The new book features individuals chasing after clean slates, trying to break free from addictions or abusive marriages, only to see hope turn into conflict. Chris Kraus frequently uses the phrase "clean slate", making it deliberately jaded through recurring use. Examples include "He aimed to start over" and "They chose to begin anew" recur in the story. Meanwhile, Kraus herself seems to be making her own fresh start, since this presents as a new kind of book – fact-based, genuinely novelistic. Yet it turns out to be filled with the familiar conflicts and approaches as earlier books.
Chris Kraus started out as an visual artist who became a writer somewhat by chance with her 1997 groundbreaking book I Love Dick, structured as letters to an unreceptive lover, converting confessional female writing from abjection into rebellion. She continued writing, but the next trio of engaging and challenging novels missed the impact and rawness that the correspondence format brought to the narrative voice of I Love Dick. Compounding this was her role as a renegade artist who had evolved into a extensive real estate holder, so there was much discussion on housing investments. It follows that she currently desires to try out fresh narrative sources, looking outwards to other people's stories, at a period in which she states that contemporary political climate makes confessional writing unnecessary.
The Four Spent the Day Together is divided into three sections, covering multiple eras – none able to break free from their backgrounds. We encounter the tale of Emma and Jasper, representations of the author's parents, moving from the Bronx to rural Connecticut. Additionally the story of Kraus herself, in the character of a figure named Catt Greene, reckoning with the belated success of I Love Dick, the ascent of a political figure, and her partner struggling with addiction her husband Paul. The third thread involves the story of the murder of one troubled youth by another in a community long abandoned by liberal ideals only a short distance from the protagonist's home in a remote part of Minnesota.
As a reader drawn to honed writing of the type Kraus herself tends to eschew, I was captivated by the novelistic voice of the opening part.
As someone who reads who favors crafted language of the style that Kraus often disregards, I was won over by the literary tone of the opening segment. It exhibits a novel degree of detail that allows space for minutiae, like the pail that the young Catt frees from the ice at the opening of the book, aided by her cherished parent. "Look, an ice toy!" she exclaims; "a nice toy", he answers, "the nuanced interpretations of terms rolling around in their mouths like piece candy". She tells Emma's story with interest and closeness. "It seemed to Emma she had entered a dream – not entirely her own."
I was destined to be disappointed when I wished this fresh tone could persist to the end. The author states here that she dislikes the satisfaction readers like me have gotten from I Love Dick; she's dedicated to disjunction, to the untidy aesthetics she shares with her hero author Kathy Acker, and the emptiness and redundancy of her earlier works reasserts itself in the central part. The protagonist is trying to renovate 36 run-down apartments in the city's most challenging districts while moving between two different states, unsuccessful in assisting her husband curb his addiction. She feels helpless as Paul transitions between underfunded jobs as an substance abuse counselor in a environment propelled by the hostility and dread that powers Trump's victory. A significant portion discusses about Catt being cancelled on social media, her listed profession modified from "novelist" to "landlord" on a reference site. The author still appears to be overly concerned about this. On one occasion she remarks that she's investigating the murder so that before exiting the region, "she may grasp something about an America that her social media opponents would fail to comprehend, would not even see".
Thus we arrive to the homicide in question – and the eponymous day passed by the deceased with the killer and his friends. Kraus has compelling foundational content, and details moment by moment what occurred as a man named Brandon came to meet Brittney after connecting via an application where she offered adult photos. He was hoping for sex but seems affably to have spent the day in the company of her associates, wandering about fixing his automobile and funding treats and narcotics, before being shot by Brittney's partner Micah – a young, mentally ill man who has often been institutionalized for violent rage.
Catt develops an obsession by the account, and I was fascinated by the way that Kraus's dual urges towards ethical reporting and audacious rule-breaking wrestle in this part. Yet I wished her to delve deeper into her own obsessions here. The standout figure is Brittney herself, who becomes vivid partly through the protagonist's connection to her – a similarly gifted, tormented individual derailing in a struggling, neglected community. Kraus tells us that Catt converses with Brittney in jail, but she doesn't dramatise these conversations. The whole section feels oddly unfinished, to the extent that Kraus's narration ends almost mid-par