I'm a huge fan of Jonathan Franzen. However, just like many books of essays, this one was somewhat of a mixed bag.

Some of the pieces in this collection have truly stayed with me even months after reading them. They have managed to make a deep and lasting impression, perhaps due to their profound insights or unique perspectives.

On the other hand, there were also some essays that I simply couldn't bring myself to finish. Maybe the subject matter didn't interest me as much, or the writing style didn't resonate with me in the same way.

Overall, while this book of essays may not have been a complete home run for me, it still had its shining moments. Franzen's talent as a writer is undeniable, and even in the pieces that didn't quite work for me, there were still flashes of his brilliance. I would still recommend this book to other fans of Franzen or those interested in reading thought-provoking essays.

I've always been an ardent fan of Jonathan Franzen's debut novel, The Twenty-Seventh City. When The Corrections was first released, I was filled with excitement. I even had a liking for Freedom, at least while reading it. However, I soon found that it vanished from my mind immediately after. This is a signal that I've come to trust, indicating that whether it's the book's fault or my brain's, the relationship between the book and my brain is somewhat of a disappointment. It may soon be time to part ways with the half of the relationship that I can conceivably leave and still continue on with my life. After all, no one ever said that a literary love affair had to lead to literary marriage, let alone literary domesticity and the subsequent, inevitable, suburban staying-together-for-the-kids.

I never did officially break up with Mr. Franzen, despite Oprah/Twitter (mostly not his fault) and those two Harpers essays (mostly his fault, especially the one on William Gaddis, \\"Mr. Difficult\\"). Now it appears there were actually three essays, and one of them (\\"The Reader in Exile\\") included herein is quite excellent, as is a modified version of the first \\"Why Bother\\", also included (along with the original, magazine version of the essay, \\"Perchance to Dream\\", as an appendix for comparison's sake).

I never officially broke up with him because I adored that first novel so much. And in spite of the fact that the novel after Freedom, titled Purity, exacerbated both the page-turnability and forgetability factors to a significant and disheartening extent. But, really, the fire had gone out some time before then, and I didn't anticipate any rekindling of puppyish affections, either now or in the foreseeable future.

But you know what? Thanks to GR, because after so many of you had positive experiences with the new one, Crossroads, I considered giving it another try with the tall geeky one again, for old times' sake, at the upcoming high school reunion. But to hedge my bets, I decided to do some lurking and figure out just what kind of guy I'd be meeting up with if I did.

Hence this re-read of a completely forgotten book. And again: you know what? I think I really like this guy once more, or maybe I always did and am just too timid to admit it to myself, even privately on Twitter. The essays here展现了 a thoughtful, caring, well-read, non-judgemental, unjerkish, maturing kind of fella. And all of this was written just a few years after the Oprah debacle had convinced the world that he was simply the worst dead white male still alive. Even Franzen himself thought so. In the essay \\"Meet Me in St Louis\\", he writes a little about the Oprah debacle (but mostly about returning to the city of his youth at the behest of Oprah's film crew after the heartbreaking loss of his parents). Look at what my Jonathan has to say about himself:

\\n  When I talk to admirers of Winfrey, I’ll experience a glow of gratitude and good will and agree that it’s wonderful to see television expanding the audience for books. When I talk to detractors of Winfrey, I’ll experience the bodily discomfort I felt when we were turning my father’s oak tree into schmaltz, and I’ll complain about the Book Club logo. I’ll get in trouble for this. I’ll achieve unexpected sympathy for Dan Quayle when, in a moment of exhaustion in Oregon, I conflate “high modern” and “art fiction” and use the term “high art” to describe the importance of Proust and Kafka and Faulkner to my writing. I’ll get in trouble for this, too. Winfrey will disinvite me from her show because I seem “conflicted.” I’ll be reviled from coast to coast by outraged populists. I’ll be called a “motherfucker” by an anonymous source in New York magazine, a “pompous prick” in Newsweek, an “ego-blinded snob” in the Boston Globe, and a “spoiled, whiny little brat” in the Chicago Tribune. I’ll consider the possibility, and to some extent believe, that I am all of these things. \\n

He isn't all of those things, dear reader. He is, like us, just a fallible human being who loves books, whose little life, as a youthful outsider, was rescued by literature, and who fears for its future more than for his own.

I won't say too much about the other essays, except this: I thought them very much the impassioned, well-researched, relentless equal of his friend David Foster Wallace's. The range of his interests is as impressive as his willingness to be vulnerable, to be the object of his own journalistic inquiries (\\"My Father's Brain\\" on his father's affliction with Alzheimers, \\"Sifting the Ashes,\\" about his addiction to cigarettes). He can even make the Chicago Postal Service interesting, much like DFW does with cruise ship life, and deservedly leads the reader to a state of righteous moral outrage in his essay on America's Geneva Convention-smashing SuperMax prisons.

I'll be reading another set of his essays very soon, and maybe even risk heartbreak again with Crossroads, sometime this year. How do I look? Shall I wear white flannel trousers in hopes of a walk along the beach? Forget St. Louis: I've put on Calexico's stunning version of Tom T. Hall's immortal classic on obsession, \\"Tulsa Telephone Book\\" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9hpu...) and shall let my fingers do the walking (or the turning of the pages, rather).

Wish me luck!

**"How to Be Alone" by Jonathan Franzen: A Review**

"How to Be Alone" is a collection of essays published at various times. The common thread seems to be "the problem of preserving individuality and complexity in a noisy and distracting mass culture: the question of how to be alone." Moreover, the entire book aims to be, at least partially, "a record of a movement away from an angry and frightened isolation toward an acceptance - even a celebration - of being a reader and a writer."

Unlike "The Corrections," the topics are almost never personal (although they are often treated in a personal way). It discusses writing, reading, and the role of the author and literature, but also the issues of privacy, mail, cigarettes, cities, and prisons. Franzen writes a couple of personal essays: "My Father's Brain," which is very moving despite the apparently ascetic tone, and "Erika Imports," very short and, personally, forgettable.

I find Franzen's apocalyptic approach towards the dominant technology and culture/reading/writing seen as progressively losing in today's society decidedly exaggerated, at least in tone if not in content. However, his reflections are interesting, especially when he asks if it is correct for the author to write for the public or for art (i.e., is it correct to lower oneself to the level of the public or is it better to respect artistic integrity?), whether to try to create a social novel or simply talk about what interests him. It is interesting when he asks what is the role of the writer and literature today, and how influential the advent of television and technology is. Of course, often the essays are clearly dated (we are mainly talking about the 1990s), but certain thematic knots are still current.

In hindsight, I admit that it was not a very enlightened choice. Many of the proposed essays deal with topics that do not interest me, although I must admit that the author always manages to be pleasant in his approach.

Well, I am truly ashamed.

I had firmly believed that I would never read Jonathan Franzen, but now I have, and as far as I'm concerned, it's over a decade too late.

These essays are truly wonderful. I can hardly believe that I read them all in one day, yet that's exactly what I did. I simply couldn't put the book down.

Who could have known that the post office could be so interesting? Or that The Harper Essay on reading books would mean so much to me? Or that I would almost shed tears while reading about his father? Even his mother is constantly on my mind.

He is an amazing storyteller, thoughtful, nuanced, provocative, and so very human.

And he gets it. That total confrontation with reality and self that we all strive so hard to avoid.

It would be truly wonderful to have a very modern collection of essays at present. Essays on Trump, about Facebook, the cell phone, the demise of the post office, why people still flock to New York City, nostalgia and its power, consumerism. I would pay for that in an instant.

In some ways, he reminds me of the older Arthur Miller, struggling to write plays that make an impact and facing rejections.

He's conflicted. I have always trusted people who are conflicted, who openly and rawly display their doubts, fears, and failures like this. Now, I have to read all of his novels. They must be excellent!

The first lesson that reading teaches us is the lesson of how to be alone.

"How to Be Alone" is a collection of 14 essays that Franzen wrote between 1994 and 2002. In these essays, he deals with topics that are equally relevant no matter where the reader is. I say "no matter where the reader is" because Franzen writes from a distinctly American perspective and deals primarily with the American system. However, the breadth of his text allows people around the world to recognize the paradox, frustration, stupidity, sadness, meaninglessness, etc. of the problems he addresses. The subjects of his interest in these essays (the postal system/service, cigarettes and smoking, the media (TV and the Internet) against the written word, the prison system, Alzheimer's disease, privacy/intimacy, William Gaddis, self-help books on sex, his preparations for staying at Oprah's...) are globally recognizable and, in my opinion, the problematics is not unique to Americans, but to every reasonable person.

Throughout all the essays, like a thread, depression runs as the basis/origin point/destination point - whether Franzen admits his depression or we read it through the (non)actions of his characters - in the end, and depression is one of those widespread problems of the (new) era.

I really like how that man thinks and how he writes... He is deep, and at the same time not stuffy, spiritual, full of heart, broad, with a wonderful vocabulary. Although I am not inclined towards essays and very, very rarely pick them up, after reading this book I feel richer... with a cleaner, more orderly mind. As if he had entered my brain and put things in order in there. :D

The last time I was in the library, a spine with the name Jonathan Franzen written on it caught my eye.

Why did I want to read this book? Where had I heard this name? The book appeared brand new. However, most of its essays were from the late 90s and early 2000s. The political and social references were fascinating as they were now all in hindsight. Most, if not all, were pre-September 11th. They were all pre-current-economic-meltdown and the new President Obama.

The essence of the essays was timeless. From learning about how the brain functions due to his father's lost battle with Alzheimer's to writing about writing, the themes were close to a writer's heart.

Franzen also discussed New York. That made me think that I wanted to date Franzen. Simply because he was a writer in New York. See? I didn't ask for much.

The essay that interested me the most was his experience during shooting footage for his upcoming appearance on Oprah since his last novel had been chosen for her book club. He recalled being at book signings and having people feel sorry for him because he made it on the list and then Oprah fans praising him for the same reason. Hilarious. I wasn't doing the essay justice here. You had to read it. You had to read all of them in How To Be Alone. Franzen was a writer's writer.

Oh, and I realized why I borrowed the book. A few years ago, I wrote a random note about writing in my poetry notebook. Alongside the two words I'd jotted down was "Jonathan Franzen" followed by a question mark. I had no idea what it meant.

Some essays are better, some are worse, and some have aged poorly. Overall, unfortunately, only 3 stars.

This assessment indicates that the quality of the essays varies. There are those that stand out for their excellence, perhaps demonstrating clear arguments, engaging writing styles, or unique perspectives. However, there are also others that fall short in different aspects. They may lack coherence, have weak evidence to support their claims, or simply not be as interesting or well-written.

The fact that some essays have "aged poorly" suggests that their relevance or effectiveness may have diminished over time. This could be due to changes in the subject matter, the emergence of new ideas or research, or simply a shift in the readers' expectations.

Despite the mixed quality, the overall rating of 3 stars implies that there is still some value to be found in the collection of essays. It may be that the better essays outweigh the shortcomings of the others, or that there are aspects of each essay that can be learned from or appreciated.

The thing that truly appeals to me about this book is that it is penned by a kindred spirit, a fellow curmudgeon who shares my penchant for griping about the current state of the world. Hey! I find myself doing that very often as well! For a significant portion of the book, Mr. Franzen laments the decline of the literary novel, decries the wastefulness of modern society, bemoans the miserly plight of the working author, rues the degeneration of culture, and questions the morality of the criminal justice system. He indeed complains a great deal.

However, Mr. Franzen's complaints are not of the same ilk as mine. That is to say, his gripes are extremely well thought out and thoroughly researched, and are replete with a rich vocabulary. The book might give the impression of being almost three hundred pages of incessant bitching, but for the most part, it feels like constructive bitching, even though Franzen refrains from proffering any cures for the societal ills he lays bare. "Hey!" he shouts, gesticulating animatedly, "America! Are you blind! Look at the mess we're in!"

Franzen accomplishes what any sociologist ought to do: he holds up a mirror to American society. Or rather... American society circa 1996. Indeed, a great many of these essays seem regrettably dated (it injects a whole new level of irony into the book when Mr. Franzen complains that the breakneck pace at which technology is evolving has led to the replacement of his typewriter with CD-ROMs). Frequent allusions are made to the Clinton administration.

I am of the opinion that the book reaches its zenith when Franzen writes about the things he holds dear, such as his family, or New York, or St. Louis. When he writes about these beloved subjects, it becomes far easier to read. It doesn't require a book of essays by a respected author to be aware that the world is a dark and messed-up place. Anyone can inform you of that. Which is precisely why we need to focus on the few remaining beacons of light within it: home, family, love. I would relish seeing someone pen extensive essays about those very things without succumbing to Hallmark sentimentality or trite clichés.

I would eagerly read such essays.

The given text seems to be a brief assessment of some literary work. It describes it as a scrapbook patchwork of previously published prose. The prose is said to be lucid, which means it is clear and easy to understand. However, it is also largely forgettable, suggesting that it may not have a lasting impact on the reader. The assessment further states that the work is expectedly hit and miss. This implies that while there may be some good parts, there are also likely to be parts that are not as good. Overall, the work is rated as 75% or more than satisfactory, but it falls short of being truly outstanding.

(B) 75% | More than Satisfactory
Notes: A scrapbook patchwork of previously published prose, lucid though largely forgettable, and expectedly hit and miss.

This book initially seemed quite interesting.

However, as one delves deeper into it, Jonathan Franzen's personality becomes a significant obstacle.

He appears to be extremely uptight, as if he has a pole up his ass, and is overly full of himself.

Any potentially interesting points he might make are overshadowed by the annoyance that stems from imagining his persnickety voice in one's head.

It's quite a conundrum. On one hand, there might be some ideas within the book that one could potentially agree with.

But on the other hand, the very act of agreeing with him makes one feel a bit dirty.

It's as if his off-putting personality taints the entire reading experience, leaving the reader in a state of confusion and dissatisfaction.

One can't help but wonder if the book would have been more enjoyable if Franzen's personality hadn't been so prominent and off-putting.

Perhaps then, the true essence of the ideas within the book could have shone through more clearly.

As it stands, however, the reader is left grappling with the conflict between the potentially interesting content and the unappealing personality of the author.

There is perhaps nothing more smug than an author writing about fiction's place in culture and about culture's turning of its back on fiction and on authors.

Franzen is indeed smug. But when we add a small measure of self-awareness to the equation, the situation changes.

The prig who knows he is one isn't so bad after all. And this is where Franzen's effort becomes worthwhile.

His work is a good collection of essays, especially those on books.

These essays offer valuable insights into the world of literature and the role that fiction plays in our culture.

Despite his smugness, Franzen has something important to say, and his essays are well worth reading for anyone interested in the subject.

Overall, while Franzen may not be the most likeable author, his work is a significant contribution to the ongoing conversation about the place of fiction in our lives.

Having recently delved into David Foster Wallace's essays, I impulsively picked up this work. I must admit that the brilliance and vitality of the former only serve to highlight how lackluster these attempts at reportage and literary deliberation truly are. Franzen's coy and standoffish discussion of the dichotomy between literature (or even just books) and television is telling. He emphasizes his aversion to the Tube, describes the dilapidated state of the set he just disposed of, and then attempts to analyze the state of the novel without addressing its apparent adversary. How different this is from DFW's approach, which begins with the assertion that (US) writing is in a crisis because TV has encroached upon the very essence of what the novel once considered its object of study. An in-depth analysis of an episode of the hospital drama St Elsewhere shows that this includes not only the reality of "life today" but also the "so reflexive it might snap" postmodernity of its representation. Basically, Franzen says "je refuse" and refuses to engage. Foster Wallace, a self-proclaimed TV enthusiast, engages with television in all its reality-bending significance and thereby creates one of the finest essays of the era.

The writing here that deals with Culture all suffers from this shortcoming: Franzen is neither elitist enough in his approach to soar above the clouds like an eagle, nor is he folksy enough to cool the hungry hippo of popular taste. Instead, he vacillates on the margins, sounding constricted and resentful.

By contrast, the reportage pieces, one on his father's Alzheimer's and one on the state of US prisons, are strong and impressive works of writing. If he had persisted, he might have made it into The New Yorker with a bit of application.