More Than 'Zero'? Introducing the 9/12 Novel

Call it a scathing satire, a mystery, a suspense thriller...call it meta-noir á la Paul Auster – for these are all true – but don’t call Jess Walter’s The Zero a 9/11 novel. In his own words: “It’s more of a 9/12 novel.” Whereas other authors have written about That Day for emotional purposes, or to give meaning to an otherwise bland plot or character, Walter’s novel is a relevant and indispensable account of the social and political aftermath of the world-changing event. Similar to what Vonnegut and Heller did for World War II, Walter’s story is somehow both independently riveting and inextricably tied to The Event. Aside from the scathing satire – which is by far the best of its genre since DBC Pierre’s Vernon God Little or perhaps Palahniuk’s Fight Club – Walter provides an incredibly enjoyable and darkly funny narrative.

Days after: NYPD officer Brian Remy awakes on the floor of his kitchen, in a pool of blood, alongside a smoking gun and a bottle of Knob Creek. The result of his attempted suicide: a nasty scar on his head and random, unexpected blackouts that leave Remy (and the reader) grasping for the truth throughout The Zero.

Our narrator is perhaps not the most trustworthy, but it’s hard to think of a more suitable one to tell the story of the aftermath. Remy’s eyes are deteriorating, and he slips in and out of cognition like “smooth skipping stones bounding across the surfaces of time, with brief moments of deepened consciousness.” During the dark spots, however, Remy’s alter-egos continue to act in perplexing and alternating ways – in one example, he finds a note in his own handwriting that says “Don’t hurt anyone.” He later finds the same note with an addendum, again in his scrawl: “Grow up.” Somewhere in the darkness, Remy accepts an assignment with an obscure branch of the government that sends him on a downward spiral into a dubious investigation.

It becomes impossible for Remy to keep track of his life, reality slipping faster than his failing vision, and no one seems to comprehend the gaps when he explains them. He awakes to the voice of a woman he doesn’t know, or he discovers blood on his shoe (not his), or comes across a photo of him at the Zero, flanked by the President and the mayor (“He didn’t remember meeting the President”). It’s more than just a clever literary technique used by Walter to create a compelling mystery: Remy is our Everyman, representing the American public and our inability to make sense of the tragedy.

Remy’s gaps further represent the public perception of our government’s actions in the wake of 9/11 – we wake one day to find that the President has allowed our phones to be tapped, or we open the newspaper to photos of prisoners being tortured and humiliated at a US military base. Like Remy, we continue to ask ourselves: how did we get to this point? And, perhaps more importantly, where are we going?

Unfortunately, Remy never answers either question. As the gaps grow wider and reality grows more elusive, Remy awakes to find himself ascending the ranks of this covert government branch, the purpose of which he is still unaware. He becomes immersed in a political thriller revolving around a circuitous terrorist man-hunt that somehow keeps leading back to the government itself. His relationship with the sister of 9/11 victim dissipates as quickly and mysteriously as it formed, and everyone else around him seems to have “moved on,” replacing grief and introspection with commerce and blind patriotism.

“Everything fades,” Remy’s friend and former NYPD partner tells him at one point. It’s a disturbing declaration in the context of an event like this, especially when the mere mention of the number ‘nine-eleven’ evokes images of war, fear, loss, and terror. But like December 7^th – “a date which will live in infamy,” according to then-President Franklin Roosevelt – September 11^th might also fade into the past, reduced to a chapter in a US History textbook. This, however, is what makes The Zero such an important read – it creates from the ashes of tragedy both a personal and collective experience that gives greater definition to the event itself. When, years from now, history books simply spell out the facts of the event, works of fiction like The Zero will keep sacred of our emotions and reactions, and help make sense where there once was none.

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Chris Steib is a professional interwebinator with a penchant for online videos featuring wild animals doing funny people-like things (see: Britney's VMA performance. BUHZING!). The founder of VoidMagazine.com, Chris is currently at work on his first novel (still, or again). Read more of his interweb writings at csteib.gather.com.