Jonathan Lethem
Author of Motherless Brooklyn
About the Author
Jonathan Lethem was born in Brooklyn, New York on February 19, 1964. His first novel, Gun, with Occasional Music was published in 1994. His other works include As She Climbed across the Table (1997), Amnesia Moon (1995), The Fortress of Solitude (2003), You Don't Love Me Yet (2007), Chronic City show more (2009), and Dissident Gardens (2013). He won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Motherless Brooklyn (1999). He also writes short stories, comics and essays. His work has appeared in The New Yorker, Harper's, Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New York Times, The Paris Review, McSweeney's and other periodicals and anthologies. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Series
Works by Jonathan Lethem
The Vintage Book of Amnesia: An Anthology of Writing on the Subject of Memory Loss (2000) — Contributor — 227 copies, 2 reviews
Shake It Up: Great American Writing on Rock and Pop from Elvis to Jay Z: A Library of America Special Publication (2017) 80 copies, 1 review
Da Capo Best Music Writing 2002: The Year's Finest Writing on Rock, Pop, Jazz, Country, & More (2002) 62 copies
Vanilla Dunk 7 copies
The Happy Man 6 copies
Walking the Moons [short fiction] 6 copies
Five Fucks (short story) 4 copies
The King of Sentences 3 copies
The Empty Room 3 copies
Super Goat Man [short story] 3 copies
The Porn Critic 2 copies
Pending Vegan 2 copies
The Glasses 2 copies
Procedure in Plain Air 2 copies
Vivian Relf 2 copies
Hardened Criminals {short story} 2 copies
Fantastic Four 2 copies
Light and the Sufferer (short story) 2 copies
The Fatal Detective 1 copy
The Cave Beneath The Falls 1 copy
Perkus Tooth [short story] 1 copy
Their Back Pages 1 copy
Traveler Home 1 copy
Self-Portrait [short story] 1 copy
Using It and Losing It 1 copy
Access Fantasy {short story} 1 copy
Sleepy People [novelette] 1 copy
Associated Works
We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962) — Introduction, some editions — 10,256 copies, 503 reviews
Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust (1933) — Introduction, some editions — 2,438 copies, 41 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Tenth Annual Collection (1993) — Contributor — 475 copies, 5 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Fourteenth Annual Collection (1997) — Contributor — 447 copies, 2 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Eighth Annual Collection (1991) — Contributor — 414 copies, 6 reviews
McSweeney's 12: Unpublished, Unknown, and/or Unbelievable (2003) — Contributor — 290 copies, 4 reviews
Fight of the Century: Writers Reflect on 100 Years of Landmark ACLU Cases (2020) — Contributor — 259 copies, 5 reviews
Object Lessons: The Paris Review Presents the Art of the Short Story (2012) — Introduction — 253 copies, 9 reviews
This Is My Best: Great Writers Share Their Favorite Work (2004) — Contributor — 175 copies, 3 reviews
Light the Dark: Writers on Creativity, Inspiration, and the Artistic Process (2017) — Contributor — 162 copies, 5 reviews
Drawn & Quarterly: Twenty-five Years of Contemporary Cartooning, Comics, and Graphic Novels (2015) — Contributor — 149 copies, 5 reviews
Unknown Masterpieces: Writers Rediscover Literature's Hidden Classics (New York Review Books Classics) (2003) — Contributor — 112 copies, 2 reviews
The James Tiptree Award Anthology 2: Stories for Men, Women, and the Rest of Us (2006) — Contributor — 101 copies, 3 reviews
Nebula Awards 32: SFWA's Choices for the Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year (1998) — Contributor — 98 copies, 1 review
The Dark End of the Street: New Stories of Sex and Crime by Today's Top Authors (2010) — Contributor — 97 copies, 22 reviews
Cyberpunk: Stories of Hardware, Software, Wetware, Evolution, and Revolution (1995) — Contributor — 95 copies, 1 review
Read Hard: Five Years of Great Writing from the Believer (2009) — Contributor — 87 copies, 2 reviews
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep Omnibus (2015) — Contributor, some editions — 81 copies, 1 review
Lethal Kisses: 18 Tales of Sex, Horror, and Revenge (1996) — Contributor, some editions — 78 copies, 5 reviews
Supermen!: The First Wave Of Comic Book Heroes 1936-1941 (2009) — Introduction — 64 copies, 1 review
Significant Objects: 100 Extraordinary Stories about Ordinary Things (2012) — Contributor — 63 copies, 1 review
Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine: 30th Anniversary Anthology (2007) — Contributor — 61 copies, 1 review
Unusual Suspects: A New Anthology of Crime Stories from Black Lizard (1996) — Contributor — 39 copies, 1 review
Conversations with Clint: Paul Nelson's Lost Interviews with Clint Eastwood, 1979-1983 (2011) — Foreword — 17 copies
The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction October/November 1993, Vol. 85, No. 4 & 5 (1993) — Author — 16 copies
Millemondi Inverno 1996 — Contributor — 2 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Lethem, Jonathan
- Legal name
- Lethem, Jonathan Allen
- Birthdate
- 1964-02-19
- Gender
- male
- Education
- Bennington College (BA|1986)
High School of Music and Art, New York - Occupations
- bookstore clerk
professor
novelist
essayist
short story writer - Organizations
- Pomona College
- Awards and honors
- MacArthur Fellowship (2005)
- Relationships
- Jackson, Shelley (wife|divorced)
Lethem, Mara Faye (sister) - Short biography
- Author pronounced his surname "LEE-thum" on the audio book edition of You Don't Love Me Yet
- Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- Brooklyn, New York, New York, USA
- Places of residence
- Claremont, California, USA
Berwick, Maine, USA
Brooklyn, New York, New York, USA
Berkeley, California, USA - Associated Place (for map)
- USA
Members
Reviews
I went through an [a:Agatha Christie|123715|Agatha Christie|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1589991473p2/123715.jpg] phase at the age of 13, but since then haven't been a great fan of murder mysteries. While reading [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073], a reason why they are so popular suddenly occurred to me: the narrative has a known purpose. From the start of show more the book, the reader is aware that there will be a murder, it will be mysterious, and the mystery will be solved. My limited interest in murders means this purpose doesn't necessarily appeal to me, but the presence of a narrative purpose of some kind does. Halfway through [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073], I was asking myself, "What is the purpose of this? What is it trying to do?"
I can only speculate in answer these questions, of course. The back cover blurb begins with, 'The Arrest isn't post-apocalypse'. Upon first glance this is obviously untrue and on second glance disingenuous, as the setting is just that. A mysterious disaster has stopped technology working and industrial civilisation has collapsed. The protagonist, who is rather ironically referred to as Journeyman, lives on a bucolic commune somewhere on the American coast (Maine is not a place I can locate on a map). The stability of this community is slightly unsettled by the arrival of Journeyman's former friend/housemate/collaborator/boss Todbaum in a nuclear-powered tank. I say slightly because Todbaum, formerly a feared Hollywood producer, does nothing but recount anecdotes over hoarded coffee. Journeyman and his sister both have past history with Todbaum, which is never fully elucidated. Instead, Journeyman and Todbaum reflect and hold forth upon post-apocalyptic fiction.
It seems highly likely that Lethem's intent is to use this setting for analysis and critique of post-apocalyptic media. To my mind, though, he has nothing interesting or new to say about it. Quite possibly I think so because I've read a lot of dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic novels and formed my own theories about them. Lethem's characters only seem to make very obvious points, such as:
First of all, I don't think it's helpful to collapse dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic fiction into a single thing. Obviously there's an overlap, but in my experience there are perceptible differences between the three. Dystopias are stable worlds with exaggerated bleak elements, set up in a manner that reflects upon specific anxieties of the time they were written. They are more likely to read as fables or cautionary tales. Apocalyptic novels depict collapse and instability, generally reflecting upon human reactions to loss and extreme danger. They are more likely to read as thrillers, although they can also be cautionary (especially if written during the Cold War). Post-apocalyptic novels tend to comment both on what has been lost and what has been saved from what came before; their plots tend to include more stability than apocalyptic novels but less than dystopias. They are more likely to read as survivalist fantasies, while also including thriller and/or cautionary tale elements. There is frequently a textual or subtextual appeal to prelapsarian ideals, simplicity, living in a small homogenous group, and escape from modernity's speed and information overload. Xenophobic and racist subtext can often be discerned, while an anti-industrial and/or anti-capitalist message is even more common. A classic example is [b:After London: or, Wild England|2220037|After London or, Wild England|Richard Jefferies|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348221574l/2220037._SY75_.jpg|905982] from 1885, which depicts neo-feudal rural communities while cities are empty toxic wastelands.
It's obvious that post-apocalyptic novels deal with anxieties and fantasies of the time when they were written, perhaps more so than other types of fiction. Unlike fantasy as a genre, they depict potential futures of our own world which, crucially, involve the survival of a small number of people. Apocalyptic novels like Mary Shelley's [b:The Last Man|966835|The Last Man|Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1392984325l/966835._SY75_.jpg|835097] and Nevil Shute's truly devastating [b:On the Beach|38180|On the Beach|Nevil Shute|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327943327l/38180._SY75_.jpg|963772] confront the possibility of humanity's complete extinction. Post-apocalyptic novels, as the name implies, allow the reader the beguiling possibility of their own survival, without needing to worry about the millions or billions of faceless others who didn't make it. Thus they can sometimes appeal to that Western type of climate change denial: 'other people far away may suffer, but I'll be OK'. At their best, though, such novels ask important questions about who and what can persist after the structures of life collapse. As befits our dominant ideology, late 20th and 21st century post-apocalyptic fiction tends to lean heavily into self-sufficiency and individualism. Ironically, this implies denial (or fantasy of escape from) the global interconnection of neoliberal economic and political structures that Western quality of life depends upon. Lazier post-apocalyptic visions ignore how much worse life would get without basic medicine like antibiotics, for instance. Better examples do not: Mike Carey's [b:The Book of Koli|51285749|The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1)|M.R. Carey|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1570049059l/51285749._SX50_.jpg|72759249] and sequels examine the medical and psychological implications of isolation in small communities very thoughtfully.
My point is that there is a great deal more going on in the post-apocalyptic subgenre than [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073] mentions. Considering it just as a novel, the plot is best described as minimalist, there is no real tension, and the characters are not very interesting. Evoking a cosy rural commune after civilisation has collapsed does not, in itself, do anything to interrogate post-apocalyptic fiction. Journeyman and Todbaum's conversations give the sub-genre only superficial consideration. One of their discussions cites the ubiquitous Dunbar's number of 150, which I'm tired of hearing about as if it is a powerful argument against civilisation. Humans have lived in groups of more than 150 for at least 7,000 years (cf [b:Mesopotamia: The Invention of the City|757503|Mesopotamia The Invention of the City |Gwendolyn Leick|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1309203274l/757503._SY75_.jpg|743616]) and coped somehow. I would argue that my personal Dunbar number is closer to 50. That doesn't mean I don't want to ever have contact with more than 50 people in my life, just that I can only keep up with any semblance of acquaintance with that many at a time. More extroverted people probably have a much higher tolerance. In any case, I don't think appeals to Dunbar's number tell us much about the exhausting nature of online and offline social interaction in the 21st century, nor the incredibly complex interdependencies that underpin our infrastructure, economies, culture, etc. Post-apocalyptic worlds tend to have a quietness about them, not merely due to fewer people but to much less information. Any historical fiction, novel written before the internet, or contemporary novel that ignores constant smart phone use has a similar quietness that seems quasi-fantastical in comparison to the cacophony of actual life.
In short, I find Lethem's critique, if that's what this is, simplistic and prefer post-apocalyptic novels that deploy or interrogate these tropes much more effectively. I was hoping for more and better from what could be one of the first pandemic-era post-apocalyptic novels. I think COVID-19 has definitely shown us that global disaster doesn't make life simpler, just makes it worse. I am hoping that the pandemic will therefore be fodder for more interesting and thoughtful post-apocalyptic fiction. show less
I can only speculate in answer these questions, of course. The back cover blurb begins with, 'The Arrest isn't post-apocalypse'. Upon first glance this is obviously untrue and on second glance disingenuous, as the setting is just that. A mysterious disaster has stopped technology working and industrial civilisation has collapsed. The protagonist, who is rather ironically referred to as Journeyman, lives on a bucolic commune somewhere on the American coast (Maine is not a place I can locate on a map). The stability of this community is slightly unsettled by the arrival of Journeyman's former friend/housemate/collaborator/boss Todbaum in a nuclear-powered tank. I say slightly because Todbaum, formerly a feared Hollywood producer, does nothing but recount anecdotes over hoarded coffee. Journeyman and his sister both have past history with Todbaum, which is never fully elucidated. Instead, Journeyman and Todbaum reflect and hold forth upon post-apocalyptic fiction.
It seems highly likely that Lethem's intent is to use this setting for analysis and critique of post-apocalyptic media. To my mind, though, he has nothing interesting or new to say about it. Quite possibly I think so because I've read a lot of dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic novels and formed my own theories about them. Lethem's characters only seem to make very obvious points, such as:
"What's so great about this shit?" Journeyman parroted.
"It's always better, not worse."
"What do you mean?"
"You people are supposed to, you know, write it to keep it from happening, right? Cautionary tales?" In Todbaum's mind Journeyman might be answerable for all writers, his tribe. "But they just can't help it, they like it there. They love it there."
"Where?"
"Where? The fucked-up allegorical hellscape or dire prison block for the human soul they're working through, the particulars don't matter. They want to live there, you can feel it. [...] The world's reduced and cleansed, the ambiguity scrubbed out."
"Because - it's easier?"
"Sure. Post-apocalyptic comfort food."
First of all, I don't think it's helpful to collapse dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic fiction into a single thing. Obviously there's an overlap, but in my experience there are perceptible differences between the three. Dystopias are stable worlds with exaggerated bleak elements, set up in a manner that reflects upon specific anxieties of the time they were written. They are more likely to read as fables or cautionary tales. Apocalyptic novels depict collapse and instability, generally reflecting upon human reactions to loss and extreme danger. They are more likely to read as thrillers, although they can also be cautionary (especially if written during the Cold War). Post-apocalyptic novels tend to comment both on what has been lost and what has been saved from what came before; their plots tend to include more stability than apocalyptic novels but less than dystopias. They are more likely to read as survivalist fantasies, while also including thriller and/or cautionary tale elements. There is frequently a textual or subtextual appeal to prelapsarian ideals, simplicity, living in a small homogenous group, and escape from modernity's speed and information overload. Xenophobic and racist subtext can often be discerned, while an anti-industrial and/or anti-capitalist message is even more common. A classic example is [b:After London: or, Wild England|2220037|After London or, Wild England|Richard Jefferies|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348221574l/2220037._SY75_.jpg|905982] from 1885, which depicts neo-feudal rural communities while cities are empty toxic wastelands.
It's obvious that post-apocalyptic novels deal with anxieties and fantasies of the time when they were written, perhaps more so than other types of fiction. Unlike fantasy as a genre, they depict potential futures of our own world which, crucially, involve the survival of a small number of people. Apocalyptic novels like Mary Shelley's [b:The Last Man|966835|The Last Man|Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1392984325l/966835._SY75_.jpg|835097] and Nevil Shute's truly devastating [b:On the Beach|38180|On the Beach|Nevil Shute|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327943327l/38180._SY75_.jpg|963772] confront the possibility of humanity's complete extinction. Post-apocalyptic novels, as the name implies, allow the reader the beguiling possibility of their own survival, without needing to worry about the millions or billions of faceless others who didn't make it. Thus they can sometimes appeal to that Western type of climate change denial: 'other people far away may suffer, but I'll be OK'. At their best, though, such novels ask important questions about who and what can persist after the structures of life collapse. As befits our dominant ideology, late 20th and 21st century post-apocalyptic fiction tends to lean heavily into self-sufficiency and individualism. Ironically, this implies denial (or fantasy of escape from) the global interconnection of neoliberal economic and political structures that Western quality of life depends upon. Lazier post-apocalyptic visions ignore how much worse life would get without basic medicine like antibiotics, for instance. Better examples do not: Mike Carey's [b:The Book of Koli|51285749|The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1)|M.R. Carey|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1570049059l/51285749._SX50_.jpg|72759249] and sequels examine the medical and psychological implications of isolation in small communities very thoughtfully.
My point is that there is a great deal more going on in the post-apocalyptic subgenre than [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073] mentions. Considering it just as a novel, the plot is best described as minimalist, there is no real tension, and the characters are not very interesting. Evoking a cosy rural commune after civilisation has collapsed does not, in itself, do anything to interrogate post-apocalyptic fiction. Journeyman and Todbaum's conversations give the sub-genre only superficial consideration. One of their discussions cites the ubiquitous Dunbar's number of 150, which I'm tired of hearing about as if it is a powerful argument against civilisation. Humans have lived in groups of more than 150 for at least 7,000 years (cf [b:Mesopotamia: The Invention of the City|757503|Mesopotamia The Invention of the City |Gwendolyn Leick|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1309203274l/757503._SY75_.jpg|743616]) and coped somehow. I would argue that my personal Dunbar number is closer to 50. That doesn't mean I don't want to ever have contact with more than 50 people in my life, just that I can only keep up with any semblance of acquaintance with that many at a time. More extroverted people probably have a much higher tolerance. In any case, I don't think appeals to Dunbar's number tell us much about the exhausting nature of online and offline social interaction in the 21st century, nor the incredibly complex interdependencies that underpin our infrastructure, economies, culture, etc. Post-apocalyptic worlds tend to have a quietness about them, not merely due to fewer people but to much less information. Any historical fiction, novel written before the internet, or contemporary novel that ignores constant smart phone use has a similar quietness that seems quasi-fantastical in comparison to the cacophony of actual life.
In short, I find Lethem's critique, if that's what this is, simplistic and prefer post-apocalyptic novels that deploy or interrogate these tropes much more effectively. I was hoping for more and better from what could be one of the first pandemic-era post-apocalyptic novels. I think COVID-19 has definitely shown us that global disaster doesn't make life simpler, just makes it worse. I am hoping that the pandemic will therefore be fodder for more interesting and thoughtful post-apocalyptic fiction. show less
Was für eine kuriose Geschichte, in der so ziemlich alle gängigen Genres durcheinander gewürfelt sind: Krimi, Dystopie, Liebesgeschichte, Abenteuerroman - für alle ist etwas dabei ;-)
Nach Trumps Wahlsieg kündigt Phoebe Siegler voller Entsetzen ihren gut bezahlten Medienjob in New York und macht sich für ihre Freundin auf die Suche nach deren verschwundener Teenagertochter. Am Rand der kalifornischen Wüste trifft sie den 'wilden' Detektiv, der sie unterstützt und in den sich Phoebe show more verliebt. Ihre Nachforschungen führen die Beiden auf einen geheimnisvollen Berg, auf dem mysteriöse Dinge geschehen; in einen Schwemmkessel, wo die Ärmsten der Armen hausen; in die Wüste, wo der Stamm der Kaninchen in Einklang mit der Natur lebt und die Bären sich in anarcho-machohafter Weise düsteren Dystopiephantasien hingeben.
Das klingt chaotisch und etwas wirr? Das ist es auch, wozu der Erzählstil der leicht neurotischen New Yorkerin Phoebe das Seine dazu beiträgt. Sie springt nicht nur zwischen den Zeiten (wobei sich das in Maßen hält), sondern entwickelt auch gelegentlich Gedankengänge, die nicht immer leicht nachzuvollziehen sind. Ihren Zorn über die Wahl Trumps lässt sie immer wieder freien Lauf, während ihr Umfeld häufig keine Ahnung hat, wovon sie redet (und ich manchmal auch nicht ;-)). Zudem gibt es vergleichsweise viele Verweise auf zumeist US-Amerikanische ZeitgenossInnen, die unsereins (ok, mir) nicht immer geläufig waren. Vermutlich verliert das Buch so an manchem Witz, aber ich habe mich trotzdem hin und wieder gut amüsiert: "'Was ist ein Downer?' - 'Ein kranker Bär.' - 'Und was macht ihr mit dem?' - 'Wir pflegen ihn natürlich gesund. Wenns ihm dann besser geht, können wir ihn umbringen.'"
Es passiert eine Menge in dieser Geschichte; es gibt Tote, geheimnisvolle Asiaten, ein König soll gekrönt werden - aber nichts wird wirklich aufgeklärt. Ob es da einen Teil 2 geben wird? Oder entspricht es einfach dem Durcheinander, das in diesem Buch Programm ist?
Erwähnenswert ist in jedem Fall die außergewöhnliche Sprache des Autors, die für den Übersetzer vermutlich Schwerstarbeit bedeutete (meine Hochachtung!): "... die Bäume wurden seltener, das Wüstengestrüpp tüpfelte den staubigen, geschundenen Boden mit der Kraftlosigkeit von Achselhöhlengrün oder Teenagerschamhaaren."
Fünfzig Seiten hat es ca. gebraucht und dann hatte mich das Buch in seinem Bann ;-) Etwas weniger Chaos wäre vielleicht nicht schlecht gewesen, aber nichtsdestotrotz hat es mich gut unterhalten. show less
Nach Trumps Wahlsieg kündigt Phoebe Siegler voller Entsetzen ihren gut bezahlten Medienjob in New York und macht sich für ihre Freundin auf die Suche nach deren verschwundener Teenagertochter. Am Rand der kalifornischen Wüste trifft sie den 'wilden' Detektiv, der sie unterstützt und in den sich Phoebe show more verliebt. Ihre Nachforschungen führen die Beiden auf einen geheimnisvollen Berg, auf dem mysteriöse Dinge geschehen; in einen Schwemmkessel, wo die Ärmsten der Armen hausen; in die Wüste, wo der Stamm der Kaninchen in Einklang mit der Natur lebt und die Bären sich in anarcho-machohafter Weise düsteren Dystopiephantasien hingeben.
Das klingt chaotisch und etwas wirr? Das ist es auch, wozu der Erzählstil der leicht neurotischen New Yorkerin Phoebe das Seine dazu beiträgt. Sie springt nicht nur zwischen den Zeiten (wobei sich das in Maßen hält), sondern entwickelt auch gelegentlich Gedankengänge, die nicht immer leicht nachzuvollziehen sind. Ihren Zorn über die Wahl Trumps lässt sie immer wieder freien Lauf, während ihr Umfeld häufig keine Ahnung hat, wovon sie redet (und ich manchmal auch nicht ;-)). Zudem gibt es vergleichsweise viele Verweise auf zumeist US-Amerikanische ZeitgenossInnen, die unsereins (ok, mir) nicht immer geläufig waren. Vermutlich verliert das Buch so an manchem Witz, aber ich habe mich trotzdem hin und wieder gut amüsiert: "'Was ist ein Downer?' - 'Ein kranker Bär.' - 'Und was macht ihr mit dem?' - 'Wir pflegen ihn natürlich gesund. Wenns ihm dann besser geht, können wir ihn umbringen.'"
Es passiert eine Menge in dieser Geschichte; es gibt Tote, geheimnisvolle Asiaten, ein König soll gekrönt werden - aber nichts wird wirklich aufgeklärt. Ob es da einen Teil 2 geben wird? Oder entspricht es einfach dem Durcheinander, das in diesem Buch Programm ist?
Erwähnenswert ist in jedem Fall die außergewöhnliche Sprache des Autors, die für den Übersetzer vermutlich Schwerstarbeit bedeutete (meine Hochachtung!): "... die Bäume wurden seltener, das Wüstengestrüpp tüpfelte den staubigen, geschundenen Boden mit der Kraftlosigkeit von Achselhöhlengrün oder Teenagerschamhaaren."
Fünfzig Seiten hat es ca. gebraucht und dann hatte mich das Buch in seinem Bann ;-) Etwas weniger Chaos wäre vielleicht nicht schlecht gewesen, aber nichtsdestotrotz hat es mich gut unterhalten. show less
Some books are more about voice than plot. That is the case with Motherless Brooklyn. And for that reason, I feel fortunate to have listened to the audiobook version, which was phenomenally narrated by Geoffrey Cantor with an amazing variety of voices that made each character distinct--but most of all made the Tourette's Syndrome-inflicted narrator a unique, believable voice at the center of a complex web of loyalties and betrayals involving a small time Brooklyn hood, his brother, his wife, show more some doormen, an all-night Korean convenience store, a Zendo, a huge assassin, Japanese businessmen/monks--well, you get the idea. As in the other book I read by Lethem, he is never short of ideas or imagination. The noir-ish aspects are a bit too self-conscious, as if he doesn't want them to escape the notice of a reader not familiar with the genre. And the story goes on a bit too long, but thanks to the superb narration, it was a rewarding listen. show less
Gun, with Occasional Music is the perfect off-balance title for this novel. Its tightrope walk of the really weird and the really normal was a lot of fun. Predictable in the extreme though and that’s why the ½ point deduction. The adherence to the noir detective novel was textbook. The opening scene featured a shabby PI in his shabby office. A little aside involving the phone and calling his own number to make sure it still worked was right out of the Chandler/Spillane handbook. In a way show more it was fun to see how many of the clichés he could hit and he pretty much hit all of them. The temping dames. The double-crosses. The menacing cops. The beatings. All there and in perfect order.
The elements of the dystopian future were quite unsettling. I wondered how society or commerce could function at all with people loading up on state-sanctioned Forgettal and Acceptal (laced with appropriate amounts of Addictal). At first, people had to employ notepads to keep track of vital details like their names and addresses. How the hell could they remember their jobs? Jokes of one surgeon asking another if he remembered where the appendix is went through my head like lightning. Crazy. When the PI wakes from his 6-year freezing sentence, the blend has switched to pure Forgettal with an Addictal boost.
All of this to keep the Karma quotient high and functioning. Mandated good acts force everyone to keep their karma card with them at all times. Irritated Inquisitors (now that name dredges up some interesting ideas and a bit of Monty Python) can deduct karma points at will and without valid reason. Get too low and you can be hauled away for freezing or electronics-induced slavery in one of the many flesh emporiums that are always hungry for new bodies.
News is no longer delivered with any rational sense. Your first dose is a musical rendition of the news. Philip Glass channeling Walter Cronkite I guess. Exactly what you were supposed to glean from this is anyone’s guess. If you really needed more, you could listen to the talking heads spout nonsense. All I could think of was that beer commercial with the news crew who just wants to break for a cold one. The anchor looks into the camera and says something like “Europe” , “The Economy” and “The President”, the weather girl says “Sunny!” and the sports guy says “16 to 10”, “76 to 64” and “tied” and then they scatter. That must be what the spoken news is like because ideas are verboten and printing is outlawed. In the end, even questions and speech are karma reducing offenses that no one indulges in anymore. What a world for a PI to have to live in. Luckily he has his Forgettal. show less
The elements of the dystopian future were quite unsettling. I wondered how society or commerce could function at all with people loading up on state-sanctioned Forgettal and Acceptal (laced with appropriate amounts of Addictal). At first, people had to employ notepads to keep track of vital details like their names and addresses. How the hell could they remember their jobs? Jokes of one surgeon asking another if he remembered where the appendix is went through my head like lightning. Crazy. When the PI wakes from his 6-year freezing sentence, the blend has switched to pure Forgettal with an Addictal boost.
All of this to keep the Karma quotient high and functioning. Mandated good acts force everyone to keep their karma card with them at all times. Irritated Inquisitors (now that name dredges up some interesting ideas and a bit of Monty Python) can deduct karma points at will and without valid reason. Get too low and you can be hauled away for freezing or electronics-induced slavery in one of the many flesh emporiums that are always hungry for new bodies.
News is no longer delivered with any rational sense. Your first dose is a musical rendition of the news. Philip Glass channeling Walter Cronkite I guess. Exactly what you were supposed to glean from this is anyone’s guess. If you really needed more, you could listen to the talking heads spout nonsense. All I could think of was that beer commercial with the news crew who just wants to break for a cold one. The anchor looks into the camera and says something like “Europe” , “The Economy” and “The President”, the weather girl says “Sunny!” and the sports guy says “16 to 10”, “76 to 64” and “tied” and then they scatter. That must be what the spoken news is like because ideas are verboten and printing is outlawed. In the end, even questions and speech are karma reducing offenses that no one indulges in anymore. What a world for a PI to have to live in. Luckily he has his Forgettal. show less
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