In the last review I mentioned being 'worthily engaged on a hefty work of literary fiction, something meaty, of indisputable credentials, something described by the New York Times Book Review as a "masterpiece"' and of picking up another book in the middle of it. Well, I finally finished the hefty one, weighing in at nearly 500 pages.
This is a quintessential New York novel - maybe that's why the NY Review of Books liked it so much - but one which presents a New York which is slightly off, labouring under a multitude of metaphorical afflictions: a grey fog permanently enveloping lower Manhattan, a never-ending winter, a rampant "tiger" which ravages the city, inflicting random catastrophe... The book centres on two seemingly unlikely friends, a manic and fading (counter) cultural critic, ever high on high-grade pot, fixated on obscure films and Marlon Brando, and a once child star in a minor, but endlessly repeated sitcom, living as an affable empty vessel and playing along with the public sympathy afforded to him because his fiancée is stuck irredeemably in orbit, fading away without hope of return, cut off from the planet by a ring of Chinese space mines, but nonetheless discovering surprising depths of devotion to his unpredictable friend.
Yep, it's all a bit odd, and, in its generally plotless course takes us to virtual worlds where hologram vases are the greatest treasure, swanky parties of the great and good, salt-of-the-earth NY diners which fall victim to the tiger, and upper east side appartment blocks converted to house dogs only.
It is comedic and over the top, yet still somehow very true to a deeper level of (un)reality in alienated NY city life. It does create a powerful sense of unease at the inability of our society to distinguish between the real and the unreal, between the important and the trivial. It depicts a society where the powerful dominate through their power to falsify reality, make illusions real and themselves apparently lose any real connection with the real world. The book is not however predominantly a social satire, but seems to reflect a deeper alienation. We sympathise with the protagonists, but, I think, accept that they are hopeless cases quite early on.
Is this a masterpiece? I think it may be. But I can't help feeling that it is a masterpiece that demands just a little too much patience of us. The meanderings of the characters are sometimes, well, a little too meandering, while the language, rich and amazing, is maybe too rich and amazing when consumed slowly over 500 pages.
I blame myself to a large extent: I read this book in too-small snippets, whereas it demands focus and dedication, meaty reading sessions. All the same, it has left a powerful impression on this inadequate reader anyway.
Recommendation? Well if you are that dedicated reader, up for something which may indeed be a major work of contemporary American literature and with time and focus to give this book, then I think you could get a lot out of it. However, I am not going to take the responsibility of recommending this book - I'm afraid I found it just a bit too much work.
This is a quintessential New York novel - maybe that's why the NY Review of Books liked it so much - but one which presents a New York which is slightly off, labouring under a multitude of metaphorical afflictions: a grey fog permanently enveloping lower Manhattan, a never-ending winter, a rampant "tiger" which ravages the city, inflicting random catastrophe... The book centres on two seemingly unlikely friends, a manic and fading (counter) cultural critic, ever high on high-grade pot, fixated on obscure films and Marlon Brando, and a once child star in a minor, but endlessly repeated sitcom, living as an affable empty vessel and playing along with the public sympathy afforded to him because his fiancée is stuck irredeemably in orbit, fading away without hope of return, cut off from the planet by a ring of Chinese space mines, but nonetheless discovering surprising depths of devotion to his unpredictable friend.
Yep, it's all a bit odd, and, in its generally plotless course takes us to virtual worlds where hologram vases are the greatest treasure, swanky parties of the great and good, salt-of-the-earth NY diners which fall victim to the tiger, and upper east side appartment blocks converted to house dogs only.
It is comedic and over the top, yet still somehow very true to a deeper level of (un)reality in alienated NY city life. It does create a powerful sense of unease at the inability of our society to distinguish between the real and the unreal, between the important and the trivial. It depicts a society where the powerful dominate through their power to falsify reality, make illusions real and themselves apparently lose any real connection with the real world. The book is not however predominantly a social satire, but seems to reflect a deeper alienation. We sympathise with the protagonists, but, I think, accept that they are hopeless cases quite early on.
Is this a masterpiece? I think it may be. But I can't help feeling that it is a masterpiece that demands just a little too much patience of us. The meanderings of the characters are sometimes, well, a little too meandering, while the language, rich and amazing, is maybe too rich and amazing when consumed slowly over 500 pages.
I blame myself to a large extent: I read this book in too-small snippets, whereas it demands focus and dedication, meaty reading sessions. All the same, it has left a powerful impression on this inadequate reader anyway.
Recommendation? Well if you are that dedicated reader, up for something which may indeed be a major work of contemporary American literature and with time and focus to give this book, then I think you could get a lot out of it. However, I am not going to take the responsibility of recommending this book - I'm afraid I found it just a bit too much work.
A meaty read. And, sorry, a poor book cover.
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