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A review by m_ess
Back to Blood by Lou Diamond Phillips, Tom Wolfe
2.0
LOUD
You ever read a book that makes you want to beat someone to death with their thesaurus?
THIS IS THE MOST BOOMER THING IMAGINABLE
Picaresque copaganda written by a horny old man who hates other people for having the sex he wishes he was having. A book by a guy convinced he is so smart and good at crafting sentences that he can get away with being incredibly racist, misogynist, kind of a dumbass, and unable to focus himself long enough to tell a coherent story. I know this has always been Tom Wolfe's thing – being disgusting about women, big stereotypes and bold pronouncements about people, owning the libs, owning the minorities, self-owning (but not really), wrapping conservative politics in a thick layer of irony and sophistication, wrapping prudishness in a thick layer of overt arousal, pointing fingers, too much research, digressions on digressions, too many descriptions: portraiture and then laughing at every bit of the picture he's painted – but when I was younger it was all at least a bit smoother to read.
Less bitter. Less out of touch. Now it's just gross.
You ever read a book that makes you want to beat someone to death with their thesaurus?
THIS IS THE MOST BOOMER THING IMAGINABLE
Picaresque copaganda written by a horny old man who hates other people for having the sex he wishes he was having. A book by a guy convinced he is so smart and good at crafting sentences that he can get away with being incredibly racist, misogynist, kind of a dumbass, and unable to focus himself long enough to tell a coherent story. I know this has always been Tom Wolfe's thing – being disgusting about women, big stereotypes and bold pronouncements about people, owning the libs, owning the minorities, self-owning (but not really), wrapping conservative politics in a thick layer of irony and sophistication, wrapping prudishness in a thick layer of overt arousal, pointing fingers, too much research, digressions on digressions, too many descriptions: portraiture and then laughing at every bit of the picture he's painted – but when I was younger it was all at least a bit smoother to read.
Less bitter. Less out of touch. Now it's just gross.