The Moviegoer by Walker Percy

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I've heard of this book for years. (It's been almost 60 years since it was published.) And always intended to read it. I'm afraid it didn't excite me as much as I'd hoped. Also, there's not that much in it about the movies or "going to the movies." The title serves more as a metaphor for the character as an observer of life as he searches for meaning. Like the protagonists in Sartre and Camus, the struggle for meaning is primarily an internal one. While Sartre and Camus had the backdrops of WWII in France and civil war in Algiers, Percy has the lethargy of Louisiana and hustle of Chicago. The 1950s was the time of grey suits and grey work clothes. Of course, there was Kerouac and his band of merry makers, who drove around the countryside drinking booze, smoking dope, and experimenting with stream of consciousness linguistics.



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