Setting aside this imaginative and densely-arrayed debut novel by a masterful American writer, I plan to return to it at a later date when I have another craving for late-80s postmodern baggy monsters.

As an aside, there are many aspects of YBARA that remind me of DFW's Broom of the System, another precocious debut novel. In particular, its jocularity and the willingness to embed unconventional punning and overall humor within the nightmarish alternate realities or futures of the narrative. However, something about these qualities in the former novel seems to me to be more successfully executed than in the latter.

Perhaps my thoughts will be more fully-formed later on when I pick it back up. For now, I am moving on to Carlos Fuentes.

If Calvin, that mischievous and brilliant character from Calvin and Hobbes, could pen a maximalist postmodern novel in his own unique style - funny, intelligent, creative, insightful, sarcastic, and yes, even a bit cruel and violent at times - this would be the book he'd write.

Calvin would be Bug, bringing his boundless imagination and unpredictable nature to the story. Moe would take on the role of Wayne, adding his own brand of charm and perhaps a touch of mystery.

And of course, we couldn't forget Suzie (or Milly? who seems to have a bit of a beef with Susan, hehe). She would surely have her own part to play in this wild and wonderful narrative.

Together, they would embark on a journey filled with absurdities, deep thoughts, and plenty of laughs, creating a novel that would both entertain and challenge readers, just like Calvin himself.

My first novel was on a pynchoesque bender of ginormous proportions.

It was a wild and crazy ride from the very beginning. The story took unexpected twists and turns, leading the reader down a path filled with strange characters and even stranger situations.

The plot was like a maze, with dead ends and hidden passages that only revealed themselves as the story progressed.

As I wrote, I let my imagination run wild, creating a world that was both familiar and completely foreign.

The characters were larger than life, with personalities that were as colorful as the settings in which they found themselves.

Looking back, I can see that this first novel was a true labor of love. It was a chance for me to explore my creativity and push the boundaries of what I thought was possible.

And although it may not have been a perfect work of art, it was a starting point, a foundation upon which I could build my writing career.

This book is truly and utterly weird. When it comes to likability, I would likely award it only three stars. However, Vollmann earns an additional star for his sheer balls-out madness.

It's sort of this story in which bugs are taking over the world. And our hero is gradually turning into a bug. There is time spent in sewers and perhaps in the arctic tundra. Moreover, it's kind of a love story. Additionally, it's really digressive and difficult to read. It takes place in pretty much real-world San Francisco in the eighties, and it's crazy freaking Vollmann, so it's not really sci-fi or anything of that sort. Just completely nuts.

(And plus, for the rest of the nerd-lovers, his author pic on the back is kind of unbearably cute.)

DNF at page 156.

There were indeed certain moments prior to reaching page 156 that gave the impression that this extremely confident debut novel was on the verge of fulfilling its promise.

Nevertheless, those moments proved to be short-lived.

In spite of the remarkable boldness of the prose, nothing within the novel seemed to hold much significance.

After clenching my teeth and pushing myself further and further, hoping that either the story or the writing would ascend to a truly transcendent level…

I had to concede defeat.

The novel was beguiling and meandering, and I desired to love it, but I found that one of us was failing.

Whether it was me or the novel, I shall leave that for you to decide.

This book was fantastically weird.

Painted in rich prose, it was a chaotic and dark yet comical and wide-sweeping masterpiece.

It delved into a global war between bugs and electric progress, with humanity tragically caught in the middle.

But was it also about the author's own struggle to fit in and find love?

These two themes seemed to be allegories for each other, blurring the lines between the external and the internal.

The vivid descriptions and the unique blend of elements made this book a truly captivating read.

It left the reader with a sense of wonder and a desire to explore the deeper meanings hidden within its pages.

Whether one was drawn to the story of the war or the author's personal journey, this book had something to offer.

It was a literary gem that defied categorization and demanded to be experienced.

This, rather, thankfully, is still only just an initial stage.

It is a stage for affixing neon initiation pins to lapels, stirring the nutritional additive into the morning mush, and attending to all the other minor tasks.

These tasks might fool a roving inspector into believing that she and Tad have just another boy on their hands here.

'Just see,' she would gush, or smirk, or demur, depending on the inspector.

'Just see what Little Leon does when it's blackout time. Here. Watch.'

And they would reenact the overhead relay to the basement.

Leon's initiation lapels would glow all the brighter in the descent.

It is a carefully choreographed performance, designed to deceive and mislead.

But for now, it is working, and they are able to maintain the illusion that everything is normal.

However, they know that this cannot last forever, and that eventually, the truth will come out.

For now, though, they will continue to play their parts and hope that they can keep the secret a little while longer.

Left-Wing Opportunism: An Infantile Disorder

Much commentary on this novel attempts to excuse its flaws by blaming the inexperience of the 27-year-old writer. However, this is the tenth Vollmann book I've read, and it's no worse or better than his others. The flaws are often deliberate stylistic choices, repeated in later works.

One such tic is the over-reliance on research and reportage. While it may ground the fiction, it often lacks imagination, drowning the reader in details. This is especially true in his later works. In this novel, inspired by the Russian Revolution, Vollmann uses analogues of Lenin and Trotsky, but fails to paint convincing portraits.
The novel explores the relationship between revolution and reaction. The status quo is represented by the White Power and Light Company, while the revolutionaries are a coalition including insects. The most prominent revolutionary, Bug, is a human male, but we learn little about him. The bugs recruit Bug, but the bond between them is unexplained.
The revolution involves killing large numbers of people, but the motivation is unclear. Susan follows Bug blindly, and readers are supposed to sympathize with this violence. However, Vollmann shows no understanding or empathy for the liberal left or middle class.
The narrative structure reflects this dilemma, with two narrators: "I, the author" and Big George. The author creates the framework, but Big George undermines it. We are left with the suspicion that the revolution fails.
Overall, the novel is a disappointment. It lacks a just cause for the revolution and the empathy feels bogus. It's little more than a vehicle for nerds to identify with pseudo-radical superheroes. The reader is left puzzled and disappointed by the wasted effort.

One of the strangest books I've ever read is this one.

Luckily, it doesn't take its strangeness too seriously. It doesn't try too hard to be funny or irreverent either.

It's just odd in its own unique way. However, there's some good story-telling in there too.

I've always been put off by the length and somber subjects of Vollman's books. But after reading this, I'm actually tempted to try another novel of his.

Maybe the next one will have the same strange charm along with an equally engaging story.

I'm curious to see what else Vollman has to offer in his literary works.

Who knows, the next book might surprise me even more than this one did.

I'm willing to take the risk and explore more of his writing.

I read this around the same time that I read David Foster Wallace's "The Broom of the System."

It was then that I realized I had confused the two in my memory.

Both works, I remember, owe a great debt to Pynchon.

They share similarities in their youthful audacity and breathtaking scope.

They were both enamoured with themselves, perhaps a characteristic of young and ambitious writers.

However, they both rather petered out in the end.

Now that I'm older, I wonder if I would re-read this Vollmann with more affection.

As one should do with prodigal prodigies, I may look back on it with a more forgiving and understanding eye.

Perhaps I will see the potential and the flashes of brilliance that I missed before.

Maybe age has given me a different perspective, allowing me to appreciate the work for what it is, flaws and all.

It will be interesting to revisit this Vollmann and see if my opinion has changed.

Only time will tell.

4.5 Stars.

Wow, what can I truly say about this remarkable book? It is short, yet incredibly comprehensive, and it manages to convey its essence without making me seem like an absolute lunatic.

The description that this book is a unique blend of Pynchon and Burroughs is astonishingly accurate. I'm extremely glad that I chose to read this particular version of Vollman. It's as if the section of his writing in Europe Central, where he describes a telephone, has been expanded and stretched throughout the entire novel. That section in Europe Central was one of my absolute favorites, and here it seems to have been enhanced and extended to create a truly captivating experience.

It earns a half star due to its remarkable ability to nail the ending, which is something of utmost importance to me. In hindsight or upon further reflection, this book may very well achieve the coveted 5-star status. Without a doubt, it will firmly remain one of my favorite reads this year, leaving a lasting impression on my literary journey.

I'm pretty sure that this book burned entirely new neural pathways in my brain.

It's complete insanity, and yet, it's exactly what I'd expect to happen when Vollmann attempts sci-fi.

Not only is it a captivating love story, but it also serves as a sort of alternative history about the rise of capitalism and technocracy and the revolutionaries who oppose it.

In this case, the fighters are the world's insects and their human allies, which adds a unique and fascinating twist to the narrative.

And then, just when you think you've got a handle on things, it gets all metafiction on our asses.

It's truly wonderful stuff that keeps you on the edge of your seat and makes you question everything you thought you knew about literature and the world around us.

I can't recommend this book highly enough to anyone looking for a mind-bending and thought-provoking read.