy chatter. I didn’t know anything about the book going into it, save for the summary. But the plot line was enough for me to instantly request it from the library, and I’m so glad I did.

First I want to talk about what this book is not. There’s a modern writing style that I like to refer to as sharp and clever. I would say the authors that mainly work in this stylehouse are in the 35-50 yo age range. (I do not mean that all authors in this age range write like this. That’s definitely not true.) The writing is often very good, but the books usually end up being a miss for me because I find that something valuable is sacrificed when the language is so stylishly sharp and clever. It’s dry, it’s quick. It’s witty and intelligent. But it feels a little put on. 

I can see Big Swiss being shelved in some local bookstore in a very quirky and specific section such as “witty and edgy,” next to those same authors I’m alluding to. But it shouldn’t be, I don’t think.

There is a felt vulnerability and softness that underlies the imaginative plot, the uniquely brash and wonderful characters, and the ironic setting of Big Swiss. Though it is so sharp and so clever, it reads with a lack of self-consciousness, a natural intelligence rather than a displayed one. And it is so fucking funny. I literally laughed my way through it. When I closed the book today, I felt sad - knowing I would miss spending time with these special people, the characters.

Everything (and everyone) that happens in the story is poignantly interesting and human. Though much of the novel circles around serious trauma, the dialogue around it and the extremely entertaining and compelling characters, imbue it with a lightness that allows us to look at the action face-on, in a way we may not be able to otherwise. Beagin gingerly holds the ugliness out for us to examine, somehow instilling it with grace through absurdity and vulgarity. And using it as a lens through which to more clearly see the preciousness. 

I don’t want to say anything about it specifically really, because I think you should just read it. Suffice to say, she composes all of the elements into an ironically melodic story, one I’d rather not walk away from just yet. 

I’m going to go read Beagin’s other stuff now…