Lipsyte gets an accusation of writing great sentences and comic rants rather than novels. Never is this criticism more accurate than here for his first novel, which has an intriguing central concept that a more focused writer of existential musings would work the whole book around, but Lipsyte uses it as an opening salvo and then as an occasional echo that surfaces throughout all the noise. But, what noise! Medical industry, cults, dot com start ups, reality TV and a cast of nymphomaniacs, cokeheads, solipsists, and megalomaniacs make for a good cast for a satire, but Lipsyte slashes and burns rather than work up a good satirical steam. The Simpsons as rewritten by Beckett and Fellini is a good Hollywood sell of this material. (Which would never even approach Hollywood of course.) 
No comments:
Post a Comment