Austinist Book Review: "Egypt Egypt" by Sam Ramos

IT TOOK AN AFTERNOON to polish off the 136-page novella, a first-person narrative that follows the antics of 17-year old Austinite John Minus. An angst-ridden high school senior poised at the cusp of graduation, John is fretfully oblivious to what his near future might bring. John is - to yet again draw shamelessly from the already exhausted well of Salinger references - a Central Texas Holden Caulfield, and at times casts the subtlest shadow of an adolescent Mexican-American Portnoy. That is, he's cynical by default, slightly paranoid, and occasionally entertains the idle deviant fantasy or two (none, thankfully, involving his mother). Or in other words, John is the prototypical adolescent.

On Austin, John is conflicted; while his denunciations of the hipster-centric "scene" resound clearly, we couldn't help but imagine that much of his cynicism stems from his being on the outside looking in, painfully aware of the adult delights a mere three years away. Or perhaps John truly despises the changes that our city has undergone:

John hated hippies. Fucking sweaty, patchouli wearing, sandal styling, long-haired, no showering, peace loving, fraud supporting mother fucking hippies. And they are all over Austin. Austin is a den of punks and hippies and wannabes. He saw it all the time. They protested and bought bumper stickers. What a bunch of shit. To John, Austin was no hipper than any other city. It is pretty. But what the fuck did these mother fuckers know about it? Whoever came up with the Eeyore's Birthday thing probably wasn't even from Austin. It was another example of a slick marketing design selling Austin as a hi-tech but with-a-heart wonderland - giving it over to the realtor with the fattest wallet. John missed the taste the city had before it was known for being hip. Pecans and the Pecan Street Festival. Ringling Brothers & Barnum & Bailey Circus at the Frank Erwin Center every year. Neal Spelce! Mother fuckers. They want to turn Austin into a fucking hot dog, wrapped in a Doritos bag, all toe-tagged and ready for a slab. Forget it.

Personally, we weren't here to experience such halcyon days, but the cynical have always tended to lament the past and distrust the present. It's a coping mechanism.

In his daily meanderings, John is accompanied by a rag-tag troupe of friends and lovers. The most fascinating among these are the two girls with whom he engages in a ménage a trois. There's Sarah, an obnoxious, outspoken, and questionably talented young painter whose divorced mother shamelessly hosts drunken trysts in the bedroom adjacent to her daughter's. Needless to say, Sarah is a bag of psychological trauma and self-loathing. Her friend, Andra, is nothing if not her contrast: withdrawn, pensive, and capable of bringing out the best qualities in John. With Sarah he reluctantly has furtive, unsatisfying sex because, it seems, neither has anything better going on in their lives. But with Andra, John shares a deeply emotional connection, and as the story progresses it's up to him to finally realize this and distance himself from Sarah's desperate advances.

While John deals with the vagaries of his post-school life, author Sam Ramos paints us a stunning portrait of Downtown and South Austin. This is where the novel propels itself beyond the atmosphere of amateurish linear storytelling and into the outer realms of brilliantly insightful, socioculturally-relevant fiction. In some parts he keenly reflects on the gentrification of the Eastside, while in others he touches upon the unspoken racial and class strife that plagues our city. And then there are his lush descriptions of familiar haunts:

When he got to Waterloo Records he stood on the curb over Lamar and he dove into the street...He was a wild man but he had a plan. The whip was on another continent so far away he forgot it existed. Now they have a man to reckon with. A wild man who swam in the street. The pavement was water. The cars were buoys. Sixth and Lamar became a pool and John was immersed in it. Lights from the intersection and Waterloo and Whole Foods Grocery and BookPeople Bookstore bathed him. Now he was really wet. If he had a job the whole city could be a waterfall. The Frost Tower would crumble. Lives would be lost. The bums and winos on Red River would be washed away. Sixth Street would be doused. The only thing standing after it was all over would be the Stevie Ray Vaughn Statue on Town Lake. And John. John would be standing. He'd stand like a giant iron rod. He'd stand up like a pyramid forever, completely blanketed in the dredged up filth of Austin.

If ever there were to be an official chronicler of the underdog life in this town, Sam Ramos would have our unhesitating endorsement. Published by an outfit so small that a Google search yielded nothing, "Egypt Egypt" resounds powerfully and leaves an indelible mark on our perception of Austin. The delicious irony inherent to this book is that despite John's zealous distaste for the hipster poseurs that infest our town, Ramos has managed to craft the truly indie novel that such a demographic would adore. That, alone, is compelling enough for us.

"Egypt Egypt" by Sam Ramos is available in limited supply at Bookpeople for around $10, and quite possibly at other local bookstores as well.