Oh nooooo! I got ahead of the author on a trilogy. Ravenous for another installment.
I loved Wolf Hall, but decided to pace myself: read several otherOh nooooo! I got ahead of the author on a trilogy. Ravenous for another installment.
I loved Wolf Hall, but decided to pace myself: read several other books before tasting Hilary Mantel's style again. Couldn't do it. Read one book and then plunged back in. Loved this as much as the first, and was grateful she picked up the pace this time. (That was my lone complaint on Wolf Hall: 600 pages was excessive for the story she had to tell. I got restless with it. Better pacing here....more
I blurbed this book, so I'll start with that, then expand:
That voice. That witty, subversive voice weBest book I've read all year--by a country mile.
I blurbed this book, so I'll start with that, then expand:
That voice. That witty, subversive voice we thought we'd lost, is back for one last romp. Hastings decodes the culture even more incisively in fiction, with wild bursts of imaginative mischief. So damn funny.
Too salesy? I hope not. So much to pack in there, and especially, I wanted to convey the giddiness I felt snickering my way through.
I could hardly believe it. I missed Mike desperately, and there was everything I loved about him, everything that made him so special, the one living journalist I most looked up to, captured vividly on the page.
So there's my disclaimer: Mike was a friend. Stop there if you think I'm too biased. But it affected me deeply as a writer, and as someone working in a version of the same field, frequently appalled and furious at the profession.
As I've raved about the book pre-publication, I've found myself confessing that it's hard to be objective, but that's not actually true: My writer friends and I exchange work all the time, and they shudder at my critiques. I'm harsh and demanding, especially from those I respect most, and to be honest, I was terrified to read this: What if Mike couldn't pull off fiction? What if it wasn't his best work?
I never dreamed that it would literally be his best work. In my opinion, it is. If you thought you loved his voice in nonfiction, when he was still constrained by the form, wait to you hear him unshackled and unfettered in fiction. Kind of glorious to behold.
God, I wish he'd plunged into fiction deeper, sooner.
This book is described as a satire of the media, and at least 2/3 of it is, brilliantly, but it's so much more. One by one, he takes us deep inside so many cultural institutions, and shows us how absurdly they operate: war, media, even a hilarious bit on the airlines that had me howling and nodding. (pp. 29-31. That's when I knew that I was unabashedly in love with this book. Try that if you're looking for an excerpt. Search the phrase, "A.E. Peoria sits in first class..."
Every page I was nodding, because Mike had this incredible cultural x-ray sort of capacity to see right through the fog of cultural wars, take us readers right past all that, into the inside to see how it operates: who is pulling the levers and why.
The scary part for me, as a writer, was 1/3 of the way through, I set the book down, and had a serious argument with myself about whether I had to stop reading. The war sections were covering the same ground as my next book, and I was starting to feel panicky that I couldn't match it. (That debilitating intimidation has happened to me exactly twice before: reading "In Cold Blood" while writing "Columbine," and rereading "All Quiet On The Western Front" while working on my soldiers' book. And now "The Last Magazine." Pretty lofty company.)
That was my actual experience reading this--so I'm pretty sure I was feeling more than just admiration for a friend. (FYI, the war receded as a primary focus as the novel progressed, but I didn't know that at the time. And for the record, I got over the intimidation each time. But it fucked with me.)
This novel is a mischievous and cutting satire, and boy does Mike lay the media bare. You may think you've seen that before, because Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert have been masterfully eviscerating it nightly. But those guys are skewering the media from the outside. They've got TVs lined up in the writers' rooms watching CNN and Fox and MSNBC like the rest of us. They can and do tell us HOW the media is fucking it up, but if you want to understand WHY all that perplexing sewage keeps spilling out, you need an insider. Mike lived it. Mike inhabited that self-perpetuating bullshit machinery. And here he's laying it bare.
People assume it's all about ratings, but that doesn't explain the half of it. Fuck the show's ratings, or the magazine sales, it's about PERSONAL stature. It's about opportunism, cowardice, personality branding. All of that comes to life in this book. It's about clever use of a question mark. I don't want to go any further without a spoiler, but there is an amazing use of a question mark in a crucial headline in this book that reveals so much about how a news organization can shamelessly, selfishly beat the drum for and against the same war.
Mike had an amazing eye for the telling detail, and a keen bullshit-detector.
So if you were offended by my use of "fuck" up there, this book might not be for you. It is not polite. Sometimes ruthless, even savage, but always dead-on. Mike illustrates a pitch-perfect ear for voice and dialogue and It's all rendered beautifully, through the eyes of (mostly) young men, who are not mincing words, or acting delicately. There are a handful of pretty wild, graphic sexcapades, which for me, beautifully colored the life of these characters--and while avoiding spoilers, a certain juxtaposition of war, porn and news is deftly handled and revealing about all three, as well as the young men engaging in them.
If that's going to offend you, be prepared to skip a few pages, or skip this book. It's pretty damn gonzo. If you hate gonzo, you know who you are. If you hated Denis Johnson's "Jesus' Son," don't even consider this.
The book is not flawless. I could live without some of the interludes, the Thai sex scene went on too long, and I would have loved more introspection in the last 30 pages (Part VII), which were too plot-focused for my taste. In time, I think it will be viewed as an imperfect gem.
"Jesus' Son" is my favorite novel written in my time, and I kept recalling it as I read: in the brutal honesty and vivid insights each book captured about its characters. Also, I was reminded of "A Visit from the Goon Squad" (which I'm still reading, and LOVING), for the same reason, particularly the feeling and intensity of youngish artists (writers, musicians, whatever), and perhaps particularly in NYC at this moment in time. The tormented inner lives of the "fictional" Hastings and especially the A.E. Peoria he was projecting himself growing into--Peoria's fears, aspirations, his shaky identity as a magazine writer and the tenuous nature of making both your living and your hopeful contribution by typing shit on a screen ... These characters were so powerful and so real, it felt like someone had been listening in to all the conversations in my head.
That was unsettling for me. The passage on p. 240, when "Hastings" (the first-person narrator) says about Peoria, "Yes, the career had been his life...his id, his ego, and his soul. He didn't know it at the time. ... He just took pills and got drunk and ..." And then he made one mistake... God, it sounded like Mike had been listening into the arguments in my head. But he wrote it before he met me. Is this what all writers feel? All artists? Just certain kinds? I had no idea Mike was so haunted by the myth of Icarus, leaping out at him from among all the Greek myths, just as it did for me. For you? I actually hope to hear from other writers and artists about their reactions. (Perhaps in the comments?)
For me, personally, this was as much a portrait of two earnest but ambitious young artists trying to make a lasting impact on the world--and how that can run horribly astray.
It's a brilliant take-down of the media, too, for sure, but don't miss the richer personal story a quarter inch beneath the surface. This is an Icarus tale.
It's consistently witty and insightful and it's immediately so there. Just a stunning piece of work. Best book I've read all year. ...more
I didn't finish this book, so I can't rate it. I pushed through about 100 pages and felt nothing compelling about it--writing, characters and story alI didn't finish this book, so I can't rate it. I pushed through about 100 pages and felt nothing compelling about it--writing, characters and story all seemed fairly mundane.
I've loved other Philip Roth, so I'm setting this one aside and will try American Pastoral soon....more
As I read, my love/hate relationship evolved: more loving by the middle, but then really despising the last 100 pages.
All I really found interesting wAs I read, my love/hate relationship evolved: more loving by the middle, but then really despising the last 100 pages.
All I really found interesting were some of the ideas discussed, but even more so, vivid fragmentary pictures of the various states of the Renaissance and watching how some of the ideas simmered, boiled, etc. Kind of a nice refresher course on the period, as everything I learned in college and grad school fuzzies up.
But the central conceit, he admits near the end of the preface is not really true: that there were many forces, not a single one. In fact, in the "Birth and Rebirth" chapter, he seems to make a more compelling case, that the more important moments came a generation earlier, with Petrarch. (Why didn't he start there?)
What became truly maddening, though, was Greeenblatt's utter lack of storytelling skill: even to CONCEIVE of a story. He seems to have elevated this poem to preposterous status for the single purpose of providing a story to weave all this around--and then he does no such thing! He never found much of a story here at all! He has little to go on with the actual discovery, or what the hell Poggio did with it, and biggest shock: barely even attempts to demonstrate how the poem really had an impact, or how that evolved.
It's more like snippets of this author using hit here, that author apparently influenced by it there. And we have to slog through pointless chapters like one dedicated to all the uneventful, unrelated happenings of the rest of Poggio's life.
Probably the choice of a false narrative--and one without much known story--left this book with no story (plot), and few interesting characters. Nothing to really dig in and care about as story.
(The most stunning example of his weakness is in some ways the most lively chapter, #7 "A Pit to Catch Foxes.": This doesn't really have a whole lot to do with the book--like much of the book--but seems to be in there primarily just because it's one hell of a good yarn. I fully support that: that's exactly what the book is starving for. So....
He spends 17 pages on it and neglects to provide the basics: 1) The setup (and most interesting question of all): WHY are there 3 popes! 2) The characters: we get a bit on the pope in Rome, but his two adversaries are barely mentioned in passing, 3) What the hell happened? (He merely tells us things started going badly for the Roman pope, so he fled? Most of that's only hinted at. What the hell is the story? In 17 pages, he can't even provide more than glimpse in what was going on to make the story climax?
It's such an insane non story. We get half-page paragraphs detailing long lists of attendees, who was in their entourage and what they were all wearing and how their horses were adorned in splendorous detail. And only scraps here and there of what the hell actually happened at the conference and how/why it unfolded that way.
It was like watching the event on television with the sound turned off. All visuals, no substance.
Halfway through the book, I was still willing to forgive all that in exchange for, 1) great glimpses of the period, 2) vivid prose depicting it all, 3) great insights into much of the thinking, why it mattered, and how it fit together.
On the paragraph level,brilliant writer, and thinker. His ability to pull it together into an actual story to maintain interest, instead of being 250 pages of meandering, rudderless factoids floating about: dismal....more
What a pleasure to read this. It's been a long time since I laughed this hard. Remember the first time you saw Colbert, and laughed your ass off and mWhat a pleasure to read this. It's been a long time since I laughed this hard. Remember the first time you saw Colbert, and laughed your ass off and marveled at how you'd never heard anything quite like him? Well David Yoo is completely different than that--and anything else you have likely encountered.
It's great to discover such a stirring voice, mining material I'd never considered before. Each new episode explores darker territory--shot through with surprising moments of insight, laughter and light....more
It's only the third book I've ever agreed to blurb. That tells you how much I loved it.
My blurb (and I wrote it myselfSo much about this book to love.
It's only the third book I've ever agreed to blurb. That tells you how much I loved it.
My blurb (and I wrote it myself, and meant every word):
“I was captivated, instantly, by Anthony Shadid’s lushly evocative prose. Crumbling Ottoman outposts, doomed pashas, and roving bandits feel immediate, familiar, and relevant. Lose yourself in these pages, where empires linger, grandparents wander, and a battered Lebanon beckons us home. Savor it all. If Márquez had explored nonfiction, Macondo would feel as real as Marjayoun.”
Reading it sometimes made me feel inadequate as a writer. I wish I could do some of the amazing things he does. Or maybe I wish I could do them so relentlessly. I tend to underline phrases I love, and the pages are covered in ink. Every other sentence leaps out at me. Hard to believe.
Reading it sometimes made me feel inadequate as a writer. I wish I could do some of the amazing things he does. Or maybe I wish I could do them so relentlessly. I tend to underline phrases I love, and the pages are covered in ink. Every other sentence leaps out at me. Hard to believe anyone can be that consistent. Faulkner, Nabokov, Denis Johnson and William Lychak are the only ones who have matched Anthony's underline rate for me.
Update, Feb 2013:
A year later, I still think about this book, and the impact it had on me. Beautiful....more
I just finished, and what an awful taste in my mouth. I am perplexed by his conclusions about both his protagonists, though that perhaps explains theI just finished, and what an awful taste in my mouth. I am perplexed by his conclusions about both his protagonists, though that perhaps explains the curious choice of asking us to spend 350 pages with them. (Perhaps he saw something he failed to communicate.)
Actually, with Martha, I'm convinced there WAS something extraordinary to communicate. Quite close to the start, we see two great writers sitting on either side of her at (I believe) her farewell party. They were close friends. I wrote in the margin there that that's no coincidence. People like Carl Sandburg are likely to be attracted to others with something going on. One might be a fluke, but two, unlikely. This woman obviously had something. I couldn't wait to discover what.
For 300 more pages, we see her accumulate a dizzying number of men successful in all sorts of fields, but particularly artists, who were quite taken by her. And it wasn't her looks. She must have been extraordinary in some way. It totally seems to have eluded Larson. I kept waiting for her personality to come through--for some redeeming qualities. She just seemed like a clueless simpleton. Lame, annoying character at the center of the book, and presumably a discredit to her as well.
So what happened? I have no idea. Larson seemed to fall for her, but then forgot convey why.
That's one of the many problems with this book. The periodic bursts of "dark and stormy" prose were also annoying, though they came and went.
I just don't get the appeal.
Here were some of my early thoughts, a few days ago:
I'm halfway through, and conflicted, starting to sour.
The short intro got me very interested, and I mostly loved Devil In The White City, so I dove in. But it never really grabbed me. (Certainly not the way Devil did--I was enraptured in both its stories immediately.) The two main characters here are exceptionally bland, and their story uncompelling. (Not much story to their story.)
What it DOES do, brilliantly, is its main intent: to provide a POV into what it was like for two outsiders to venture in and see the Nazi world as it took hold.
That was fascinating, and wonderful for awhile, though I was restless and yearning for a more interesting story and characters to take me in. And the longer it wore on, the more redundant it felt.
Then, this morning, I dove into history of the period elsewhere, and discovered how the story begins rather late, after Hitler had effectively taken control.
The prose is solid and Larsen is a natural storyteller most of the time, though he skitters into 'Dark and stormy night' territory too often.
Now . . . I'm wondering whether I should invest the time to finish.
I will adjust my rating as I go.
(I'm finished now. It has me irritated enough to want to slap one star on there, but that's unfair. There is lots of good storytelling in here, too. I'm just so exasperated by it.)...more
This was only the second book I've ever blurbed. I was very impressed. My review:
This was such a rewarding book. I've always been fascinated by that vThis was only the second book I've ever blurbed. I was very impressed. My review:
This was such a rewarding book. I've always been fascinated by that very basic question: when someone is disturbed and irrational enough to actually pick up a gun and take hostages, how on earth do you talk him down?
What was most startling to me was that until very recently in human history--a few decades ago--we didn't know.
The more I learned, the hungrier I got to learn more. How interesting that so much of it amounts to listening.
I had previously learned a great deal about hostage negotiators researching my book COLUMBINE. (The head of the FBI investigation in that case, Dr. Dwayne Fuselier, was a leading negotiator and I spent a great deal of time with him.) Fuselier spoke very highly of Gary Noesner, so I was curious.
I expected to skim through much it, but found myself hanging on every word. There is a great deal to learn here, and it was just as interesting to watch the story of how difficult it was to teach the FBI these ideas. Individuals picked them up rather easily, but making the institution embrace them was a bigger challenge.
My biggest surprise, though, was what a natural storyteller Noesner turned out to be. He has the easy style and readability of a lifelong novelist. It was a gripping and thoroughly enjoyable read. ...more