IN AMERICA

Most of all, I didn’t like that you had to take an aeroplane to get there. The fact it was so far away. There were other things I didn’t like. I didn’t like the guns. The wild teenage shootings or the star-spangled stadiums with hooting Republicans. I didn’t like the mass consumption, the pig farms, the brutal distribution of wealth, and I didn’t like the fatness, the extra large portions and the people who had curtains of flesh swaying heavily like strung hams beneath their arms. The sickly movies about boys next door and girls losing their virginity in ruffled prom dresses. I didn’t like the politics either, the whole circus of ego and the tan man’s face, the whites of his eyes leaking into two pale pockets below. I didn’t like all that stuff, but at the same time, I loved it all. Every part.

I liked the epic scale. States chaining together, invisible boundaries, the idea of taking a car from East to West, rolling through highways for weeks, huge vistas opening up like the pages of an Atlas. Mountains, canyons, city sprawl. I liked the American faces. Faces that looked as though they were made from chewed bubblegum or rolled tobacco paper. Faces that looked like singular nouns; neglect, success, excess. Faces with skin the colour of fear and pride. The strong, white teeth.

The voices too. I loved hearing those. The nasal laments, a loose twang on the vowels, voices rich like fudge, jokes salty as pretzels. I liked the variety and the whacko ideas – the cults and clans, the American need for something to shape its humanity into. The fact people could get away with being mad. It