Finally finished reading Glamorama by Brett Easton Ellis. Now — boom! — I’m done. I can talk about it if the opportunity presents itself, although I can’t really imaging that happening, but I’m not really going into now. Something about Ellis’s writing is compelling and tedious at the same time. It’s strange. I wonder if that is reflective of the author’s personality at all?
So now the question is what do I read next?
Of course, I’m still in the midst of Millennial Makover, but I’m feeling my enthusiasm wane considerably. I doubt I’ll finish it, but before I do I hope to blog on the way the authors talk about the three different generations — Baby Boomers, Generation X, and Millennials — by detailing the TV shows that they grew up with and which refelct their specific mindset or cultural sensibility or whatever.
Anyhoo…I’ve moved fictionally anyway.
First to Netherland by Joseph O’Neil. It got a pretty good review in The New York Time Book Reivew, if I remember correctly. It was described as one of the better novels about 9/11, another sort of literary genre that I am interestred in. I started reading it and liked it, the writing, but something about the main character put me off. He seemed a bit of milk sop. I don’t know. He was from London, I think, and moves to New York, but after 9/11 the marriage falls apart and wife insists on leaving, certain that another attack on NY is inevitable. But really she wants to get away from her husband, because when he offers to leave his job and go with her she basically lets him know that it is because of him that she is really leaving. Anyway, the whole set up annoyed me, the way it was wrought, the characters. Blah. But I suppose that says as much about me, if not more, than it does about the book. I haven’t give up on this book but decided to set it aside.
And I moved onto All the Sad Young Literary Young Men, by Keith Gessen. I was eager to read this book after seeeing Gessen on an episode of Titlepage.tv. Also I learned that he is one of the founders of n+1, a literary journal, for which he has written reviews. I remember reading that he had a penchant for being a tough critic, even brutal. Perhaps I was missinformed. Anyway, I admit that fact alone made me want to find fault with his work. Also, I find the title of his novel a bit pretentious. I’m more partial to hip titles, such as Less Than Zero and Bright Lights, Big City and Generation X. But of course there is more to a book than a title and based on the first chapter that seems to be the case with this novel. I’m digging it so far.
But I’ve also recently nabbed a copy of White Noise by Don Delillo. For me, Delillo rates as one of those authors that I’ve always meant to read, always felt that I should read, but just never got around to it. White Noise was published in 1986, the year I graduated high school, and though I suppose there’s no real serious reason to attach significance to that fact, I do. Perhaps it is slightly legit, as Delillo, I think, tends to write fiction that comments upon and dissects the culture.
Also, just nabbed a copy of The Postman, by David Brin, because, I’m a shamed to admit, I actually have a strange fondness for the movie, staring Kevin Costner. It isn’t that I find it to be a particularly good movie, but I like the premise. I like dystopian stories.
And a nonfiction book entitled Just How Stupid Are We? which is the kind of hysterically-titled book that both intrigues and annoyes me at the outset, and so I feel compelled to read it, so as to either refute it, at least in my head, or find something worthwhile that isn’t all ranting down fall of society bullshit.