As someone who has attempted both novel writing and earning a spot on survival-based reality shows, a novel about a survival-based reality show gone wrong is certainly something a fiction writing AI would’ve eventually generated for me. Fortunately for literature, me, and the real human that wrote it, a real human wrote a novel about a survival-based reality show gone wrong. While I am inevitably rejected during the audition process as apparently everyone that hosts auditions finds it at best distasteful when the auditioner weeps upon being denied a snack break or a quick nap, and my novel submissions are generally returned with little more than a note asking how I managed to get so much marinara sauce on it, I am still pleased when other people succeed in these endeavors.
I’m currently pleased because I’m thinking about how successful Blair Braverman’s first novel, “Small Game,” is. Mara, an instructor for a school intended to let the wealthy cosplay as competent survivalists for a weekend, is approached to take part in a reality game show in which the winner gets a cash prize. The cash is enough to change her life, so she agrees. Another contestant is there to get famous, one to get the attention of an estranged daughter, another to get enough cash to follow his dreams, and one other is there to leave almost immediately once sensing that things are maybe not up to snuff with this production.
Things are normal at first. A crewmember regularly smuggles granola bars to Mara. The showrunner tricks some of them into going on a long, arduous and fruitless journey in search of some berries he lied about. The contestants are hungry and uncomfortable, but things are going according to plan. Then one day the contestants discover the crew has disappeared. So that’s pretty scary and creepy, and that’s when it’s nearly impossible to put the book down.
After a medical emergency is resolved, the remaining contestants decide to leave their camp. Their journey is harrowing. The novel ends with gusto, with a ton of information packed into a paragraph or two, and while I admire and enjoy that ending, I would also have gladly accepted those paragraphs being stretched into the multiple chapters they could’ve sustained.
Braverman has already gained acclaim for her nonfiction writing, her dogsled mushing and her survival-based reality show appearances, so I’m not sure why she needed to be a great novelist, too. I suppose some people have a lot of talent and put it to use. It’s inspiring, so I shall take leave of this electrified typing machine and turn to my trusty quill, a stack of parchment paper, a bucket of marinara sauce and (you’re welcome, editors and agents of the USA) a napkin.
