You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
captainfez 's review for:
The Colossus of New York
by Colson Whitehead
Wow.
I'd had this sitting on my shelf for five years or so, waiting to be read. I'm glad I finally pulled my finger out and gave it a whirl; Whitehead has managed to bottle the Big Apple in this slim volume.
Other reviewers give him crap for being a peacock - preening and artificial. But I think this misreads his intentions. I thought it more a reflection of the city itself - loud, self-inventing, chopping, changing, never quite staying the same. It feels more Beat-like than some of the Beats (a bunch I'm not terribly in love with, I must say) but hums along with that sort of highly caffeinated energy that NY does so well.
Some of these stories, I must admit, are less about New York in particular and more about the minutiae of living in a big city. No matter where you live, you'll recognise the rainy day scurry, the inner voice chatting on public transport, the personal mapping of environment by landmarks that have changed name, or gone completely. So in that respect it's not -strictly- a NYC work. But hell, it made me want to go back, so it has to have some strange power of the land of yellow cabs inside it, right?
It's short and sweet - there's something transient in the work, like a lost weekend in town. I found myself wanting to read particular passages to my partner, wanting to push it onto other likeminded people and say "See, you would dig this!" - that desire to spread the word is well-earned. Whitehead's prose sounds like the city, with all its bustle, flatulence and come-on.
A wonderful read. If you've ever been there or ever wanted to go, this is for you.
I'd had this sitting on my shelf for five years or so, waiting to be read. I'm glad I finally pulled my finger out and gave it a whirl; Whitehead has managed to bottle the Big Apple in this slim volume.
Other reviewers give him crap for being a peacock - preening and artificial. But I think this misreads his intentions. I thought it more a reflection of the city itself - loud, self-inventing, chopping, changing, never quite staying the same. It feels more Beat-like than some of the Beats (a bunch I'm not terribly in love with, I must say) but hums along with that sort of highly caffeinated energy that NY does so well.
Some of these stories, I must admit, are less about New York in particular and more about the minutiae of living in a big city. No matter where you live, you'll recognise the rainy day scurry, the inner voice chatting on public transport, the personal mapping of environment by landmarks that have changed name, or gone completely. So in that respect it's not -strictly- a NYC work. But hell, it made me want to go back, so it has to have some strange power of the land of yellow cabs inside it, right?
It's short and sweet - there's something transient in the work, like a lost weekend in town. I found myself wanting to read particular passages to my partner, wanting to push it onto other likeminded people and say "See, you would dig this!" - that desire to spread the word is well-earned. Whitehead's prose sounds like the city, with all its bustle, flatulence and come-on.
A wonderful read. If you've ever been there or ever wanted to go, this is for you.