Syrup

Syrup

4.2 26
by Maxx Barry
     
 

View All Available Formats & Editions

When Scat comes up with the idea for the hottest new soda ever, he's sure he'll retire the next rich, savvy marketing success story. But in the treacherous waters of corporate America there are no sure things--and suddenly Scat has to save not only his idea but his yet-to-be-realized career. With the help of the scarily beautiful and brainy 6, he sets out on a mission… See more details below

Overview

When Scat comes up with the idea for the hottest new soda ever, he's sure he'll retire the next rich, savvy marketing success story. But in the treacherous waters of corporate America there are no sure things--and suddenly Scat has to save not only his idea but his yet-to-be-realized career. With the help of the scarily beautiful and brainy 6, he sets out on a mission to reclaim the fame and fortune that, time and again, eludes him.

This brilliantly scathing debut is a hilarious send-up of celebrity, sexual politics, corporate America, and the fleeting status that comes with getting to the table first--before the other guy has you for lunch.

"Seductively hip . . . Wickedly funny." --USA Today

"Scathingly funny." --Fort Worth Star Telegram

Maxx Barry is a survivor from the trenches of corporate marketing and has taught the subject at two major Australian universities. This is his first novel.

Editorial Reviews

Chris Jones
On its very shiny surface, Barry's debut novel has all the prerequisites of a sparkling satire perfectly suited for this affluent fin-de-siecle. The corporate excess of choice here is marketing, and Barry's tale follows a smart-but-likable regular dude as he first tries to sell his new cola drink (called Fukk) to the Coca-Cola corporation, and then tries to survive in the throat-slashing world of Big Marketing where fellow Gen-Xers are ready to slash his creative tires with every jingle. With chapters lasting barely a page, marketing truisms sprinkled throughout and a host of self-promoting characters with names such as Scat, Sneaky Pete, 6 and @, the twenty-five-year-old Barry has enough savvy and edge to please ambitious, postmodern marketeers seeking an easy-to-digest laugh at the politics of the workplace and their own selfish ambitions. But although it's generally fun to consume and not without some sharp satirical hits, the slick Syrup runs out of juice long before its climax. Not only does Barry's superficial cast of characters become tiresome and his narrative increasingly challenged in credibility, but the superficial author lacks the ability to extend his observations into broader truths about life and business (and the absurdity thereof). In short, Barry is too transparently obsessed with marketing success to have any distance from his field-and the pages of Syrup leave an oily residue on the hands.
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Lampooning corporate "ethics," sexual politics and the marketing and film industries, this clever debut satire by 25-year-old Australian writer Barry will have readers nodding in agreement and quoting it to their friends. Ingenuous new marketing graduate Scat (he feels that his full name, Michael George Holloway, just won't do for a career in marketing) moves to L.A. hoping to become rich and famous. After he gets a million-dollar idea for a new cola product, cheeky and arrogant Scat approaches a beautiful, ruthless marketing manager named 6 at Coca-Cola. The new product's name is, hilariously, a "dirty" word, spelled unconventionally and in stylish font on a black can. But before Scat's cash cow can be milked, his roommate Sneaky Pete steals the idea, is hired by Coke, and soon holds the purse-strings for Coca-Cola's biggest marketing undertaking ever, a $140 million movie. The infuriated Scat joins forces with 6 to create their own, better movie, with a measly $10,000 budget. With Scat's creative ideas, 6's business acumen and the help of 6's film-major roommate Tina, and Scat's actress ex-girlfriend Cindy, they set out to beat Sneaky Pete at his own game. Scat and 6 have an affectionate, wary bond (even though Scat's crazy for her and she claims she's a lesbian), and together they nimbly dodge the clever, ever-surprising political landmines that Sneaky Pete sets in their path. In the end, Scat's na vet and creative enthusiasm help him win his dream and the girl. By that point, readers will be rooting for him and will know much more about the politics of business, films, marketing and sex. Foreign rights sold in France, Italy, Germany and Australia. (July) Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Twenty-three-year-old marketing graduate Scat (n Michael) is in search of the American dream of wealth, fame, friendship with movie stars, and true love. He thinks he just may have it all in sight when he comes up with a brilliant idea for a new soft drink, Fukk Cola, and the beautiful new-products manager at Coke, the improbably named 6, agrees that it has definite possibilities. Unfortunately, Sneaky Pete, Scat's roommate, lives up to his name and steals Fukk in order to get a head start up the corporate ladder. Many connivances and contrivances later, 6 and Scat take on Sneaky Pete and his assistant @ directly in a last-ditch struggle to assume ascendancy at Coke. Will 6 and Scat fall in love? Will they succeed in vanquishing Sneaky Pete? With Winona Ryder, Brad Pitt, and Tom Cruise making cameo appearances and Gwyneth Paltrow acting as deus ex machina, how could dreams not come true? Never as hilarious as the author intended, this first novel remains a moderately humorous riff on advertising and corporate life.--Nancy Pearl, Washington Ctr. for the Book, Seattle Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
A rollicking debut about a cola marketing campaign that takes on Hollywood, Madison Avenue, and corporate America in one perfectly executed triple play. Although publicity and marketing are popularly associated with the advertising mavens of New York, those in the know understand them as peculiarly West Coast enterprises—and our narrator Scat is nothing if not in the know. "Marketing is like LA," he explains. "It's like a gorgeous, brainless, model in LA. A gorgeous, brainless model on cocaine having sex drinking Perrier in LA." In other words: Image beats reality every time. Scat (né Michael George Holloway) has a well-developed taste for sharkmeat, but even he finds himself continually brought up short by the venalities of the trade. Desperate to get a foot in some door or other, he asks his old classmate Sneaky Pete for an introduction to the New Products Manager at Coca-Cola—an old friend of Sneaky Pete's named 6. 6 [sic] can only spare 30 seconds of face time with Scat, but that's enough for him to pitch his idea: "New cola product. Black can. Called Fukk" [sic]. 6 falls madly in love with the concept—and Scat falls madly in love with 6 (despite her ice-cold exterior and her self-proclaimed lesbianism)—and the two get right down to the business of throwing together a presentation. Fukk Cola becomes very hot, very quickly, so much so that the idea is stolen even before it's pitched to the Coca-Cola brass, with the result that 6 loses her job and Scat loses his rights to the concept before it's a week old. But neither is the sort to say die, and they team up once more to create the most expensive commercial advertisement ever made: a$140-million feature film about Coca-Cola starring Tom Cruise and Gwyneth Paltrow. Can two twentysomething has-beens turn defeat into failure? Can they at least find true love? This is Hollywood, after all. A bit too slick, but funny and fast all the same: about as filling as cotton candy, but just as sweet going down.

Read More

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780670886401
Publisher:
Viking Adult
Publication date:
07/01/1999
Product dimensions:
6.20(w) x 9.30(h) x 1.00(d)

Read an Excerpt



Chapter One


Me, Me, Me


i have a dream


I want to be famous. Really famous.

    I want to be so famous that movie stars hang out with me and talk about what a bummer their lives are. I want to beat up photographers who catch me in hotel lobbies with Winona Ryder. I want to be implicated in vicious rumors about Drew Barrymore's sex parties. And, finally, I want to be pronounced DOA in a small, tired LA hospital after doing speedballs with Matt Damon.

    I want it all. I want the American dream.


fame


I realized a long time ago that the best way to get famous in this country is to become an actor. Unfortunately, I'm a terrible actor. I'm not even a mediocre actor, which rules out a second attractive path: marrying an actress (they inbreed, so you can't marry one unless you are one). For a while I thought about becoming a rock star, but for that you either have to be immensely talented or have sex with a studio executive, and somehow I just couldn't foresee either of those little scenarios in my immediate future.

    So that really leaves just one option: to be very young, very cool and very, very rich. The great thing about this particular path to fame, Oprah and line jumping at nightclubs is that it's open to everyone. They say anyone can make it in this country, and it's true: you can make it all the way to the top and a vacuous, drink-slurred lunch with Madonna. All you have to do is find something you're good enough at to make a million dollars, and find it before you'retwenty-five.

    When I think about how simple it all is, I can't understand why kids my age are so pessimistic.


why you should be a millionaire


I read somewhere that the average adult has three million-dollar ideas per year. Three ideas a year that could make you a millionaire. I guess some people have more of these ideas and some people less, but it's reasonably safe to assume that even the most idiotic of us has to score at least one big idea during our lifetimes.

    So everybody's got ideas. Ideas are cheap. What's unique is the conviction to follow through: to work at it until it pays off. That's what separates the person who thinks I wonder why they can't just make shampoo and conditioner in one? from the one who thinks Now, should I get the Mercedes, or another BMW?

    Three million-dollar ideas per year. For a long time, I couldn't get this out of my head. And there was always the chance I could have an above average idea, because they've got to be out there, too. The ten-million-dollar ideas. The fifty-million-dollar ideas.

    The billion-dollar ideas.


the idea


The interesting part of my life starts at ten past two in the morning of January 7th. At ten past two on January 7th, I am twenty-three years and six minutes old. I am just contemplating how similar this feeling is to being, say, twenty-two years and six minutes old, when it happens: I get an idea.

    "Oh shit," I say. "Oh, shit." I get up and hunt around my room for paper and a pen, can't find either, and eventually raid the bedroom of the guy I share my apartment with. I scribble on the paper and get a beer from the fridge, and by the time I'm twenty-three years and four hours old, I've worked out how I'm going to make a million dollars.


now hold on there, smart guy


Okay. So how do I know this idea is so good?


a little explanation


When I was in my senior year of high school, the counselor said, "Now, Michael, about college ..."

    "Yeah?" I was distracted at the time by cheerleading practice outside his window. Or maybe I was just inattentive and daydreaming of cheerleaders. Not sure. "I'm doing pre-law."

    This was my plan. I'd had it for years, and I was pretty proud of it, too. I mean, just having a plan was a big deal. When people (like my parents) asked, "And what are you going to do after high school?" I could say, "Pre-law," and they'd smile and raise their eyebrows and nod. It was much better than my previous answer, a shrug, which tended to attract frowns and comments about youth unemployment rates.

    "Yes," the counselor said, and cleared his throat. Outside the window, or inside my mind, cute girls twirled red-and-white pom-poms. "I think it's time we looked at something ... more realistic."

    I blinked. "More ...?"

    "Let's be honest, Michael," he said gently. He didn't have a particularly gentle face—it was kind of bitter and jaded—and the effort he made to twist it into something sympathetic was a little scary. "You don't have the grades for it, do you?"

    "Well," I said, "maybe not, but ..." And I stopped. Because there was no but. I didn't have the grades. My plan, perfect until this moment, was missing this small but crucial step: good grades. "Shit," I said.


backup


And weren't the parents pissed.

    If I'd been fooling myself, I'd been fooling them worse. They were already picking me out a dorm at Harvard and talking about Stanford as a "backup." It was a little difficult for them when I broke the news that I was going to need a backup for my backup.

    When the only school that would have me was Cal State, they moved to Iowa. I'm still not sure if that was coincidence.


college


I majored in marketing because I was late for registration.

    I mean, suddenly I was in college; I was in a dorm and I was surrounded by college girls. There was a lot on my mind. Now, sure, there were upperclassmen and faculty advisers dedicated to making sure that freshmen like me didn't miss registration, but it wasn't hard to ditch them in favor of more horizon-broadening pursuits. My biggest mistake was making friends with a guy who had just transferred from Texas and was pre-enrolled: I forgot all about registration. I was scheduled between ten A.M. and eleven, and I turned up at four the following Thursday.

    I was lucky anyone was still there, because by then enrollments had officially closed. When I tapped on the glass door, my choice of two first-year electives was reduced to three sad little tables: Programming in Visual Basic; Masculinity in the New Millennium; and Introductory Marketing.

    Masculinity in the New Millennium was actually kind of interesting.

    But Marketing was unbelievable.


mktg: a definition


Marketing (or mktg, which is what you write when you're taking lecture notes at two hundred words per minute) is the biggest industry in the world, and it's invisible. It's the planet's largest religion, but the billions who worship it don't know it. It's vast, insidious and completely corrupt.

    Marketing is like LA. It's like a gorgeous, brainless model in LA. A gorgeous, brainless model on cocaine having sex drinking Perrier in LA. That's the best way I know how to describe it.


mktg case study #1: mktg perfume


TRIPLE YOUR PRICE. THIS GIVES CUSTOMERS THE IMPRESSION OF GREAT QUALITY. HELPS PROFITS, TOO.


welcome to reality


The first principle of marketing (okay, it's not the first, but it doesn't sound nearly as cool to say it's the third) is this: Perception is reality. You see, a long time ago, some academic came up with the idea that reality doesn't actually exist. Or at least, if it does, no one can agree what it is. Because of perception.

    Perception is the filter through which we view the world, and most of the time it's a handy thing to have: it generalizes the world so we can deduce that a man who wears an Armani suit is rich, or that a man who wears an Armani suit and keeps saying "Isn't this some Armani suit" is a rich asshole. But perception is a faulty mechanism. Perception is unreliable and easily distracted, subject to a thousand miscues and misinformation ... like marketing. If anyone found a way to actually distinguish perception from reality, the entire marketing industry would crumble into the sea overnight.

    (Incidentally, this wouldn't be a good thing. The economy of every Western country would implode. Some of the biggest companies on the planet would never sell another product. The air would be thick with executives leaping out of windows and landing on BMWs.)


graduation


I ended up taking as many marketing classes as I could, and actually graduated from Cal State summa cum laude. If I'd just finished pre-law, I'd have settled into earnest conversation with the top law firms of the country, bandying about six-figure salaries, ninety-hour weeks and twenty-year career plans. Law seems very structured like that.

    But marketing hates systems. Which is nice, in an idealistic, free-spirited sort of way, but it makes it a pain in the ass to get a job. To get a good job in marketing, you need to market yourself.


hello


My name is Scat.

    I used to be Michael George Holloway, but I had no chance of getting into marketing with a name like that. My potential employers, who had names like Fysh, Siimon and Onion, didn't even think I was making an effort. The least I could do was echo their creative genius by choosing a wacky, zany, top-of-mind name myself.

    For a while, I seriously toyed with the idea of calling myself Mr. Pretentious. But when sanity prevailed, I chose Scat. It sounded kind of fast-track.


career plan


So, armed with my new name, I was ready to hit the major corporations for a job. I was ready for the work week, tailored suits, corporate golf days, pension plans, Friday night drinks, frequent flyer programs and conservative values. I'd take it all.

    But then I get my idea.

Read More

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >