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The Newest Edition of Richard Phlattwaire
Wednesday marks the release of Richard Phlattwaire’s latest book, Nate Bit a Tibetan. The novel, Phlattwaire’s fourth, creates a sizzling urban universe full of neon lights and monks on the subway. Phlattwaire utilizes his bizarre, scheming style to lure the reader into his fictional New York City, where the seemingly crazy man in the robes next to you on the street could really be an “ordinary person.”
I meet up with Phlattwaire for an afternoon tabnab—the author’s word for a savory snack—on the ivy-covered patio of “Orgasmanic Oasis,” a downtown health food eatery, just a few weeks prior to the launch of Nate.
“I really hope this book receives the same kind of reception that Fleece Elf received,” he says as he gingerly picks at his Chinese chicken salad and sips a cup of Columbian coffee.
I can’t help but notice a new Dick Phlattwaire. I first encountered him just seven years ago. He was twenty-four years old then and just on the verge of fame. His debut novel, A Car, A Man, A Maraca, was just about to break. His raw talent was undeniable. Unfortunately, as his popularity increased and he began to scale up the social pyramid, Phlattwaire embraced an unhealthy lifestyle, indulging in drugs, alcohol, prostitutes, opulent safaris to fulfill his fascination with the mating habits of African animals, and gluttonous
amounts of food.
These days however, Dick is flatter than ever. He is in the best shape of his life, thanks to kicking his bad habits. His daily routine now includes running and weightlifting, and he follows a careful diet of “happy foods,” such as Asian salads, homemade yogurt, imported fruit cautiously covered in pink saran wrap and refrigerated before serving, and baked goods made with special protein powder shipped in from Barcelona. He spent last fall in a rehabilitation center in Palm Springs, where he dried out and straightened up his life. While there, he worked with specialists including a nutritionist, a psychologist, a whole staff of spa technicians, as well as a hypnotherapist. He has continued with the hypnotherapy for smoking cessation and weight loss as well as emotional issues. He also gets his tea leaves read regularly.
When the waitress comes by with a plate of complimentary appetizers, he waves his hand and says, “Wontons? Not now.” Just over a year ago, he tells me, he probably would have eaten the entire plate and then smoked a pack of cigarettes like he did after every meal. Maybe do a line of coke after that.
After we discuss the sad state of drug addicts the world over, I ask him about the new book.
“So, what is Nate Bit a Tibetan really about?” I ask.
Phlattwaire leans back and taps his fingers against his newly shaved head and yawns. The Smurfs tattoo on the top of his head glistens in the late afternoon sun. “Racism, drugs? I guess. I don’t really know. It’s about a lot of things. I was basically in a hypnotic trance when I wrote most of it.”
“What was the idea that started you out on it, then?”
“I had a dream about this guy—I called him Nate—who was a cocaine addict, like me. He carried it around with him in these special sugar packets he had made and put them on the tables at fancy dinner parties he went to. Then one day when he was leaving some party, really out of it, he walked into a man who was wearing all these robes and watering a plant. He looked like a monk, you know? Nate tripped over the guy, and the guy dropped his watering can. The water ruined all these sugar packets that had fallen out of Nate’s pockets. That was basically the dream. So I thought, yea, well, I’ll bet this dude wants to get even. So he goes around looking for the guy who ruined all the coke.”
Dream analysis, Phlattwaire explains, was a big part of his treatment at the unnamed center. He worked very closely with his therapist to uncover the hidden meaning behind even his most mundane dreams. Through this practice he was able to make connections between his subconscious mind and his behavior to give him a better understanding of himself. He was better able to realize why he had been making bad choices and how he could best heal himself. He continues to analyze his dreams. He writes them down in a lime-green spiral notebook which he carries everywhere with him in its own silk cover. He is still working on overcoming his desire to go on safari again.
“It would be so easy to slip back into that. I really gotta be careful right now. This is a crucial time. It helps to just focus on my writing. I’ve been writing a lot of poems, mostly about elephants and such. It’s a big help.”
When I ask Dick about his influences, he mentions The Village People. He says, “In Fleece Elf, I quoted a line from ‘In Hollywood (Everybody is a Star)’ at the beginning of each chapter. In my third book, Solo Gigolos, I mentioned their song, ‘Just a Gigolo.’ They’ve had a big impact on me. Their music really speaks to me, you know? I try to live my life with the same kind of optimism they present.” As for literary idols, Phlattwaire cites Bernard Malamud’s The Magic Barrel (the winner of the National Book Award in 1959) as a huge inspiration.
“That book is freaking amazing,” he raves. “I’ve often tried to mirror my style after his. I absolutely admire his graceful use of the semicolon. That man is a genius.”
As is Richard Phlattwaire himself. With his extraordinary fourth novel, Nate Bit A Tibetan, he once again manages to capture a series of strangely transcendent moments and package them in glitter and in dirt. He offers them up to the reader in a way no other writer can, preaching from his knees. There is no doubt that he will continue to write one madly intriguing, creepily beautiful book after another. Just give him time to finish eating his tabnab, please. This man does not like to be disturbed while he eats.
“It’s all about just sitting and savoring the meal, the moment,” he says with a sigh, dropping the fork with a victorious bang.
And the sun sets on the city as Phlattwaire takes out his notebook to write down what otherwise would have been a thought passing like the wind.
First published in Thieves Jargon, July 2004.
Return to Volume 1.3
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