That’s right, I kept the G, so you know I’m fuckin’ serious.

I know, for whatever reason, Jonathan Franzen is consider a literary icon. I assumed for good reason. Like when I discovered Look Homeward, Angel or found at least something worthwhile in The Broom Of The System.

This book, apparently, at least according to Wikipedia, was hailed as the birth of a new literary master.

I disagree.

While I was mildly intrigued by S. Jammu and what game she might be playing, at no point was her end game or motives ever really established and this nonsense that popped up a handful of times about the State never paid off, or amounted to anything.

I thought maybe it picked up when the people fell from the balcony at the baseball game, but nope, went right into the next three hundred pages of pointless municipal politics. At no point was it ever actually explained why the city of St. Louis and its surrounding county would be god or bad, only that there was some grifting going on.

There were a ridiculous number of storylines that went nowhere, had little bearing on the plot or the characters (most of whom had completely indistinguishable motivations) and ultimately ended up being utterly pointless. (See the main character’s daughter, most of his colleagues, the guy trying to expose Jammu and his childhood friend).

Characters behaved however the author felt they needed to behave. Here, S. Jammu is some political savant, a Moriarity slowly taking over the city of St. Louis. Then, she’s an insecure child. What was the thing about the two lovers, the kidnapper and the one her mother sent? None of that had a point.

And don’t even get me started on the hooker the main character’s brother-in-law had dressing up as the main character’s wife. She’s portrayed through ninety percent of the book as this underrated player, who has a plan to somehow screw over Jammu and the brother-in-law, even slipping Jammu’s agents and killing one in London, only to return and suddenly be entirely nuts, thinking she’s the main character’s wife like some kind of disassociated schizophrenic. Her storyline ends not with her outsmarting Jammu (or even trying), but by burning herself in the main character’s house. The daughter shows up, sees the wreckage from the crowd and then shrugs and walks away.

Yeah, me too, girl. Me too.

What else? Jammu believes Barbara (the wife) is some kind of nemesis; at no point is that ever actually established. Barbara’s pretty well pointless and dies pointlessly, after a storyline that’s unnecessary and its only impact is to remove her from the marriage, so the main character can fuck Jammu.

The whole thing revolves around this election question that would merge the city and county; in the end, only 17% of the population cares enough to vote, and it’s a landslide for the status quo, meaning that no one gave a shit about the primary driving question of the entire book.

So, pray tell, Jonathan, WHY THE FUCK SHOULD ANYONE ELSE?

The whole thing is written like it was done in one go, with little to no thought about plot or motivation or character arcs, with storylines ultimately abandoned, because hey, we’re over five hundred pages now, might as well wrap this up, but since I don’t really care and can’t be bothered to weave together the threads I’ve laid out, I’ll just pretend to make some point about America, a bunch of pretty words that sound deep (but aren’t), to cover up for the fact that this is one shitty book, deeply unsatisfying and utterly pointless.

Maybe I can pay some reviewer to proclaim me a genius, or hope I’ve written like David Foster Wallace enough (minus any humour) to make all these pretentious fucks think I know what I’m doing and that I’m somehow saying something worthwhile (hint: I’m not).

Sorry to be so harsh, but man, I spent almost two weeks on this piece of garbage waiting for some kind of payoff, something to make it not a complete waste of time (because that is a huge pet peeve of mine), but nope, fuck me.

I rarely rate books a one; usually, I can find some redeeming quality. If I do, it’s usually more ideological than merit-based, although there are a few that have been just bad.

But I don’t think I’ve ever had one that pissed me off so much for being such an absolute waste of time, because it was just such a poorly written piece of shit.

If Goodreads would let me rate zero, I fucking would.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 311 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Twenty-Seventh City, Jonathan Franzen
Comics: Gen 13: Grunge Saves The World 1, Gen 13 v2 40-41, Gen 13: Going West 1
Music: Faithless, Back To Mine