Pink.

By Gus Van Sant (Nan A. Talese, $21.95)

Reviewed by Robert L. Pela

Occasionally, famous people who cannot write get handed book deals by major publishers. These books are not intended to forward the art of literature; they're meant only to sell on the strength of the celebrity's name. Would that filmmaker Gus Van Sant had hired a ghostwriter to pen his famous-name fiction for him. While Van Sant has made splendid movies--among them the very gay My Own Private Idaho--his first contribution to literature is awkward and artless.

Pink's twisted plot concerns Spunky, a gay middle-aged infomercial producer who's trying to complete a Hollywood screenplay. He meets a pair of film students, from another dimension known as Pink, who are here "on a voyage of transcendence and recovery"--and, apparently, to annoy readers with their inane prattle. There are too many voices in this story (not to mention too many typefaces--a different one for each character), and most of the personalities and plot points are introduced in footnotes, a none-too-clever device that seems meant to disguise Van Sant's inability to construct a complete story line.

Pink is mostly about a filmmaker who's afraid to make movies and finds himself in the company amateurs who inspire him to do bigger work. Perhaps Van Sant should start spending time in the company of first-year literature students who might inspire him to write a better book.