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Walker Percy's 1961 debut novel The Moviegoer---which shocked the literary world when it came out of nowhere to win the National Book Award against some stiff competition---may strike contemporary readers as an elusive novel. The first-person, present-tense voice feels contemporary enough, but the narrator, the New Orleans stockbroker John Bickerson "Binx" Bolling, isn't a rebel without a cause, a Bohemian adventurer, or an angry young man like many heroes of the Eisenhower/Kennedy era. Instead, he's a thirty-year-old Korean War vet in a state of ennui, living life without a sense of engagement, not necessarily adrift (he's successful enough at his job), but without a driving sense of purpose or meaning. The Moviegoer is perhaps the quintessential philosophical novel of the mid-20th century: it's about Binx and his cousin Kate's parallel quest to understand what it means to be alive. In this regard, it's an existential novel, a term that needs some defining: Percy was one of our great dramatists of the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, who insisted that the struggle for authenticity through lived experience was the closest path to God. The result can feel episodic and abstract, and maybe even frustrating since the New Orleans setting feels like a backdrop and not a social scene. (How exactly this novel is "Southern" is one of the great critical debates surrounding it). But Percy, a graduate of medical school, was a supreme diagnostician of the soul sickness that arose from postwar prosperity and consumerism. The Moviegoer isn't as much about popular culture but about the work it takes to feel you are the author of the movie of your life, and not the audience.   

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