I wanted to expand further on my review because this book is truly excellent. First, the story line is captivating as Wolfe shows in great details how events conspire, little by little, to corner Sherman McCoy into the position of the ultimate villain. McCoy starts as the successful banker, the guy that “knows better” and always ends up on top. He is unbeatable in the business of making dough (most notably with the “Giscard bonds”, these bonds that a dopey French president was stupid enough to turn into easy money to arbitragers by insuring gold convertibility at the expense of his own constituents), and his destiny seems cloudless in a world of abundant flows of money opportunities and never ending success. Then a few grains of sand slip in the cranking wheels of this well oiled machine and one by one the wheels get stuck and bring McCoy’s world to chaos and finally to collapse.

Wolfe unravels the plot with ultimate mastery but it is in fact the depicting of the various characters that we meet along the way that had my jaw drop during most of the book. His characters are as many impressionist paintings that mix New York social clichés with personal characteristics in a way that is always realistic, but also witty and often captivating and even sometimes funny. It is his gallery of portraits that I had in mind when I wrote “Bubble Boys”, my own Wall Street saga.

Wolfe skillfully swings his focus from one to the other starting of course with the protagonist McCoy, but also Kramer, the assistant D.A., the lovely date with “big breasted blue eyes” that he tries to impress, the two detectives (one Irish, the other Jewish), the slimy, alcoholic British journalist, an outraged judge, etc. In each case he finds the true fabric of New York voices, rendering equally well with great precision the lawyer's "ged’ouda’ here'' and the bad grammar (``that don't help matters'') of the sly reverend (similarities with a famous politician are of course obvious )

And then there are the women whose portraying can often be perceived as ferocious and misogynist as Wolfe mocks the courtesan crowd revolving around successful businessmen:

“The women [seen at these social events] came in tow varieties. First there were women in their late thirties, in their forties and older, all of them skin and bones (starved to near perfection). To compensate for the concupiscence missing from their juiceless ribs and atrophied backsides they turned to the dress designers. They were the social X-Rays.”

“Second there were the so called lemon tarts. These were women in their twenties or early thirties mostly blondes, who were the second, third and fourth wives or live-in girlfriends of men over forty, or fifty, or sixty… […] showing their legs well above the knee and emphasizing their round bottoms.”

He concludes: what was entirely missing at these events: the mother type.

Even though I enjoyed his portraits of the courtesans, I found the overall picture a little unfair to women as the gallery lacks a strong woman character. This is why in my book I spent particular care in the crafting of Emily, my bubble girl, alone among the “bubble boys” of the dot com debacle. (yet I couldn’t resist including also a “lemon tart” as a tribute to Wolfe). I have one other slight criticism: the end could have been better crafted. It seems as if Wolfe hesitated about the turn to give to his story. Nevertheless, all in all, this book has become one of the icons of modern literature and climbed easily to the top of my reference list.

One of the great American novels from the second half of the 20th century, and probably in my top three novels set in New York. One of the others being American Psycho; with the fictional Wall Street investment firm of Pierce & Pierce cropping up in both. Anyway, I absolutely loved it! 720 pages of raw energy that simply raced by before my eyes! Wolfe really does write in such a way that there is only one way to read him - and that's quickly!
Filled with dozens of brilliant scenes/set pieces; in which Wolfe works his ass off to get every last bit of juice from every situation, a really engrossing strong story line, and in Sherman McCoy one of the most unforgettable central characters I've come across. Mind you, a lot of the supporting cast were memorable too - including Killian the Lawyer, Fallow the journalist, and assistant district attorney Kramer.
The final explosive courtroom scene really packs a wallop too!
Wow! - just wow! The whole darn book - just WOW!

I'll give it a whirl, however I have a feeling that this will not be my cup of tea. Prove me wrong Mr. Wolfe.

BS is the same as Steer Clear and I am definately steering clear of this one.

NEXT!

PIACERE ORGASMATICO DA LICANTROPI O LUPI MANNARI
L'autore non c'entra con Virginia Woof, lei presenta due o o nel suo cognome, e non c'entra nemmeno con Thomas Wolfe che, per intenderci, è l'autore di O Lost
Sempre di lupi o affini si tratta ma l'autore del Falò delle vanità è: Tom Wolfe.
Non avevo mai letto né Thomas né Tom (Wolfe) e, ad essere sincera li confondevo tra loro o pensavo fossero la stessa persona.

Tom Wolfe è quello che ha inventato il New Journalism: stile letterario che combina i tratti distintivi della letteratura con il racconto della cronaca, anche se questo romanzo non ripercorre un fatto di cronaca è infatti purissima finzione.
Per chiarire il concetto Il falò delle vanità non è come A sangue freddo di Capote che invece rappresenta una inchiesta giornalistica in forma di romanzo.

Tom Wolfe fu anche l'inventore di vari neologismi tra i quali l'espressione "radical chic" oggi tanto diffusa ma coniata in tempi non sospetti, nel lontano 1970.

Un radical chic, dopo tutto, è radicale solo nello stile; nel suo cuore continua a far parte della società e delle sue tradizioni.

Il romanzo è una satira feroce della upper class americana e degli arrampicatori sociali i Padroni dell'universo di Wall Street, uno dei quali per un "incidente" fortuito si ritrova catapultato dall'altra parte della barriera.
Dovrà percorrere una sua odissea personale, famigliare, sociale e giudiziaria che nonostante tutto non potrà non portare il lettore ad empatizzare fortemente con il suo destino.
La fragilità umana, la piccolezza dell'uomo che siano i neri che spadroneggiano nel Bronx o gli wasp che abitano e lavoravano a Manhattan, o ancora i rappresentanti della legge poliziotti o sostituti procuratori, nessuno trova scampo dietro la penna affilata di Tom Wolfe.
Romanzo assolutamente da non perdere, scritto davvero davvero da Dio, la narrazione della cena in Fifty Avenue - New York - nel lussuosissimo appartamento dei Beveradge affacciato su Central Park ha un aroma quasi proustiano per la descrizione dei meccanismi mondani che, mutatis mutandis, restano identici nello scorrere dei decenni.
Uno dei rari libri che volontariamente ma con un severo autocontrollo su me stessa ho dovuto continuamente interrompere per procrastinarne il piacere di lettura e non finirlo subito, un po' come accade con l'orgasmo, con certi orgasmi.
Il paragone è audace (fuori luogo?).
Non ne trovo uno più adatto al caso

Me: "Bonfire of the Vanities is the Grand Theft Auto 5 of novels."

Interviewer: "Explain that."

Me in David Lynch voice: "No."

9/10

Part of my big Halloween Review Round Up
www.patreon.com/posts/74021554

Ove la recensionista si rianima e decide che potrebbe ancora diventare qualcuno.

Ok sono pronta:

prima guardate questa foto.

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

Ora questa.

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

Ora quest’altra.

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

Chi è l’intruso?

Troppo difficile? Ok, cercherò di rendervi il gioco più facile.

Un attimo che mescolo le carte. Non guardate eh?

Ok, potete girarvi. Prima foto:

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

Adesso guardate questa:

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

E infine questa.

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

Ripeto: qual è l’intruso?

Qual è quel signore che probabilmente altro non sa fare se non contare le sue carte di credito, e l’unica penna che ha preso in mano, è quella d’oro massiccio che tiene nella tasca interna della giacca, per firmare gli assegni del suo coiffeur? Qual è quell’uomo che probabilmente passa le giornate in piscina assieme alle conigliette di Playboy mentre il maggiordomo gli legge impassibile il giornale? Qual è quell'uomo che pensate abbia più probabilmente un jet privato?

Bravi!

Quello con la faccia da dandy, esatto! Quello con l’atteggiamento radical chic, quello con l'aria dell’uomo che i soldi non fanno la felicità, ma figuriamoci la miseria! Giusto? Quello che se gli passate davanti, solo a guardarlo vi sentireste degli straccioni, nevvero?

Ebbene quest’uomo qui (vi prego dategli un’ultima occhiata)

http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab...

ha scritto qualcosa. Ma non la lista della spesa, non un racconto, non una poesia. Non l'elenco dei Picasso e dei Lichtenstein che ha in casa.

No cari miei, quest’uomo è riuscito a scrivere un libro possente, portentoso, universale, che ha un titolo altisonante come quell’altro che gli assomiglia tanto scritto da Thackeray. Ebbene questo damerino vestito di bianco, con la puzza sotto il naso, ha scritto “ IL FALO’ DELLE VANITA’ ”.

Ora, a me piacerebbe davvero parlarvi della trama, di come questo ometto usi la penna, di quanto l’immedesimazione coi personaggi sia empatica; di quanto poco onore faccia al libro l’omonimo film di De Palma, che ha un doppiaggio che fa rimpiangere il cinema muto; di come si respiri a pieni polmoni l’atmosfera della New York anni ’80; di come fino ad oggi, fossi convinta che per leggere avvincenti gialli giudiziari fosse necessario comprare qualcosa di Grisham; di come per fortuna il libro non sia uscito nell'era degli Indignados; di come nello spazio fra l’ascesa e la caduta di un uomo ciò che fa la vera differenza è l’ipocrisia di chi lo circonda; di come certe scene siano talmente scenografiche che pensi che mister Puzza sotto il naso sia vissuto per decenni nel Bronx; di quanto sia possibile morire dentro prima che fuori; di quanto la vergogna da sola, sia capace di muovere il mondo; di quanto il senso di colpa sia dietro di lei a sostenerla quando nota un suo cedimento; eppure non ve ne parlerò, giuro che non lo farò: lascerò che sia il libro a catapultarvi in questo sublime affresco della società americana. E vi assicuro sarà un'esperienza memorabile. Da passeggiata sui carboni ardenti e brividini per la schiena.

A voi chiederò invece solo tre minuti di raccoglimento per omaggiare il trionfo del combinato disposto tra il detto: “Le apparenze ingannano” e “L’abito non fa il monaco”.

Quindi, buffoni di tutto il mondo unitevi a me. Non tutto è perduto. Un giorno, nonostante le nostre recensioni da “burlesque”, nonostante le nostre vite parodistiche, nonostante l’attitudine a trasformare ogni giornata in un enorme passo falso, in realtà siamo delle persone serie. Forse da vecchi scriveremo persino un libro. E un giorno tutti, ma proprio TUTTI saranno costretti a riconoscere che siamo personcine a modo. Speriamo magari mentre siamo ancora in vita come Wolfe. Che sarebbe meglio.

I hope Tom Wolfe has gotten so laid because of this book. I hope women have put down this book, thrown on some lingerie, and walked over to his apartment – unless Wolfe is gay, in which case, I hope men have done the lingerie thing. I hope women (or men) invented a time machine to travel back in time and lay young Tom Wolfe because of this book. I hope Tom Wolfe has gotten anybody he’s ever wanted – x-ray, lemon tart, girls with any shade of lipstick imaginable, men with impressive sternocleidomastoid muscles. Anybody! Not that I’m recommending everyone start stalking him. Consent first, of course. But, I wish on Tom Wolfe a lifetime supply of sex and ice cream because of this book. I’m pretty sure he’s gotten it, but just in case, my wish is out there. The idea of writing such a beautiful book kills me. How does it happen? How does someone put something this perfect together? And I don’t even want to know. I just want to read it over and over again, mystery intact.

This book made me scream and gasp and stop, sit, and stare. This is one of the audios I listened to while I walked to work, so the neighborhoods of Eugene had the dubious privilege of waking to my shrieks and hysterical cackling for many mornings in April because of Tom Wolfe. Towards the end, I had to listen in private, so that my sobbing wouldn’t embarrass the neighbors or lead to a meltdown at work. Mixed results.

Wikipedia told me that Wolfe modeled his writing after Thackeray and Dickens. It seems so obvious after you say it, but rather than realizing that, I just kept thinking, I've never read anything like this before. It was something entirely new to me. And it is because it is a book that feels so current and urban, while it clearly has classical structure and the involved plotting of Dickens and Thackeray. When I started, I thought it would probably be too dick-lit for me because it was clearly shaping up to be so hardboiled and because I think of Wolfe being in a whole gaggle of male authors who want to talk about how tough it is to have a penis and be so emotionally unavailable. Boo hoo. I have very little attention for that type of thing. But, this, this. This was wonderful. And it was dick-lit, but it was not in the least self-indulgent. It was even cruel, it looked so hard, and so carefully, at masculinity and cowardice. But, the structure of the plot was like a machine, just in the way that the plots of Thackeray and Dickens are. I could feel the sweat and grease of the writing process on the page, or, rather, hear it in the audio track. This book lives in the foundries of humanity; it is crafted from the fires and steel of the human heart.

For the most part, this book looks at three horrible men and how their egos and senses of puffed-up worthlessness control and destroy their lives. There are a few brilliant recurring themes in the book that I could not love more – the white whale, the Masters of the Universe. This book actually uses He-Man as a recurring metaphor to this beautiful moment where a character, steeped in his own awesomeness yells out in his head, “I have the power!!” So, so, so, so, so, so, so wonderful.

And the courtroom scenes!! Oh, the courtroom scenes. Devastating swoon over those. They made all the hairs on my body stand on end. How can a person describe what happens in a courtroom? Like THIS! This book is what happens in courtrooms. This book is what happens in criminal justice. It got everything just right. The belts and shoelaces, the defendants demanding rights, the defense attorneys running in late because they were in another courtroom, the hot jurors, the underpaid DA. And oh my god, Kramer’s sternocleidomastoid muscles! Remember that?? It made me die laughing every time that came up. I swear to god there is a DA like that in Lane County.

And the part where Martin and Goldberg have to give Sherman his rights. Oh my god. So wonderful.

And Judy.

So, I have nothing insightful to say about this book because . . . just read it. Practically the minute I started reading it, it made me think of a dear friend of mine because of its urban steel and fire, so I will say something about that association because I can clearly only swoon and sigh and flail about when it comes to the book itself. Like the men in this book, there is something strikingly normal about my friend when you first meet him. He is white office shirts, a neat haircut, and clean hands. He is success: a house in the suburbs, two blond children, and a wife who, with a stern hand, makes the family take annual pictures in matching clothes. And then you talk to my friend and find out that he is an evil genius, who has an opinion about everything and a hilarious story about everyone he’s ever met. But, you also know that the suburban thing, the normalcy, is true, too. The layers of his personality include fire and steel, and also funfetti cake, white office shirts, and Kraft singles. I think this book captures something of that kind of layered humanity in Sherman’s office decorum, American aristocratic habits, and bloody knuckles. It shows Kramer’s powerful sternocleidomastoid muscles with his shopping bag and running shoes, Peter’s head in an egg and landing of the white whale, Reverend Bacon’s noble speeches and greedy maneuverings.

I think what I’m trying to say is that it struck me recently, probably at least partly because of this book, that the characteristics we show the world are us, and are not us all the same. None of us are inherently suburban or aristocratic, but our choices to appear those ways reveal something about who we actually are, who we are in the caves and recesses of our souls. Sherman is equally the shallow, self-involved Master of the Universe and the jungle fighter, but he is neither of those. My friend is urban fire and steel, and he is suburban success, and he is neither of those. Wolfe writes the show of humanity in a way that hilariously stages the show, and then digs and hammers into the caves and fiery core of who people are beyond it. Are we the dog trained to fight or the social x-ray in a party hive? The little girl sculpting a rabbit or the little boy commanding an office? Yes and no to all of that. Who we are is something different entirely, but always there, underneath the show - the force behind it. And the way Wolfe builds it all and then tears it all apart - I would never ask so much of a writer, but I am so glad this exists.

I saw the movie first. I'm sorry I did that because that's a rule I hardly ever break. Always read the book first. Plus, this is my one and only Tom Wolfe book. I loved Bonfire of the Vanities and plan on reading The Right Stuff if I can ever get through my "Want to read list".

The movie was terrible and the book is fantastic. The book is so good it made me forget how bad the movie was. It's beautifully written with rich deep characters that will stay with you long after the book is over.

Primero: me ha gustado mucho este libro A MÍ pero no es un libro que recomendaría alegremente a todo el mundo. Creo que es muy de nicho, tanto por lo lento que es como por la trama. A mí me ha gustado porque me gusta ver cómo piensan unos y otros, el más rico y el más pobre, cómo actúan los polis cuando están con unos y con otros, los periodistas, lo que piensa cada uno en su interior contra lo que dice cuando está con gente... Pero no es una historia que tenga una trama intrigante ni nada de eso. Así que si no te interesa lo que he comentado antes, ni te acerques.
Lo encontré y leí buscando un libro publicado en 1987 para cumplir un reto y, si no fuera por eso, quizá no lo habría leído. Así que me alegro mucho de estar haciendo el reto

Tom Wolfe knows how to write a book. Not just any book. A complex book with several protagonists, antagonists, sub-plots, plot twists, and relativistic crises for several levels of socio-economic New York citizens. This is an exceptionally well-written novel, I recommend it to all humans.

"Con una mentira es posible que engañes a alguien; pero cualquier mentira te dice a ti mismo una gran verdad indiscutible: eres débil."

Sherman McCoy lo tiene todo en el mundo. Es un "Lobo de Wall Street", un exitosísimo agente financiero que le hace ganar millones de dólares en la Bolsa de Nueva York a la empresa Pierce & Pierce en la que trabaja. Es el "Amo del Universo", como suelen decir en la jerga del mundillo de las finanzas.
Tiene una esposa fiel, Judy, una adorable hija de seis años llamada Campbell, viste trajes de 2.000 dólares, vive en una mansión de 3.200.000 dólares en uno de los barrios más top de Nueva York y es absolutamente feliz.
Y también tiene una amante llamada Maria Ruskin, esposa de un acaudalado empresario.
Todo parece estar bajo control, pero claro… no todo es perfecto en la vida.
Un día sucede algo que él nunca se habría imaginado: volviendo en su lujoso Mercedes Benz deportivo color negro desde el aeropuerto y mientras lleva a su amante de regreso a su “nidito de amor”, sucede lo impensado.
Equivoca el camino de vuelta y se mete en una boca de lobo, una traicionera calle sin salida del Bronx, barrio mayoritariamente pobre y poblado de negros, portorriqueños y mexicanos.
Queriendo escapar del lugar se topa con dos muchachos negros, quienes al parecer no dejan claro si lo quieren ayudar o robar.
Sherman se asusta, Maria también. Escapan y golpean con el auto a uno de ellos, un supuesto muchacho emblema del barrio y futura estrella llamado Henry Lamb y se dan a la fuga.
Es a partir de este punto que comienza un auténtico descensus ad inferos para McCoy y todo se transformará en un auténtico desastre para él.
Para muchos, esta novela de Tom Wolfe, el último dandy de la literatura luego de Oscar Wilde es la mejor de la década de los ’80.
Narrada de manera dinámica y con todos los ingredientes necesarios para aportarle sustento al argumento, nos sumergimos en todas las peripecias que el destino tiene preparadas para Sherman.
Es a partir de que un alcohólico y simple periodista llamado Peter Fallow descubre el caso que se destapa una auténtica caja de Pandora para nuestro héroe.
Una cosa va llevando a la otra; la investigación va tomando forma.
Fallow comienza a publicar sendas notas en el “City Light”, diario para el que trabaja. Todo va saliendo a la luz, cuando el caso se hace público, el vice fiscal de distrito llamado Larry Kramer, apoyado por el Reverendo Bacon, clérigo impulsor de los derechos de los negros y de Annie Lamb, madre de Henry Lamb, comienza a llevar el caso hacia el juez Abe Weiss, quien busca utilizarlo como plataforma para su reelección en la Corte.
El gran acierto de Wolfe es la de contarnos esta historia en la que se pone sobre el tapete la naturaleza del hecho cometido por McCoy: el de un hombre blanco y millonario que de forma supuestamente impune, choca y mata a un hombre de color.
El circo mediático en torno a su detención y juicio es seguido por toda la sociedad y sin golpes bajos, aunque se ponen de manifiesto temas tan actuales y siempre controversiales como el racismo y la discriminación.
Todos los sucesos de la detención de Sherman McCoy y del juicio al que es llevado hacen que Tom Wolfe destaque de manera rutilando su forma de contarnos la historia, a punto tal de que no tiene ni fisuras ni divagues.
Eso sí: la novela es de una extensión considerable. Mi edición posee 738 páginas y a veces contiene ciertos pasajes lentos que de todos modos no complican la lectura del libro.
Es muy interesante la destreza con la Tom Wolfe describe los tres ambientes en los que se desarrolla la historia: por un lado el frenético mundo bursátil y de las finanzas; en segundo término el del ámbito judicial y por último el sórdido mundillo del periodismo amarillista.
“La hoguera de las vanidades” es una novela intensa y atrapante.
La enseñaza que nos deja es la de advertirnos que la vida siempre puede darnos giros imprevistos como a Sherman McCoy para plantearnos situaciones sumamente comprometidas y que nunca (esto debemos tenerlo siempre presente) la atravesaremos sin dificultades.

I read this sometime around when it first came out and I still remember that it was a damn good book.