Awful, horrible and over-rated book.
At least that was my reading experience of it. Now... The reason I think so is not why many other readers who disliked it did, which is the content: "It's hard to feel hilarious about depressing themes," they conclude.
Look... Depressing, sad and dark themes can be good fodder for humor... if written so that is readable. And that is the problem I had with this book. Not with the content but with the form. Meaning; not what is written about, but how it is written about.
The stories seem disjointed, hard to understand and digest. Most of the time I was thinking, "what the heck is this story about", "what the heck is going on"? That supposedly comedic pay off was missing for the most part. I was three short stories in to it until it dawned on me... "Oh my gosh, these stories will be all like this... right?"
Yeap. They were. It's almost as if Lipsyte decided to close himself in his own little world, where things are funny and hilarious to him but the rest of us readers are not in on the joke. How can I put it more succinctly? Hm... How about this...
(Instead of that paragraph above using an example of the unfunny, alcohol intox loudmouth in a bar, I was mulling over employing Lipsyte's technique and using a depressing topic to illustrate my point. Brain stroke for example! After all, most of my grandparents have gone out with a stroke in their 80s, which genetically is spelling my own demise eventually, so I guess I can claim I have some entitlement to using stroke in a funny context without exposing myself to too much criticism.
I was meaning to use an example of an elderly relative who suddenly suffers a mild stroke and starts spouting jibberish at you as you look at him or her all confused, but decided against it knowing that my writing skill would just not do it a comedic justice to justify using it.
In my mind it would all look something like this :
Oh boy, poor woman. My heart really goes out to poor Serene.)
And this crazy eyed loudmouth suddenly makes eye contact with you, starts moving towards you trough the crowds, already blabbing away at another incomprehensible so-called story as he approaches you... and all you can think is, "Aaargh! Please don't talk to me! Quick, I need to think of something fast to get out of this!"
But you can't get away from him that easily, because... Those eyes and that passionate in-comprehensive blabber... What if he is also violent? What if he starts pummeling me with his fists all of sudden for not giving him proper listening respect for at least awhile before politely fobbing him off with a nicely crafted excuse? Yeah, what if he starts beating me, all while shouting, "What you mean, you listen, yoy, youh, donat, don't listenting to my funny story about my cusing, cousing, cousin Henry, who fell into a septic tank and... drowned in cow excrement! Huh! Why!?"
Luckily, no fear of that happening with this book. Because you can always stop reading.
The big part of the problem with the stories is just that; it hardly feels like they are stories for most of them. A story, even a short story, should have a beginning, a middle and an end, right? I'm pretty sure that is how it works, right? Well that's just it. The stories in The Fun Parts feel like they are missing one or the other. They either begin with info missing, or get cut off when things are heating up...
Imagine you are in that same bar I used in my example before, the crazy eyed guy is gone (or latched on to someone else), and you are having your drink, waiting for someone you suppose to meet, and along while listening to other people's conversations. Their bullcrap stories. Fleeting from one to the other, failing to catch a beginning of one, or an end of the other. And then realizing; So what... it's not like they were interesting to begin with. So you just tune them all out. You can stop listening.
Yeap, I could stop reading The Fun Parts, but I didn't. Aha! You got me! So why did I read the whole book?
Well, here are some positive things about it, because I have to be fair.
Half way into reading it just as I was to, with dignity, about to accept my losses of time and effort invested into reading this book, I stumbled upon my first and only genuine laugh. It was about this doula (and I had to look up on Wikipedia what a doula is) and at one point a character says, "You must be worst f...... doula in the world!"
It encouraged me to keep on reading but it turns out it served as an exception that confirmed the rule. Some stories were utterly unreadable and one I had to skip over after not being able to handle it half way. It was about these two rockets or missiles that suddenly become aware of themselves, and started thinking and conversing with one another.
(It reminded me of that ridiculous story in Star Trek Voyager when they decided to beam on board what they believed to be a strange alien being in distress, only to realize it was a guided missile that became aware of itself, started thinking and decided to attempt to take over the Voyager. At least in that case I could watch the show till the end, but Lypsite's version of the talking guided missiles was just... Strangely repelling for some reason that words fail me to describe it.)
But, let's get back to the positives. Which aren't many. Only one more positive. Actually half a positive.
Near the end there is a story about this rehabilitated drug user turned celebrity author who gets out shined by his student, yet another former celebrity drug addict. The fading drug star plots another relapse so he could author yet another book when he becomes clean yet again. Another celebrity comeback tour in front of adoring fans. But his fans start to reject him.
And in there... There is the most beautifully written page (p. 198) of the whole book. In front of his still adoring audience and fans in the library, whom he is regaling with his stories of pulling scams on Alzheimer patients to get money for his drug fix...
There is an unconnected passerby in the library that shouts, "Enough already!"
"Excuse me?" The main character is startled.
"So you almost died and hurt a lot of people along the way. You got your medal. Go home." The passerby shouts back.
And I'm reading that and start going; thank you, thank you, thank you. Just don't stop. Go with it Lypsite. Take the bull by its horns. For all of us. The little people. The ones who get up early in the morning, punch into our unglamorous lives and earn a decent pay check. Because it is a decent thing to do. Go with it Lypsite... For all of us.
But he doesn't. It all fizzles out half way through that story and into pointlessness...
Now that I think about it, this is how those who don't like the content must feel when they are let down, as oppose to myself who is mostly let down by its form. This is the only short story I started to care about and get interested and... It made me feel disappointed. Lose respect for Lipsyte.
There is a lot of untapped angst underneath this Great Recession that is still hanging over our heads, which is still looming in the background of all of our lives. Us, the little people. Regardless what the so called experts who are comfortable settled in their feathered nests claim.
For a moment I thought that short story might be one of those hidden diamonds that speaks for the whole generation of the downtrodden and forgotten. Defining, iconic symbol for Children of the Great Recession. Much like there were other break out short stories in the past that are gigantic in their own right, standing tall surrounded by mediocre stories they were bundled with.
Yes, I lost respect for Lypsite. Here I was hoping he will, on behalf of all of us, tell all those celebrity human failures, careerists, scoundrels from high finance and politicians, wannabes... To just shut the f... up. Like that passerby said it so powerfully at the right moment; "Enough already!"
But Lipsyte didn't. Possibly wouldn't know how if he could. And then it hits me; he is one of the clueless. One of them. Stuck in his own little world, writing stories for himself.
Having written all of that above, my negative reading experience is not only Lypsite's fault. It's mine too. I expected something but got something different.
So how did I hear about this book in the first place?
Well, my favourite magazine, Time, carried in it one of the most glowing reviews about a book I ever read in my life. It was titled "Having Fun Yet?" by Somebody. Guess you'll have to Google it for yourself to appreciate fully what I mean. When I finished it, I thought to myself; Quick! I got to get this book now!
In the end... I've been had. Like Flavour Flav says; "Don't believe the hype!"
