A mysterious gray book drives Ollister and Adelaide’s twisted po-mo relationship. When it goes missing, they go nuts: he plots revenge against art patriarch The Platypus while she obsesses over their anti-love affair. Meanwhile, the other art school scenesters experiment with bad drugs, bad sex, and bad ideas. When a punk named Punk shows up with a potent sex drug, the whole wild crowd gets caught up in the gravitational pull of The Platypus’ sinister White Ball, where a confused art terrorism cell threatens a ludicrous and hilarious implosion. With an unerring, unflinching eye for satire, Zach Plague’s brilliant hybrid of image and text lampoons the art world and those boring enough to fall into its traps. Featuring dynamic graphic text on every page, boring boring boring boring boring boring boring is an intrigue of mundane proportion.
Perhaps I didn’t love this because I finished it while recovering from food poisoning, but unfortunately nothing leaves one with quite as distasteful a mindset as projectile vomiting. Which, coincidentally, some characters in this novel do with alarming frequency.
When I was an undergrad, I had two dorm neighbors who were art students. One of them was the most hilarious guy I had ever met in my life. Just about everything he ever said made me laugh uncontrollably. The other guy was cool, and I let him shave the back of my head once because he wanted to. He shaved something like a T into it. Or a square tail. There was also a stunt involving door lock removal and a herd of guys wearing nothing but socks on their wangs. The art majors were interesting more than anything else and nothing like the characters in this novel, which centers around an art school and arts community in a Portland-like city.
The good: The writing is top notch. Surprising use of language and deftly constructed sentences. The plot is quite clever and unpredictable. A weird obsessive atmosphere and tone envelopes the narrative. Most, if not all, character internal monologues are well rendered with diversity. Characters try to understand themselves but never do. It is at times LOL funny. The design of the book (by the author) is beautiful. A unique concept book that can be unfolded into 9 giant poster spreads of all pages.
The not quite as good: Some elements of the text are overdesigned such as the constant use of italics and bolding throughout. In such large doses, this has the effect of making the writing seem juvenile because it feels like the author is highlighting words without letting the reader do the work. However, I can at least partially excuse this by the fact that the characters are so juvenile that it suits them. Which leads to my next point that all of these art school students, dropouts, their college friends and the rulers of the local arts community are so incredibly…batshit? So neurotic, decadent, criminal, pompous, loony, narcissistic, careless, wreckless…you get my point. Although the characters are well-differentiated, they are ALL so extreme that the sum is just so much much. The author seems to be striving for psychological realism within individual characters, but because each and every single one is so extreme it has the effect of delegitimizing all of them. Making the book seem like a cartoon world at war with itself. I’ve definitely known a few people as crazy as some of these—they were mentally ill. And I’m also sure that—although I’ve known many art school students over the years who were quite “normal”—it’s probably one of the richest beds of neurosis to be found this side of an English Lit grad program, this book makes it too rich. Sometimes the hipper than thou quality of the characters unintentionally pervades the novel itself. Finally, the ending falls apart right at the climax with a ½-page denouement that is rather unsatisfying. If you set us up with an over-the-top plot, you need an over-the-top finish, and this kind of fizzled in the last page.
All that being said, this book is a quick, fun read and worth a drug-addled romp in the Piss Christ of art school. I give it 3 ½ stars.
By and large, the selling point of boring boring boring boring boring boring boring (that's seven, count 'em) is its idiosyncratic design. While most of it works well and provides eye candy, the frequent use of bolded, italicized, and bolded italicized words within the actual text is unnecessary, I think, and probably distracting to some. I liked a few of the characters--Punk, most notably--but I felt there were too many. Lastly, I think the plot is a tad inflated for my tastes. Nonetheless, this book has numerous redeeming qualities.
A brilliant juxtaposition of story (casual yet ambitious, slackerish yet gonzo) and design (a hyperactive visual feast). I got to read with Zach at three different events this summer and he was also a superb reader of his work.
When the mysterious gray book that drives their twisted relationship goes missing, Ollister and Adelaide lose their post-modern marbles. He plots revenge against art patriarch The Platypus, while she obsesses over their anti-love affair. Meanwhile, the art school set experiments with bad drugs, bad sex, and bad ideas. But none of these desperate young minds has counted on the intrusion of a punk named Punk and his potent sex drug. This wild slew of characters get caught up in the gravitational pull of The Platypus' giant art ball, where a confused art terrorism cell threatens a ludicrous and hilarious implosion. Zach Plague has written and designed a hybrid typo/graphic novel which skewers the art world, and those boring enough to fall into its traps.
Beautifully written, wonderful illustrated this hybrid typo-graphic novel isn't like anything I've ever read or seen before and I loved it! I would also recommend it for fans of fiction who are seeking something, new, different, bold. Plus, it's anything but boring boring boring boring boring boring boring! Check it out for yourself.
Possibly more of a 2.5, but an entertaining read. All of the characters need to be picked up by the scruff of the neck and given a good shake, but they didn't annoy me. The book is satirising a pretentious art scene and does that quite well. I did laugh out loud on a number of occassions. I just wished that people would have had a shower more often, they all (particularly Punk) came across as quite manky, I wouldn't have wanted to have been in an enclosed space with them.
The main plot line was ridiculous (in a good way), but the graphic design within the text (bolding, italics, etc) was distracting, as I had to continually force myself not to read those words with emphasis. And, to be honest, I wasn't sure what was supposed to be satire and what was supposed to be serious, which made me feel stupid. Anyhow, there were many passages that I thought were well written and pleasurable to read (except for the bolding/italics/etc). As a graphic designer, I respected the attempt, but I don't think he should have done it SO frequently within the text.
As usual there's a lot of fun to be had in a revisionist take on a major piece of pop culture. But the book ultimately felt hemmed in by the illogic of Midsummer Night's Dream. Either hewing closer to the original or discarding it might have served the story better, as much time is given over to spinning wheels until the next play plot point or trying to justify the magical reversals of the original within a modern context.
I picked this book up at a book fair simply because I wanted to be cool and buy something from an indy press. The book was an interesting look at late teens involved in an exaggeratedly complex art world, filled with deception and intrigue. Layout wise it's fairly unique as the book is written as a huge poster folded to fit the book pages. Yeah, I know, hard to grasp but definitely unique.
It doesn't matter how many fonts you use. Or how experimental your fold-out poster is. If you're going to title your book "boring boring...etc." then there's pretty much one major goal: do not live up to the title.
Mr. Plague, you failed. Sorry. Boring boring boring boring boring boring it is.
I couldn't finish it. It seems to me like just the thing kids who want to be called "art kids" read mixed with a poor version of House of Leaves. Just not my cup of tea, I suppose.