THE CHRYSANTHEMUM PALACE
By Bruce Wagner
Simon & Schuster. 210 pp. $23
What does it mean to be famous? Do the famous like to be mean, sucking attention from other people's lives? Do they intend to be that way? If they were aware of it, don't you think they'd wrap themselves in crime-scene tape to keep innocent bystanders away? But the innocent -- just a nice word for stupid, after all -- would probably wail and crawl and beseech: "Isn't there any room behind that tape for me?" And the famous, many of them mean by trade and mad for attention, would say, "Sure. Let me loosen this tape, and we'll get you tied right up. There. That's the end of you."
"The Chrysanthemum Palace" is about three children of three very famous people. The children are "grown" -- two of them thirtyish, one of them in his fifties -- but their parents will overshadow them forever. Clea Freemantle is the daughter of a dead, radiantly beautiful, legendary film star. Since they don't share a last name, Clea is sometimes recognized, sometimes not. She's a pretty, talented actress, but by the time we see her, she's been through a lot in her life.
Bertie Krohn is in much the same position. (He and Clea had been school chums long before the Famous Legend died.) Bertie's relationship to his father is more complex. The elder Krohn -- a cross between Aaron Spelling and Gene Roddenberry -- gobbles up Hollywood real estate, has a genuine love for fine art and is owner and operator of one of the schlockiest space epics in the history of television, an electronic abomination that seems destined to go on forever. He also has a string of girlfriends as long as a space alien's arm. Bertie is ashamed and embarrassed by his heritage. But what can he do in life but be an actor, or failing that, a screenwriter?
So Bertie and Clea hang out -- at Dutton's books in Brentwood, or the AA meetings just across the street. Bertie works out at the palatial new gym over on Sepulveda. The question is: When he does start to write, what will Bertie write about? His mind, his life, his childhood -- all are crammed with bad actors in sparkly suits leaning up against papier-mache rocks.
Then a third major character appears, coming in to guest-star on that infernal space series that won't go away. To the outside world, Thad Michelet might seem to be an enviable success at the age of 54. "He was widely known as a gifted comic actor," Bertie tells us. Thad has had plenty of stage experience, both on Broadway and off, and even published four novels. (They're out of print, but Fitzgerald had all five of his novels out of print when he died, and he did all right.) The trouble is that Thad is the son of literary lion Jack Michelet, winner of three Pulitzer Prizes, a Booker (by a technicality) and every other prize there is except the Nobel. Jack is running hard for the title of Meanest Possible Person on Earth, and so far it looks like he's the man to beat. He hates his wife, he hates his son; he takes the position that he loved Thad's twin brother, who drowned as a child, but that's just the official story -- Jack hated him, too.
So Thad, the gentle and beautiful, comes to do a segment on the ongoing sci-fi classic. (Is it simply fate that dictates that the plot will involve two alien brothers -- both played by Thad -- fighting for mastery over their home planet?) Bertie, who plays a brazen, womanizing sidekick, and Clea, dolled up so beautifully in a far-fetched costume that onlookers whisper she looks just like her mother, all launch into the fairly routine project, which should take about 10 working days. It's a version of all of their lives, but what else is new? They're each working on versions of their lives. If you've been privileged and neglected at the same time, living in the shadow of a larger-than-life parent, that's your material: You're stuck with it, and in it.
Bruce Wagner's earlier Hollywood novels, however brilliant, have been hard-edged, even snarly. But "The Chrysanthemum Palace" is both tender and tenderhearted. With the exception of the predator Black Jack Michelet, each character is endowed with a full ration of humanity. Yes, they're flawed, both the parents and children, the famous and the obscure, but they keep their dignity, even as destiny doles out its damnable tricks.
Two other things. This is certainly a roman à clef. But to play guessing games about who is who here is fair neither to the characters nor the writer. Also, and unexpectedly, this is a very funny book. The scenes on the set are marvelous. Parts of this novel convey pure, winsome charm, which makes the tragedy that much harder to bear. If "The Great Gatsby" were set in contemporary Hollywood, it might look a lot like "The Chrysanthemum Palace." These are Americans, ensnared by their fate but gallant and brave to the end.
