Binx Bolling is doing all right. Successful in his stockbroking business, nice little house in the New Orleans suburbs, a steady stream of secretaries attached to his business who also double as pieces of ass for him to chase, and all this when he's not quite thirty yet.
On the other hand, he seems afflicted with a sort of malaise that he can't quite put into words. What's life all about? What is all the money-acquisition and secretarial ass-chasing really for? The only things that seem to anchor him to reality are his affection for old movies and his links to the wider Bolling family, a bunch of crusty old New Orleans types, especially his aunt who views him with a particular affection, and his cousin Kate, who seems even more bewildered by day-to-day life than Binx and who is clearly suffering from what would nowadays be described as some sort of bipolar disorder.
Binx drifts around New Orleans in the run-up to Mardi Gras, mooching around at his aunt's house, hanging out at his mother's place on the bayou, persuading his new secretary Sharon to accompany him on a trip out to the coast for a bit of mild hanky-panky (even though she seems to have a fiancé). We learn a bit about Binx's family - his dead brother Duval, his disabled half-brother Lonnie - and Binx's own history, most significantly his military career and involvement in the Korean War, some or all of which may explain his slight detachment from reality.
Reality soon intervenes, though: Kate makes what sounds like - depending whose account you believe - a fairly serious attempt at committing suicide by taking an overdose of whatever tranquilisers she's currently on, and Binx impulsively asks her to marry him and accompany him on a business trip to Chicago. They dash off together, without telling anyone where they're going, and on their return Binx is hauled in for a dressing-down from his aunt, who regretfully informs him he's betrayed her trust in an unforgivable manner by whisking a vulnerable, drug-addled, potentially suicidal young woman away on a jaunt involving drinking and sex and all sorts of cavorting, and basically that he should never darken her door again.
But is that fair? Or is Binx finally starting to grow up, confront his feelings for Kate, and take on the (probably onerous) task of caring for her and keeping her out of trouble? One of the ways in which The Moviegoer is quite clever is that you never know which of those interpretations is correct, or which one the author intended you to take away. Moreover, even though Binx is basically Holden Caulfield a dozen or so years on, he's a bit more self-aware and mindful of other people's feelings and therefore a good bit less intensely punchable. It's hard to imagine Holden Caulfield having the rather sweet relationship that Binx has with his half-brother Lonnie, for example. One of the best things you can say about an essentially plotless novel is that it lingers oddly in the mind after you've finished it; The Moviegoer certainly does that.
This is another book that will regularly crop up on "best novel" lists; for instance it appears on the TIME magazine list that's been mentioned here a few times before. It also was the recipient (in mildly controversial circumstances, and at the expense of some illustrious titles including a previous entry on this list) of the venerable National Book Award in 1962, so you can add that year to the list here.
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