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3.58 AVERAGE
3.58 AVERAGE
The style got a little old by the end of the book and I ended up scanning tangents to get back to content, but otherwise thoroughly entertaining.
Yikes. I’ve never before encountered such naval gazing exhausting blathering. I have no idea why I felt I needed to finish it, maybe because I’ve got a small stack of other unfinished books and didn’t want to continue that, but I wish I’d skipped it altogether.
I appreciate this book for what it is. It's hard to critique because it's so self-aware that the author has already made all criticisms I might make. But in the end, I felt like that device was over-used. I was irritated with how hard the author/main character seemed to be trying. I'm glad I read it, but it was hard to get through.
emotional
sad
slow-paced
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
I read this book when I was 20 and it came out. I felt that I had found a kindred spirit trying to find themselves. I remember the writing being a fierce dive into the author’s emotional world. Returning to it over 20 years later, the writing didn’t hold up to my memory. I was disappointed in the sometimes sexist and racist diatribes as well as the self-indulgent excuses. I would be interested to see how the author looking back later in life.
3.5 - 4.5: All it takes, and what Eggers is asking for, in part, is for the audience to also acknowledge the constructed nature of their own role in this game. He has written a hyper self-aware story about some aspects of his life to exorcise demons or induce catharsis and external forgiveness, maybe. But you, consumer of this self-conscious personal story, are doing the same things, playing the roles of audience, voyeur, and critic. To what end? Who are we trying to impress? What are we hoping to learn, feel, or be as a result?
If someone were to state that absolutely none of the internal narratives found throughout resonate or at least feel familiar - of self-mythologizing, self-pitying, constant dissecting, deluding oneself about one’s intentions and motivations, luxuriating in youthfulness, attempts to surf and/or subvert cultural zeitgeists, hypocritical judgment and use of others, to treat our relationships with friends, lovers, dependents as opportunities for self-actualization independent of their best interests, of seeking power and avoiding pain in ways both great and small - I’d be deeply surprised.
I read the first 100 pages for a class in 2013 and listened to most of the audiobook, reading some portions, 10 years later. As a precocious 20 year old I probably would have gravitated toward either a love or hate take on this, recognizing innovation and genius (a la DFW) where it was due or exasperation with the relentless ‘quirkiness’ and style play that can get old quickly. Today, I’m both more forgiving of the ironic warts-and-all memoir approach (10 more years of social media use under my belt) and less impressed by the unconventional writing techniques having seen it done better or in more meaningful ways elsewhere. What remains is just honest respect for the self-reflection involved with this work from a relatively young writer at the time, cringing at the parts that haven’t aged well, and appreciation for Egger’s deep drive to share himself and the world he knew in an effort to connect.
If someone were to state that absolutely none of the internal narratives found throughout resonate or at least feel familiar - of self-mythologizing, self-pitying, constant dissecting, deluding oneself about one’s intentions and motivations, luxuriating in youthfulness, attempts to surf and/or subvert cultural zeitgeists, hypocritical judgment and use of others, to treat our relationships with friends, lovers, dependents as opportunities for self-actualization independent of their best interests, of seeking power and avoiding pain in ways both great and small - I’d be deeply surprised.
I read the first 100 pages for a class in 2013 and listened to most of the audiobook, reading some portions, 10 years later. As a precocious 20 year old I probably would have gravitated toward either a love or hate take on this, recognizing innovation and genius (a la DFW) where it was due or exasperation with the relentless ‘quirkiness’ and style play that can get old quickly. Today, I’m both more forgiving of the ironic warts-and-all memoir approach (10 more years of social media use under my belt) and less impressed by the unconventional writing techniques having seen it done better or in more meaningful ways elsewhere. What remains is just honest respect for the self-reflection involved with this work from a relatively young writer at the time, cringing at the parts that haven’t aged well, and appreciation for Egger’s deep drive to share himself and the world he knew in an effort to connect.
