I was maybe 50 pages into The Fountain when two names jumped into my brain: Jay Acunzo and Tyler Mahan Coe. The first guy is a writer and podcaster I’ve followed for several years, and he’s been instrumental in my professional career as a content creator and marketer. The second guy is a podcaster and writer I’ve followed for several years, and his work has encouraged me to view both my music fandom and writing with a fresh perspective. Both of them would thoroughly enjoy this book, as they would resonate with David Scott Hay’s snarky examination of artists, artist culture, and the art world.
Acunzo would cackle gleefully at how the book lambasts the concept of the “muse”. He built his career analyzing and destroying that myth. Arguing that creators shouldn’t wait for magic and instead just do the work of creating. Coe would guffaw at the book’s attacks the subject of “authenticity.” He frequently rails against how fans buy into the origin stories and subsequent folklore of their favorite bands, even though they’re typically the creation of a label’s marketing department.
From the get-go, Hay rejects both simplicity and subtlety with his sharp satire.
Published by Whisk(e)y Tit in Fall 2021, The Fountain shines because it over-inflates the mythology of the artistic life and then examines what happens when everything literally and figuratively explodes. Hay eagerly goes on the attack and doesn’t let his foot off the gas for the entire 400-page novel. Calling to mind Kurt Vonnegut’s sarcastic wisdom, Tom Robbins’ ribald sexuality, and Christopher Moore’s cracked sense of humor, this book is an absolute romp.
Storywise, The Fountain goes a little something like this. After drinking from a water fountain at a Chicago-area museum, a 10-year-old boy and a 72-year-old woman create profound works of visual art. Despite neither having shown any talent before. Soon after seeing it, a struggling playwright who pays the bills as an art critic decides to mentor them. Not only will it lead the duo to stardom, but also help his art receive his eluded recognition. The greater public hears about this ground-breaking art and begins clamoring for it. Even to the point of deifying the elderly woman.
The story also marbles in fantastical personas that capture your imagination.
How often do you read a book about art that also features a teacher-turned-sex-goddess? Not to mention a Bob Ross stand-in, a waitress with a heart of gold, grizzled photographer? Meanwhile, a couple of talented second-tier career artists have extended conversations about the veracity and authenticity of said art. They compete for a range of small jobs to pay their bills while seeking that one big project that could vault them to notoriety. Their friends-as-enemies relationship grounds the entire book. All the while acting like a fulcrum around which all of the other wacky shenanigans occur.
What makes The Fountain especially delicious is the ideas about authenticity and how the creative spark can be applied to any facet of creativity. Especially with musicians and writers. The book intentionally asks crucial questions about the creative process and the surrounding industry. Complete with all the parasitic sycophancy that entails. It encourages the reader to think critically about who gets to create and why. As well as who gets to critique and why it’s important. And so much more.
The book excels when it intentionally inverts and exposes the myth of the muse.
The various characters hold wide-ranging discussions with each other and as an interior monologue about the role of the water fountain. Some artists deny its powers while still longing for its influence. Others abhor the idea of the fountain while still loving the work created under its influence. Still, others seek to control the fountain. However, it only introduces concerns about autonomy and agency. Seeing as no one knows who’s being controlled and by what or whom.
Throughout The Fountain, David Scott Hay combines black humor, compelling characters, and zany antics to create brilliant and brutal critiques of the machinations fueling the art world. From creators, critics, and curators to museums, mentors, and art fans, everyone falls prey to the book’s withering, Medusa-like gaze. No one holds the moral high ground, and I loved not being able to discern if there is a traditional protagonist amidst all the sniping, backbiting, and vitriol.
All told, the book delivers a gleeful, sprawling reading experience. Especially if you’re burned out by high-falutin’ conversations about the intersections of art, creation, and criticism.
The Fountain is currently available for pre-order through Whisk(e)y Tit. Copies will begin shipping on November 7th, 2021.
Tub and Telephone Photo Credit: (c) Mycki Manning