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Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I was reading this book and around page 237 (or was it 327? fuck), I figured it out- he's talking to ME. He wrote this book for me. Dave Eggers looked into the future and saw that I would want to read a self-referential, self-satisfying memoir. He knew that I would be trying to figure stuff, being in my twenties and all, and while not dealing with the enormity of losing both parents and having to rear a young sibling, I would have my own shit to work through. He. fucki...
Clearly, this is a polarizing book. All I'll add is that the first time I read it, sometime in the middle of college, I had all of the negative reactions I've read here. It was sometimes funny, and sad and beautiful and all that, but mostly it was an autobiography by an asshole who was full of himself and I just didn't see why I should care, why I should keep reading. And then I read it again a few years later. And I don't really know what happened in between exactly. Maybe I became friends with...
Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave. What can I say? I can sort of remember picking up this book in a bookstore somewhere and reading the first few pages… now, not the first few pages of the story, but I’m talking about the copyright page. Freaking Dave Eggers is writing his novel starting with the copyright page? Wild man, wild man! So, I read it. I liked it. It was this nonstop stream of consciousness kind of thing, which I found a bit comforting, cause that’s how I think. I mean, of course that’s how I th...
Before I picked up this book I had heard endless tales of how wonderfully smart and funny this book was, how terrific the writing was and how the originality would slap me in the face like a cool wind on a summer's day. They were wrong. I hated this book like The Cure hates happiness. I understand writer's have their own style, and that is what, in and of itself, separates them from all the others. But, seriously, we learn paragraph breaks for a reason. It gives the mind's eye a break, a breathe...
It's taken me two years to get around to reading this much-hyped modern classic. In that time, I have put up four shelves, had intercourse over twenty times, eaten nine scones, and met one Scottish celeb. His name will not be published here, as he was rude about my purple-brown shirt. Fool.Dave Eggers is preoccupied with heart-rending human dramas of Promethean magnitude, as his follow-up books What is the What and Zeitoun attest: he is that long arterial cord thingie linking the heart with the
A very fine book, but tied closely with its period, so a bit dated. I suppose the publisher will be footnoting it before too long. I’m going to have to read that really long, really serious Péter Nádas’ novel afterward, for AHWOSG is far too hysterical. Excessive hysteria pushed past all reasonable thresholds of human tolerance into the realm of whistling past the graveyard. I think it’s the twentysomething prospect of near-continuous coitus that’s to blame, making the text at times almost a gid...
as a huge douglas coupland fan, i thought i might enjoy 'a heartbreaking work...' i should've known better. i tried to read 'you shall know our velocity' last year and found it entirely unreadable. i gave up after 200 pages of nonsense. several friends raved about 'ahwoasg,' so i thought, 'ok, i'll give eggars another try.' again, i was horribly disappointed. the pros: yes, it's funny at times and very *honest* (though can we take eggars at his word? never trust an autobiography). i laughed out
I was sick of Eggers'self-absorbed schtick after three pages of the preface. But, the cover read"pulitzer prize finalist" (among other superlatives), so I forged on. I'd madeit to page 33 of the actual text (without laughing once) when I noticed Eggers'picture on the back cover. He reminded me of some people I'd met when I wasworking at a startup company during the early internet boom. They were so fullof themselves with their free-wheeling style, their stock options, and theirflat-front banana-...
About a boy who loses both parents & must then become a parent to his own sibling... Sure, many elements must converge to make a wee autobiography one outstanding read. Here's the jist: Eggers is an almost-household name writer who abuses his witty (ha-ha-ha) title and confounds the reader with an (incredibly dragged-out) insistence upon his own life story. Bookmarked by the dual tragedy of losing parents to cancer (within weeks of one another) are a bunch of vanilla events making up the bulk of...
