A review by ralowe
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers

2.0

nobody knows i was reading this book. well my friends knew, well"_ i will try to keep the postmodern stuff in this review to a minimum: just the text! nothing about the the plague of thoughtful carefree lugs who have descended upon valencia on his beck in his wake. well, not so much beck. [SPOILER!] in this he leaves san francisco. psh if only. no postmodernism! in dave eggers' *heartbreaking work of staggering genius* the microaggressive casualness of his racism and misogyny, vague in each instance yet unignorable in accumulated time-release mass, invariably met by the thunderous aloof "aw c'mon, what's the big deal?"ќ of the gods, battering our thatched circular compounds with merciless climate change-enhanced showers, washing away complaint. when tragedy hits assholes they are still assholes and it is still tragedy. it's important to honor the tragedies in this memoir with all their lurid novelistic detail, even when it comes off as lurid novelistic detail. i can be a sucker. but then"_ there is joy here, in toph. all the author's adult child stuff is saccharine until you really think about all the cheese shops and old-timey barber shops on val"У"У zut! what did i say? i mean"_ i mean there's so much i want to care about. but then: i mean, it's so hard to not despise eggers' self-portrayal. the truthiness' merit is in question if the truth we're waiting for is this. do we need to hear white straight man's truth? but there is much to admire in elements of eggers' style. the dense pages of heady faulknerian swell, the adept joycean stream-of-consciousness flourishes and satirical stylistic changes. the craft is like others of his generation, david foster wallace. but is this where deadpool comes from? a little bit? eggers unnerved by how much my mind settled into, or rather seemed to work with, sync with, his, at least mechanically, at least in terms of discursive constructions, feeling innate, obvious, maybe even normal. eggers' white hetero male subjectivity is aware of what's offputting about it's flawed and self-aware self-assuredness. so aware that, yes, you can see the protective geodesic dome of innocence bio-organically weaving itself into place to protect its bright and brilliant caucasoid populace from fiery meteors. god, how naggingly frustrating it feels to see all the worst parts of my personality in this text. we're so similar, or so i'm confused enough to believe"_ isn't it all bleatingly average ultimately? all the white straight mediocrity, its massive city-devouring soul-devouring maw. people's lives, lifeworlds, like the little koalas burning alive, koala neighbors, who would share a eucalyptus leaf, devoured by that australian wildfire, relentless manifest destiny implacable and indifferent must devour, must consume, must destroy until there are no koalas left. restorative abuse. a term occurs to me. a term that itself can be alternately weaponized in reversal, i am desperate to name this phenomena. restorative abuse like the uselessness of a self-aware racist. the tv show where you get to hear the actual epithet followed by its impending scoldy scowl. the fantasy of balance, of holding all differences, of democracy. it's absurd to rail against, isn't this the diversity you want? your real world, with puck and pedro, rachel the republican? no. we are not equal, the racist's and misogynist's voice can never be valid. fuck off.