Then our narrator becomes obsessed with a fictional gritty crime show called Blue Lives and conveniently happens across the show’s creator at a random party he goes to.
The problem is, that when I try to describe the book, there are just more and more things that make it sound like a Nope instead of a Tell Me More. So this is my best pitch: this is, to me, a social horror novel about masculinity. It isn't about a Men's Rights Activist or one of the other subtypes of horrible men on the internet, this book is about a man a lot like Kunzru himself, the biggest difference at first glance is that our unnamed narrator writes nonfiction cultural commentary rather than fiction.
And many of the decisions the protagonist makes make very little sense, even taking his deteriorating mental state into account. Maybe when I see this book being reviewed and discussed on its publication, I will be able to appreciate it better. For now, I am prepared to say it’s me derece the book, but I couldn’t make it work properly for me at this stage.
It's mostly clear what the author was trying to accomplish, but this patched-together affair fails to sustain most of the momentum it generates along the way. The saccharine finale did nothing to improve matters.
And how many books must I read in a row where the author manufactures a few characters and a plot in order to explore ideas? Is this a phase fiction is going through right now? I am resistant even if Kunzru does this with more mastery than most.
What follows is a sequence of fevered events in which our protagonist tries to expose Anton to the world, believing that the best way of doing so is to hurtle down the path of insanity. Paranoia and gas-lightening abound in this part of the novel.
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This is a slow burn, the beginning doesn't lay on the dread too thick, if you're like me you'll find our narrator more and more frustrating because it would be so easy to just hamiş be the worst and yet Burada he keeps choosing to be the worst and to sabotage himself and others. Because of who our narrator is there are lots of diversions here that some readers will probably delight in, with lots of academics and dead philosophers.
It's a weird, bumpy ride - starting out bey another insular book about writing before spiralling off to East German punks, zir-right genel ağ İnternet sitesi forums and a complete paranoid breakdown. It's hard to pin down and stuffed with references and allusions but propulsive and immensely engaging.
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But that's it. He doesn't try to think why viewers of this show condone this kind of vigilante sort of justice. Kunzru başmaklık one quick scene in a kebab shop in which he attempts daha fazla bilgi al to unpack the psychology of people like Anton, but he does it in such a harried and obvious way (Anton telling our protagonist why his friends dislike immigrants and non-Western cultural influences), to which our inept narrator responds "fuck you".
Hari Kunzru's latest novel is proof that even very intelligent writers kişi sometimes go off the rails. From the start it held great promise and I was anticipating an invigorating, wild ride.
Quickly followed by a feeling of the end of the liberal world with the election Trump (a very effectively pulled jerk into a specific timeframe, after most of the book seems set in a generic late capitalism setting).
Unusual novel about obsession, mental health, and the pressures of today’s world. The unnamed protagonist and narrator is a writer living in New York City with buraya tıklayın his wife and three-year-old child.