Real (not really)

     I can't decide whether the characters in this book are the fakest (sp?) or realest people I've ever encountered. They are brutally honest in the most negative sense of the word. It matters not who hears the conversation;  Clay accuses his thirteen-year-old little sister (?!) of stealing a quarter gram of coke from his room while in the car with their mom, and Kim and Alana and Blair openly discuss their promiscuous sex lives in the presence of Clay, Blair's boyfriend. The thing is, no one tries to hide their vices because everyone knows he or she is just as guilty. Clay puts it perfectly: "I realize for an instant that I might have slept with Didi Hellman. I also realize that I might have slept with Warren also... They probably already know" (28). If you think about it, environments that open are hard to come by. Are you that honest in your relationships? Probably not.
     But that's okay, because these people aren't actually honest-not exactly role models to look up to. The lifestyle they promote is a way to deny reality, drowning it in drink or soaring above it on the high of drugs and orgasms. Clay is uncomfortable-in fact feels physically nauseous-when he is directly confronted with his companions' underlying issues, like Muriel's annorexia. He also belligerently avoids discussing any real problems with his shrink. Hands shaking, he'd much rather pop a Valium and relax into sleep.
 So ultimately, "actions speak louder than words" (blech sorry for the cliche, it's just super accurate for the situation). What first comes over as honestly masks a more deeply-rooted kind of falsehood that is very disturbing.  But why the superficial openness? Is it sadistic or are they lonely and desperate for attention? I think Clay's preoccupation with sunglasses and people looking at him and smiling points towards the latter.