...especial Tomes reviewed for the purposes of your Enjouyment and Recreatioune
...as reviewed September the 9, 1994!
If you have ever in your entire life met an academic and hated them OR if you have ever looked in the mirror and felt miserable about what you saw, I think you'll get a kick out of this one. It's an exercise in narrative futility: a reader who desires completion competing with an author who hates the reader. Delightfully and eternally complex in a million meaningless ways, this novel sits at 705 pages long and refuses to use a single goddamned one to advance any sort of plot. It traps you in a funny and miserable "now" in which you have no narrative past to gaze back towards nor any single expectation for what narrative future could possibly lie ahead. It embodies the animalistic wholeness of throwing up in storytelling form while still continuing to be very comedically adept, intersplicing even a few tender moments throughout. It is a horror story about the destruction of memory and a plea with its reader, advising it to not fall into a personal, historical oblivion. My boyfriend lent me his copy for a few months while I completed it. I fucked it up by accident. I wish I fucked it up more. Rancid dogshit beauty.
...as reviewed September the 9, 1994!
A stripper in the forgotten south tells the story of her life as she sits on the slab of where her destroyed house once stood. A beautiful piece that occasionally makes character shortcuts by outsourcing truths about the author's friends and family into the main character's, but I somehow don't fault it for that. It's a gorgeous book. Throws up and kicks the ground.
Go Back Fuck Wad