I read Brandon Hobson’s Desolation of Avenues Untold four months ago and I’ve been mulling over it since. In Desolation. . ., Hobson provides an unusual admixture of a novel. One ingredient is an all-too-convincing portrayal and satire of a seemingly trivial American conspiracy theory run amok, together with its all-too-American conspiracy theorists. A second ingredient is the subject of that conspiracy theory, the obsessive search for a never-released, Charlie Chaplin private pornographic film. For those who aren’t satisfied with watching all four versions of A Star is Born and then insist on tracking down its 1932 original, Hobson gives us a wonderful send up of obsessive film buffs. A third ingredient — mingled with the conspiracy and the obsessive search — is an utterly convincing and deeply affecting portrait of Bornfeldt Chaplin’s flawed love for his obsessive son WIll, and Born's growing realization that his love for Will can’t be matched by any consistency in acting on his paternal love. It’s this third ingredient that transforms Desolation. . . from an amusing and telling satire into a novel that’s much more.
Brandon Hobson makes you laugh and he makes you chuckle. The reader needs to suspend judgement and ride along with Born, Will, and the large cast of weird characters. The very structure of Desolation. . . is a wink and a nod at self-referential and meta-fictional novels. The foreword — with the cubicle mate of a fictional Brandon Hobson recounting Hobson’s secretively pulling out of the front of his pants a reel of film — and the concluding exchange of emails between the fictional Brandon Hobson and the Swiss Silent Film Archive — serve as humorous bookends for this wildly imaginative and disconcertingly thought-provoking novel. Hobson — the author Brandon Hobson, not the fictional Hobson — occasionally digresses and occasionally gives us more words and more characters where fewer might have been better, but these are overshadowed by Desolation of Avenues Untold’s many strengths. This is a novel that deserves to be read, thought about, and discussed. Brandon Hobson, whose 2018 Where the Dead Sit Talking was a National Book Award finalist and whose earlier Deep Ellum is a disturbing tale of the persistence of familial love, deserves far more readership and attention than the sixteen GoodReads ratings for the excellent Desolation of Avenues Untold.