Steve is dying, of a mystery disease that no-one can diagnose. At
first, he refuses to succumb to self-pity. After all, he reasons,
'there were fresh griefs upon us the troops of our republic were
poised on the border of a lawless fiefdom in Delaware. The
Secretary of Agriculture had been exposed as a fervent collector of
barnyard porn. Worse, he had a yen for the young ones, the piglets,
the foals. Bestiality was one thing, but for Gods sake, these were
babies!' Still, faced with his own impending demise, Steve decides
to go out in a blaze of glory, and blows his savings on a couple of
high-class hookers and some top-grade cocaine. Then he has to tell
his estranged (and highly-strung) daughter that he can no longer
afford her college fees. That done, he checks into a
clinic-cum-religious cult run by the mysterious Heinrich, who just
might be able to save him. Sam Lipsytes debut novel starts like
Lewis Carroll, William Burroughs and Hunter Thompson rolled into
one, and carries on in much the same vein. There is no explanation
for Steves condition, how he finds himself at the mercy of two men
in white coats who insist they are not doctors, or how, for that
matter, he comes to be in the clutches of the deranged Heinrich and
his cronies (among whom he finds love of sorts with the paraplegic
nymphomaniac Renee). It doesnt really matter. Lipsyte has concocted
one of the funniest, most engaging novels of recent times, a world
familiar enough to feel real, while full of abrupt, dream-like
shifts in time, place and logic, executed with confidence and
panache in a rich, pacey, playful prose. A rare, laugh-out-loud
treat. (Kirkus UK)
'"An all-American tale made up of smart deliveries and cracking ideas…reminiscent of Douglas Coupland or 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius."''
'Observer'
Steve's fettle is absolutely fine, but nevertheless, he's dying – of a mystery disease that just might be boredom. At least, that's what the guys in the white coats say. They're not doctors, they're just guys in white coats, and the subject's name isn't Steve, either, but we'll get to that…
"I laughed out loud – and I never laugh out loud"
CHUCK PALAHNIUK, author of 'Fight Club'
"An original voice: smart, savvy, intensely funny"
'TLS'
"The best thing since George Saunders last broke cover…Kind if Beckett meets 'Six Feet Under', comedy doesn't come much blacker than this."
'Uncut'
"Rowdy, shocking and lyrical…very funny"
'New Yorker'
"Dark, lancing humour, first-rate satire and writing that dares to be bold and edgy."
'San Francisco Chronicle'
"Laugh-out-loud funny…By turns strange, disturbing and hilarious."
'Irish Independent'
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