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A review by tommooney
Fuccboi by Sean Thor Conroe
3.0
The controversy around this book is fucking stupid - you can't plagiarise a writing style. End of.
The book itself is a strange mix of utterly fresh and ultimately pointless. For the first 150 pages I was so excited by the style, so intrigued by Sean's character and felt he was building up to saying something really profound about modern masculinity. I love books that feel raw and gritty and examine fringe or working class living. Take Gabriel Krauze's fucking masterpiece, Who They Was, as an example. That's where I thought Fuccboi was heading.
But Conroe, for all this promise, doesn't ever get to the point. He has nothing much to say. Who They Was never once comes across as self indulgent. Fuccboi only ever does.
There's a whole genre built around (largely male, largely American) writers detailing their lives through thinly veiled protagonists and the project building to something so much bigger than themselves - Bret Easton Ellis, Bukowski, Fante et al. Conroe's debut doesn't achieve that.
But make no mistake - the kid has got skills. He just needs to harness them better. I feel like he needs someone to help him hone his style and refine his storytelling so he can maintain that early brilliance across a whole book. I know he recently lost his trusted editor, Giancarlo DiTrapano, who passed away last year. I hope he finds someone to take up the mantle. Because he's got something.
The book itself is a strange mix of utterly fresh and ultimately pointless. For the first 150 pages I was so excited by the style, so intrigued by Sean's character and felt he was building up to saying something really profound about modern masculinity. I love books that feel raw and gritty and examine fringe or working class living. Take Gabriel Krauze's fucking masterpiece, Who They Was, as an example. That's where I thought Fuccboi was heading.
But Conroe, for all this promise, doesn't ever get to the point. He has nothing much to say. Who They Was never once comes across as self indulgent. Fuccboi only ever does.
There's a whole genre built around (largely male, largely American) writers detailing their lives through thinly veiled protagonists and the project building to something so much bigger than themselves - Bret Easton Ellis, Bukowski, Fante et al. Conroe's debut doesn't achieve that.
But make no mistake - the kid has got skills. He just needs to harness them better. I feel like he needs someone to help him hone his style and refine his storytelling so he can maintain that early brilliance across a whole book. I know he recently lost his trusted editor, Giancarlo DiTrapano, who passed away last year. I hope he finds someone to take up the mantle. Because he's got something.