by Jon Armstrong

After an assassin makes an attempt on Michael's life at a very public, corporately sponsored date with the daughter of another high-powered family, Michael is forced to examine his assumptions about the world he inhabits, the friends he's chosen, and the decisions he seems more or less predestined to make.

Armstrong sets up Grey with a bang—with a flashy few chapters that establish a society fueled by advertising, novelty, and self-indulgence. In short, it's a place that elaborately constructs and enables a superficiality so pervasive that generations of people have been born and raised within it, hardly suspecting that there might be more to life than the latest, shiniest, brightest, fastest, most expensive doo-dad available now! only in the finest stores.

But people will seek out meaning, and they'll find it wherever they can—even it if lurks between the pages of a massive, glossy magazine, the production of which is shrouded in intrigue. Pure H offers thoughtful readers a way to connect with one another in a world where true connection appears elusive, even impossible.

And it's partly Pure H that bonds Michael and Nora together. Though their introduction is a professionally orchestrated and highly publicized affair, the relationship blossoms as they discover a mutual love for the enigmatic magazine they both adore.

Alas for the poor young lovers, Nora's family is blamed for the attempt on Michael's life—and they are forbidden from seeing one another. For the first time, Michael wants something that he can't have, and this wrenching loss of his One True Thing prompts an honest change in his attitude. He's no longer satisfied with a lifestyle of instant gratification; he wants something more from a world that doesn't seem to offer any more, any depth, anywhere.

And that's really what's so fascinating about this book—not the flash, not the in-your-face weirdness of the pop culture—but the fierceness of these characters, stuck flypaper-style in the limelight. It's their grim, creeping discovery that all of their freedom means nothing. It's their pathetic, frantic attempts to mine relevance from the pages of a magazine or the lyrics of mass-produced synth rock. It's the futility of the whole struggle, and the helplessness of the powerful.

This much gushy praise having been offered, despite Armstrong's considerable storytelling prowess, I never did manage to muster much sympathy for Michael. The mere fact that he's suddenly in love doesn't change his profound and annoying weakness, except that it provides a focus for his rage against his father (who is the wedge keeping him and Nora apart). For significant portions of the book, Michael is a whiny brat with a hate-on for Daddy, and sometimes it's tough to read—even as you understand why he needs so much help to perform even the simplest tasks.

And the narrative does drop the ball in a few minor ways, most notably with the eponymous lifestyle construct of "Grey." Early on, it's established that Michael was once a dancin' fool—a veritable peacock of drugged-up, glittery aggression; but following a heart attack suffered at an astonishingly young age, he turned a corner and now embraces all things Grey. He only wants things that are somewhere between the stark absolutes of black and white, even going so far as to have the color receptors burned out of one eye so he can see the world in partial monochrome.

Although the thrust of this subversive action seems to stem from Michael's attempt to reach a level middle ground, it looks instead like just another easy answer that doesn't require too much thought or effort.

Tired of black? Tired of white? Go for the middle! It's deeper here. Or something.

And maybe that's all right. Maybe it's fair that this is as deep as the poor sod can get on his own. God knows he can't dress himself, drive himself, or ask girls out himself. It stands to reason that he would be hard-pressed to pick a really intense philosophy. And maybe it's just as well that the author eventually abandons Grey. Midway through the story it's used as a tool to orchestrate a secret meeting with Nora, who also has one "grey" eye; but after that, you don't hear much about it.

In fact, when I finished the book and flipped to the front cover again, I spent a few seconds thinking, "Grey? Why is it called Grey, anyway? Oh wait, yeah . . ."

But perhaps I'm missing the point, and Grey is a perfect metaphor for Michael's limited skillset and attention span. It wouldn't be much of a critical reach to draw such a conclusion, given what we know about Michael by the end of the book.

But I say all that to say this: This was the most engaging story about the most unlikable characters I've read in quite some time. Even as I wanted to kick Michael in the teeth for being so insistently fragile, even as I wanted to slap Nora for being so milquetoast and perfect, and even as I grew overstimulated and bored by the frenetic, trippy, and omnipresent Pop! Culture! Freakshow! . . . I could barely put Grey down. In some respects, this effect might make Grey an imitative fallacy; but in others, it makes it one hell of a weird success.