From Publishers Weekly
Former
Feed editor Lipsyte was one of the young writers to come out of
Open City's initial rise in the '90s; his collection of short stories was followed by 2001's
The Subject Steve, a kind of condensed
Infinite Jest. This second novel is written as a series of insanely baroque, inappropriately intimate letters to a high school alumni newsletter, 20 or so years after graduation. The letters' fictional author, Lewis Miner, aka "Teabag," is clearly lucid enough to know that the letters could never be printed, let alone appreciated by what emerge as his philistine fellow graduates, but he persists anyway. That giddy, passing-itself-off-as-ordinary persistence becomes the point of the novel, which presents lives that continue in the face of crushing, banal and heartbreaking failures. Lewis can barely make his rent payments, is employed writing "FakeFacts" for a cola outfit and is recovering from his fiancée's recent departure. He and his clique of Eastern Valley High leftovers cope as best they can, taunting and analyzing one another unceasingly. The novel climaxes, if it can be called that, at a surreal gathering of former classmates dubbed a Togethering. At every turn, Lipsyte plays on the clichés of the stuck-white-aging-male, though he embellishes them with sharp dialogue. That the novel is an unpleasant, static read is a sign of its uncompromising, mise-en-abyme success.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
--This text refers to the
Paperback
edition.
From Booklist
If you combined the inspired lunacy of Christopher Moore (
The Stupidest Angel [BKL O 1 04]) with the withering humor of David Gates (
Jernigan, 1997), you would get Sam Lipsyte. Self-described loser Lewis Miner, class of '89, has been receiving the Eastern Valley High School alumni bulletin. He is appalled at the content: "one unruptured procession of promotions and breeding success, summer cottages and marathons." He decides to send in his own candid if decidedly twisted update. He describes his job compiling historical data for a company newsletter ("suicidal self-loathing lurks behind every coffee break"); his incredibly bitter feelings about his unsuccessful relationships with women; and the great satisfaction, minutely detailed, that he derives from his two hobbies, masturbation and pot smoking. When straitlaced, uptight Stacy Ryson accuses him of being a misanthrope and refuses to publish his update, Lewis strikes back in his own inimitable fashion. Lipsyte's novel is one long, very funny rant that manages to skewer pretentiousness and champion the average male; however, it's not for the faint of heart.
Joanne WilkinsonCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
--This text refers to the
Paperback
edition.