The others were one-dimensional mirrors for the narrator, not much more. But only one character struck me as real: Mr.
There are lots of scenes around New York that show off his cleverness and sensitivity, at dinner parties and natural history museums and lunch with his agent and fertility clinics. Other readers found it brilliant, but I found it too self-satisfied and too self-indulgent. This well-received quasi-novel focuses on a guy a lot like Ben Lerner, I guess. Don’t expect Ben Lerner’s autobiography though. If you ever tried to write a story or a novel, if you are a literary person, you’ll find something to latch onto here. If you’re interested in a plot heavy journey where a character finds answers to flaws and changes forever, you probably won’t like this novel (although aspects of that kind of journey are in here). I suspect there is some autobiography in there and some completely made up stuff. A big part of Lerner’s novel is dissecting how an artist processes life material to his art, which is by far the most interesting part. And there is a level of personal and philosophical self absorption that makes sense in context, but will piss off some people who have a narrow sense of what it means to be humble. In retrospect, I’m not even sure when it fully had me or if it ever fully had me. Who cares? I admit it took more than a minute for me to get into the novel. In any case, it’s beside the point and the most dull reaction you can have to sit and write a review guessing what might be the real Ben Lerner.
Maybe Lerner invites the distraction given the narrative ambiguity about where the novel actually comes from. Anyone interested in fiction knows that is unfair. He sort of looked past the writing and was more interested in trying to ascribe what was and wasn’t from Ben Lerner’s real life. First is that I completely disagree with the other reviewer.
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