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3.0étoiles sur 5
The first words that come to mind are..., Oct. 16 2003
Par Un client
...self-indulgent...But that would be too harsh and can't go without explanation.The book is essentially 456 pages of Theroux (fictional or autobiographical, it doesn't matter) whining...about his writing or lack of it, about his poverty and lack of success as a writer, about people he doesn't like or doesn't understand (usually those with more money or success than himself). You get the idea. After the first hundred pages or so, I knew where the whole thing was going: this 'novel' (better defined as a collection of loosely related short stories) serves to convey an oblique account of the steady disintegration of Theroux's marriage and how he comes to grips with it and gets on with his life afterwards. He takes his time getting to the point, though, and this hurts. Meanwhile, he spends a great many words complaining about the English, directly or indirectly. Which is perhaps the book's only truly entertaining irony, as he writes in such a very British way that I hardly heard his (allegedly) 'American' voice until very late in the book. Even then, he frequently used accidental Britishisms...no American writer would write 'Cocoa Puffs' and then feel obliged to explain that it was a breakfast cereal, and no American would note that a man 'has a sport' when he means to say that he works out regularly. Conspicously lacking amid this whine-fest are any solid recollections of his success stories (again, whether fictional or autobiographical, the result is the same). We never hear about the joy of landing a publishing contract, of having a book turned into a movie, of the satisfaction of shepherding his children toward adulthood, of his great travel experiences and sexual flings. We only hear about the bad parts. He was underpaid here; he was underappreciated there. His sexual escapades almost always end in inept frustration. This went wrong, that was miserable, this fell apart, on and on. Taken at face value, one wouldn't know from this book what a success Theroux has really been (even the fictional version). However, it does have it's good moments. Technically, the writing is excellent, especially when he turns his attention to describing a scene in physical detail - the train ride to Moyo, and the depth of detail in Medford come readily to mind. There are a few very nice chapters, especially in the second half of the book. 'Forerunners' is charming and very clever, if heavily telegraphed, and 'George and Me' is right on. 'Medford - Next 3 Exits' almost worth the price of the book. I'm still scratching my head over the TIME review blurb on the cover "...a seriously funny novel," as the humor in this book is "minuscule," as Paul's Uncle Hal might say. I give it three stars, but don't recommend it.
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