If it were possible for Douglas Coupland, George Orwell and James Patterson to spawn a child, it might be Max Barry. Company, Barry's latest, has Coupland's cultural commentary and Orwell's sense of bureaucratic absurdity—but it also has Patterson's underdeveloped characters and cheesy, gratuitous way with love scenes, which brings the overall average down. Way down.
In his third novel, Barry takes aim at corporate culture. Set almost entirely inside Zephyr Holdings, a fictional Seattle-based company, Company—like Mike Drudge's 1999 movie Office Space and television's The Office—captures the essence of corporate life: the mundane tasks, strained dynamics between employees and, of course, office politics and backstabbing.
Anyone who has ever stepped inside a large corporate environment can relate. Those who haven't can still enjoy the humor that permeates the book and emphasizes the sometimes unexplainable antics and power struggles brought on by dull routines, lack of empowerment and forced social interactions.
Perhaps the funniest scenario is when Zephyr employee Roger accuses his colleagues of stealing his doughnut—a wrongdoing he never lets go of and recruits assistants to help him investigate. "The thing you have to remember is that it's all about respect. The doughnut itself is irrelevant. It's the lack of respect the theft implies."
Company's intention is not just to poke fun at the daily drudgery of 9-to-5'ers, though. It's a satire on corporate culture and highlights how profitability outweighs the happiness of the people turning the gears—a task Zephyr employees might as well literally be doing because none of them even know what the company actually does to make a profit.
Brilliantly composed by Barry, explanations from the top are convoluted and confusing, full of corporate jargon and doublespeak that sound important, but mean nothing. Even the mission statement is a bag of air:
"Zephyr Holdings aims to build and consolidate leadership positions in its chosen markets, forging profitable growth opportunities by developing strong relationships between internal and external business units and coordinating a strategic, consolidated approach to achieve maximum returns for its stakeholders."
Not until the book's protagonist, new hire Steve Jones, does anyone raise questions about the purpose of the company. They drone through the day, dutifully performing menial tasks because it's in their job description. Through persistence, Jones' questions get answered and Barry's major plot twist is unveiled.
The concept is intriguing and much of the prose is clever and entertaining, but because various aspects of it conjure images from previous books and films—even Being John Malkovich comes to mind—it doesn't feel entirely original.
Also keeping it down is the lack of character development. While the characters are all amusing, Barry doesn't build any sort of connection between them and the reader. When Jones' friend Freddy discovers that his buddy has betrayed him, you feel the same as do when you read Zephyr's mission statement ... nothing.
And then there are the Patterson-esque love scenes. Jones and his love interest, Eve Jantiss, are opposites: He is an idealist who feels for his fellow employees; she is only concerned with the bottom line. When they're just taking, things move forward. But when Barry tries to add romance to the book, their exchanges are adolescent at best and you wonder if he has a junior-high-aged brother who took over the keyboard when Barry wasn't looking:
"She has lips like big sofa cushions, the kind of ancestry that probably includes nationalities Jones has never heard of, and liquid brown eyes that say: Sex? Why, what an intriguing idea."
It's these moments that make you think: Wait—what happened to the amusing and clever look at corporate culture? They make it hard for the book to achieve maximum returns for its stakeholders.