In the running for one of the worst books I've ever read, this particular tome truly stands out. When I think of the hours I wasted on this, I want to cry rage-tears.

One week later, it took me a while to fully understand why I loathed this book. Finally, after a weekend camping with friends and their families and their friends and their families, I understood: it lacks any generosity of spirit. It does not enjoy its own characters, nor their stories, nor this twenty-seventh city where they live and die, St. Louis.

My weekend was like many other such trips: full of people I loved, liked, didn't know, was annoyed by; kids running around screaming and laughing; political diatribes and mellow conversations about fishing and supportive affirmations and passive-aggressive put-downs and gossiping and storytelling and one-upmanship and bonding on both superficial and deep levels. It was a slice of life featuring many sorts of people, much like many other slices of life where people come together who are similar and disparate. It was a human experience, quite unlike this book.

On the face of it, this is a book that I'd like. It is a thick, dense slice of life combined with a nihilistic, often absurdist political thriller. I like the immersive experiences; I like a certain degree of cynicism about human nature; I like books that live just a little off to the side from actual reality. But it fails on all of those fronts. My book this weekend was one by Vonnegut; this book lacks that master's necessary lightness of touch when it comes to unreal scenarios and farcical behavior. Vonnegut's absurdist style feels like a soft, teasing breeze; this book is a depressing, inexplicable downpour out of nowhere.

A bleak outlook on how humans engage with each other can be exhilarating when the tale told is an airtight trap or a mordant dose of horror. But this book offers up nihilistic takes on human nature across such a wide canvas, within such a loose, sloppy narrative, that any points made are inevitably lost within the gassy bloat of it all. It feels like the nihilism of a young person who is precocious and certainly knows the importance of such basic things as research and three-dimensional characterization, but who knows very little about actual life. Juvenile, poorly-earned nihilism. Worst of all, the "slice of life" that is much of this book was impossible for me to enjoy. It punishes its characters; it degrades them... for what reason, to what end? What kind of slice of life shows life to solely be a game of assholes trying to dominate - or ignore - other assholes? Was this Franzen's whole take on human nature? This is not a slice of any real life that I'm aware of; rather, it is a slice of callow, masturbatory nonsense that is jerking off to its own supposed cleverness. A book that doesn't really understand nor even particularly care for its characters is not a book worth spending any amount of time on.

And that diatribe above doesn't even mention its repulsive engagement with race (e.g. why exactly do all of the manipulative, murderous invaders have to be from India - what's the point there, just because? e.g. why do Franzen's black characters make me think that the author didn't actually know any black people prior to writing this?) or its repugnant handling of its female characters (e.g. it saves its most heartless, most nauseating ending for its most admirable female character; e.g. it lets its ruthless female villain's potentially fatal flaw be her unspoken longing for the touch of a man) or its cluelessness about how to construct a compelling narrative (e.g. after a brutal kidnapping is depicted, Franzen decides its time to spend a dozen or so pages on a debate between power brokers over real estate speculation - as if that kidnapping of a major character is just another narrative turn in a book full of such turns) or its ignorance of how depth of characterization should be achieved (e.g. why would a reader care about endless backstory in the last quarter for characters shown to be worthless pieces of shit throughout the preceding 400 pages? did the author not realize that understanding his villains' motivations first would have made them less of an obnoxious trial to read about?) or or or...

That goddamn BLOAT. This huge book is like a compendium of amateurish missteps made by an author of undeniable talent, even brilliance. It impressed many upon its release, back in 1988. That's not surprising; people are often fooled by talent, by cleverness. Even when there is a hollow at the core, where the heart should be.

During the decades following the American Civil War, St. Louis witnessed remarkable growth, ascending to become America's 4th largest city. However, by the 1980s, its position had significantly dropped to the 27th.

Jonathan Franzen's debut novel is a literary behemoth. It commences with the appointment of the American-born S Jammu, a former Bombay police chief, as the Chief of Police of the St. Louis County. This serves as the opening salvo of an extremely detailed, darkly satirical, and exquisitely written county and city-wide conspiracy. The implications of this conspiracy are vast and far-reaching for many of the individuals involved, especially the main protagonist, a largely apolitical property magnate. Franzen's bold choice of using a real American city while crafting completely fictional characters and events is truly audacious, and he executes it with great aplomb.

For me, the downside lies in the fact that although the narrative is compelling, it seems to lack a deeper meaning or perhaps I should say, it fails to convey a clear message. Critically, it has been regarded as a fine literary work where Franzen constructs a whirlwind political and broader conspiracy to undermine and debase the American Dream through darkly comedic satire. But here lies my issue with it: what American Dream? The city had been in a downward spiral for decades! I would simply classify it as a very well-written and conceived thriller, replete with a plethora of delicious and innovative details and characters, and a plot that refuses to let up. Despite its considerable length (presented in small type and spanning over 500 pages), it is undoubtedly worth a read, given its well-thought-out nature and, to a certain extent, its daring debut. I rate it 7 out of 12.

2022 read

OK, if this book didn't contain so many references to Webster Groves, I wouldn't have found it that great.

The Twenty-Seventh city is a reference to St Louis, and the plot is a rather bizarre takeover plot by Indian nationals.

The identities of area notables and bigwigs are, by intent, not so carefully disguised, and playing the game of "who's who" can be quite fun.

However, there is one place where Franzen makes a goof. He calls Civic Progress by its real name, rather than the euphemistic title he gives it in the book (which, unfortunately, has since slipped my mind).

This small error doesn't detract too much from the overall enjoyment of the book, but it is something that caught my attention.

Overall, despite this minor flaw, the book is an interesting read, especially for those who are familiar with the St Louis area and its local personalities.

What on earth do people see in this clown?

This is a question that has been puzzling many. The clown, with his colorful attire and exaggerated makeup, seems to be an enigma.

Some might argue that people are drawn to the clown's ability to make them laugh. His silly antics and comical expressions have the power to lighten the mood and bring joy to a crowd.

Others might say that there is something deeper at play. Perhaps the clown represents a sense of freedom and abandon, a departure from the seriousness of everyday life.

Maybe it's the element of surprise that keeps people coming back for more. The clown's unpredictable behavior and unexpected jokes can catch us off guard and make us forget our troubles, if only for a moment.

In the end, the allure of the clown may be different for each person. But one thing is for sure, he has a unique ability to capture our attention and make us smile.