Very enjoyable read. I would be honored, as a writer, to be reviewed by Dale. His reviews are so insightful.

Not only does Peck review books, providing criticism and analysis, but he criticizes critics and reviews book reviews.

Hehe.

He says nasty things about writers and reviewers. Tehe.

It's all very rousing and silly in an entertaining way. Plus it's short and small and fits in the front pocket of my brown corduroy jacket.

Moderately interesting. Not enough variation to make the entire book worth finishing.

talked about it here: http://5cense.com/earth.htm

I read this book because I dislike most contemporary literary fiction. So does this author. So I was hoping that I would learn more about why I hate most novels published within the last few years. Unfortunately these essays are mostly bitter, mean, and stupid, which is a shame, because many of them contain well-reasoned investigations of various authors.

The best essay was, to me, a sort of elegy for Kurt Vonnegut (which is strange, because he wasn't dead when this was published). I completely agreed with most of Dale Peck's assessment of Vonnegut, whose characters grapple with the futility of free will in the face of a chaotic and indifferent universe. Peck makes the point that Vonnegut's early novels contain "tragic heroes" who refuse to accept the absurdity of their existences, whereas in his later novels his main (often autobiographical) characters mostly surrender to either absurdity or death. Which effectively renders them (and him) impotent.

Also, Sapphire got a half a million advance for Push? Seriously?

For the most part, Dale Peck is a smart reader and a fluent writer. I like a bold opinion and I love a withering screed. Several of the targets of Peck's criticism (I'm looking at you Sven Birkerts and Stanley Crouch) are overdue for a take-down and, uncharitable blowhards themselves, they'll get no crocodile tears from me. But the net result of reading these relentlessly nasty reviews in a collection was a dislike of Dale Peck that grew with each essay. I guess it's like comic relief in a thriller - the funny parts make the scary parts scarier. Similarly, a little generosity in a critic makes harsh critical judgments seem a little more righteous.
The unmixed bile on offer here is a disagreeable read. Peck's self-pitying complaints to the contrary, no one is trying to 'silence' him by labeling him a bitch. His bitchy tone assaults anyone with a metaphorical ear. Straw silencers, be damned! Peck can defend the still-beating heart of literature (his actual image, I kid you not*) with all the catty poison at his command. He may be the very soul of literary rectitude, but I don't like his company and I won't be spending any more time with him. There's entirely too much else to read out there.
*For someone with such sniffy, Brahminical sensibilities, Peck's own writing is replete with howlers like this in addition to appalling freshman comp mistakes such as subject/verb disagreement. Pretentious pseudo-sophisticate, heal thyself!

i laughed out-loud throughout. it's the antidote to acclaimed and terrible contemporary writers.

I recently purchased the following books: 'The Peron Novel' by Tomas Eloy Martinez, 'I Served the King of England' by Bohumil Hrabal, 'The Language We use Up Here' by Philip Gambone, 'The Diary of an Innocent' by Tony Duvert, 'Whose Song' by Thomas Glave, 'Ourselves' by Jonathan Strong and Yves Navarre 'The Little Rogue in Our Flesh' - about the same time I read an article with a list of 'The Giants of Contemporary Literary Fiction' who were Saul Bellows, Norman Mailer, Philip Roth, John Updike, Sven Birkerts, Colson Whitehead, Jamaica Kincaid, Terry McMillan, Jim Crace, Stanley Crouch, Rick Moody and David Foster Wallace. None of the authors I have chosen to read are on the 'giants' list - at least four of my novels were not originally written in English (I am reading them in translation) so my comparison may be flawed - but even if I replaced those novels with ones written in English I know my list would still not contain any of the 'giants'. Indeed I am sure that amongst the 3,000 odd 'want to read' books I have listed on GoodReads none of the 'giants' appear.

I mention all this because I approached this book with some wariness because of my ignorance of so much of the 'contemporary literature' that literary critics regard as important. I needn't have worried - previously I had only Know Mr. Peck as a marvelous novelist; now I respect and admire him for demolishing so many sacred cows and laying bare the dead end road that so much contemporary literature is on.

Absolutely well worth reading - I adored what he had to say about Felice Picano's 'Like People in History' and Ethan Morden's 'How Long has this Been Going On' (just in case you imagined it was only SWM (straight white men) that he was knocking off their pedestals) and I wish I could demolition overblown mediocre writing with such style and perception.

I never really read lit crit or reviews but I find Dale Peck hilarious and often spot on. So hit me.

This is an entertaining and lucid collection of book reviews from a thoughtful, talented writer. Particularly amusing are the reviews in which Peck critiques Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and the other pretentious hacks who regularly receive critical fellatio from the rest of the literary establishment. Dale Peck does engage in hyperbole for dramatic effect, but most of these are considered and astute perspectives, the title notwithstanding.

While it's wrong to laud a critic merely for agreeing with me, that's what I'm going to do.

Peck doesn't really assert these points so much as posit them on his way to dismember his contemporaries, but since I find them excellent literary axioms, I'll repeat them:

-James Joyce's collection Dubliners--particularly the story "The Dead"--is one of the best in the prose fiction canon, but by Ulysses he is setting a pretty poor example.

-Thomas Pynchon is undeniably a fantastic writer but his his novels don't come together as anything approaching a cohesive whole.

-The folks who started postmodernism understood the difference between identification and projection, but most practitioners today work without this distinction, which while very convenient for them, is very boring to read.

-The critic Sven Birkerts is overrated.

I agree with him in principle but his execution lacks chop.