The recent slew of confessional autobiographies, commonly dubbed “misery memoirs” has met with mixed responses from the media. One of the most critically successful, James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, was very publicly revealed to be a heavily embellished version of true events. Frey’s novel, though excellent, relied on exciting plot twists and staggering developments. A Rebel Life rallies against this formula, reinstating the concept of a life story as a cultural study and a mood piece.

Kalafatis’ powerful debut strongly evokes the stark grittiness of the 1980s New York drug culture. The narrative alternates between the present day, as he prepares for the funeral of his younger brother (having died from a suspected overdose) and another life, ten years prior, of gun crime and street violence. The message that rings throughout with immovable force is Kalafatis’ belief that it is the rich, with their elitist hierarchical systems, who are to blame for his brother’s death.

The book works extremely well as a literary novel, rather than just functioning on the level of real-life drama. There are a number of artistic flourishes in Kalafatis’ narrative; especially well-drawn are the various dream sequences, located in a surreal and symbol-driven otherworld. For the rest of the novel, Kalafatis is committed to his strong portrayal of New York, and in particular the subcultures embedded within the city.

By far the most striking feature of A Rebel Life, however, is the energy which fizzes and snaps at every turn. Kalafatis’s language is violent and forceful, expressing an intense and visceral anger. The voice lying underneath this anger, however, is tender and filled with softened emotion, particularly discernible when evoking memories of his brother. There is absolutely no doubt that this is an authentic narrative voice, rough and rasping but also poetic and sophisticated.

The only aspect of A Rebel Life which fails to contribute to its considerable success is the single-minded rebellion against the rich, which rears its head continuously and without discrimination. This philosophy, which underpins much of Kalafatis’ storytelling, often feels clunky and obstructive within what is otherwise a tight and well-crafted narrative. Jeany, Kalafatis’ wife, is the rational and clear-thinking voice of reason throughout this blind resentment, but her words ultimately lack the power of her husband’s convictions.

Though it may feel stretched beyond its limits, this is an argument that nonetheless takes the confessional memoir in an interesting direction. By attacking “the rich”, A Rebel Life neatly subverts the hypocrisy of the American Dream, exposing the unalleviated subculture of poverty that rests beneath it. By “conforming”, as Kalafatis sees it, and pursuing a path of education which leads him out of this subculture, he equips himself with the necessary distance to review the world he has left behind him. The funeral of his brother marks a conflict between Kalafatis’ growing sense of purpose and identity, and his urge to revive the anger which was so characteristic of his former self.

Though this is, essentially, a book about moving forwards, we are lucky for this relentless grip on a troubled beginning. For it is with the spirit and voice of his old New York self that Kalafatis is able to paint lurid and affecting pictures of a devastating and frustrated world.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Thursday, May 17th, 2007.