More marijuana moonbeams from reefer-brained Lipsyte (The Subject
Steve, 2001, etc.). While not quite as densely smacked as William
S. Burroughs's druggy vaudeville Naked Lunch, this doesn't fall all
that short. Many who enter will soon find themselves tripping over
phrases and sentences so dishearteningly opaque that deconstructing
the narrator's glancing shots at originality will become too tiring
to bear. The story, as it plods by, tells of small-town New
Jerseyite Lewis Miner while he considers what really happened to
his fellow alums from Eastern Valley High School, as opposed to
what the Catamount Notes alumni journal claims. Going by Lewis,
they're all losers, even those who've gone on to professional
accomplishment or millions. Lewis himself is the biggest loser of
all: he hasn't a sober cell in his body and admits to masturbating
obsessively. The novel works toward the "Togethering," a kind of
alumni dance that becomes a marathon of loudmouthing, capped by a
dreadful speech Lewis addresses to the assembled. Excerpt: "I
should go back to school and learn the brain. I know, I couldn't
even get through Mrs. Strobe's Bio II, but still, I bet they have
new machines now, stud-finders for the walls of that gooey maze. As
a brain man I'd ride from town to town, bury all the bad stuff . .
. ." Spacey chuckles. (Kirkus Reviews)
Welcome to the most twisted high-school reunion imaginable, from a
rising star of American satire. 'It's confession time, fellow
alumni. Ever since Principal Fontana found me and commenced to
bless my mail slot, monthly, with the Eastern Valley High School
Alumni Newsletter, I've been meaning to pen my update. Sad to say,
vanity slowed my hand. Let a fever for the truth speed it now. Let
me stand on the rooftop of my reckoning and shout naught but the
indisputable: I did not pan out.' The Eastern Valley High School
alumni newsletter, 'Catamount Notes', is bursting with tales of
success: we've got a bankable politician and a famous baseball
star, not to mention a major label recording artist. And then there
is the appalling, somewhat bitter and yet entirely loveable Lewis
Miner, class of '89 - who did not pan out. From perhaps the most
gifted of the younger generation of US satirical novelists, 'Home
Land' is a marvel of playful prose and sustained invention - and
very, very funny.
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