Escrever, para quem escreve, é tão importante quanto respirar. No entanto, assim como acontece na vida, alguns autores tem asma e respiram mal. Não sempre. Vez em quando. Este livro é o último suspiro de Joseph Heller e lhe faltou ar. Isso não quer dizer que a história não se sustente sozinha. Há partes em que é possível ver fôlego, mas no geral é apenas um peito chiando antes de morrer.

Joseph Heller is too damn clever. This self-aware piece of literature is as funny, honest and off-kilter as his magnum opus but definitely not as great.

This is Heller's last novel, and it is about an elderly writer who has written many books and is having trouble finding a plot for his final novel. It is full of false starts, chapter notes, and odd transitions. I think I mainly liked it because it was shorter than the rest of his books. After reading all of his novels in order of publication date, I have to say that the only one that's worth its merit is "Catch-22." This is a shame because Heller has a great writing style - it just doesn't seem polished or well-edited. During each of his books I stumbled across words, sentences, and paragraphs that I would have removed entirely from the book; each book is much too long. At any rate, I am glad to have finally finished all of his novels and plan on reading the collection of his posthumous works, "Catch as Catch Can." I do not intend to read any of his plays or autobiographies. I was originally hoping to race through the complete works of Heller in 2012 but was shocked by how difficult some of his later works are to finish. At any rate, it's been a learning experience. To those wondering, I would suggest sticking with "Catch-22" and maybe "Something Happened."

In all honesty - gave up. Then noticed it was published after his death. did he really finish it as he intended ? I I did like the part where he analysed the fate of author after author ... makes you wonder - but overall - naaah.

Красив и меланхоличен антироман/изповед; една красива лебедова песен на голям писател за старостта, залиняването на таланта и сексуалното желание, вечното ровене за теми из месото на живота; за самотата на писателското съществуване, алкохолните пропасти, носталгичните спомени на младостта, забравата... Но в крайна сметка Хелър си остава човек изпълнен с оптимизъм, бликащ хумор и намигащ към онова, което идва след края. Прекрасно човешко същество и творец.

Апропо, винаги съм смятал, че Джоузеф Хелър незаслужено не се поставя редом до другите най-големи писатели от еврейски произход – Сол Белоу, Франц Кафка, Филип Рот, Норман Майлър (в този ред). Неговото место е точно при тях.

It's as if Heller wasn't even trying when he wrote this book. I feel almost sorry for his sheepish attempt to write just one more great novel yet falling so infinitely short of his earlier successes. Few people could in good conscience recommend this book to someone who enjoyed Catch 22.

If you like Heller you should enjoy this offering. It clearly shows the trouble and frustration an author goes through when trying to go out with a bang. To write that last novel that lives up to the acclaimed one of yesteryear. It’s Heller’s voice that keeps you going with it’s sarcasm and wit as he struggles for a decent idea. It’s a shame though as Heller seems to be another man who judges the quality of his life by how many woman he has had and seems determined to let us know he has had many, and without much trouble either. Between trying out book ideas he revisits old loves where he basically states how great women find him and I found this rather tiresome, and started to feel sorry for his wife. There is also a chapter about Greek Gods that goes on for far too long, near the end. But ultimately I enjoyed it.

At the start this book had the promise of being interesting and different. Unfortunately, this didn't last very long and it quickly became disappointing. The redeeming factor...the book was short so at least it was over quickly.

I was really looking forward to reading another book by the author of Catch 22. I was really disappointed. This book reads exactly like what I believe it is, a collection of notes about potential book ideas, thrown together and published as a book, probably only because he is the author of Catch 22. The only semblance of a story is about an old author (um, Heller), who had previously had a huge best seller (um, Catch 22), and then, in his old age, wants to write one more book, but can't come up with an idea. That's basically the book. And yes, it is as boring as it sounds. Brief glimpses of potential glory include Heller's insights about life as an author, "find[ing] it just about impossible to think of another occupational group with the same incidence of severe unhappiness and distress among the most famed and accomplished figures." Um, I can think of at least one other occupational group he should have looked into. And, describing his main character's attitude toward women, which I can only suspect is at least similar to his attitude about women, he said: "[h]e loved women and always had, the idea of them, the way they dressed and looked, the smell and sound and shape of them. And there were now so many he met and saw he felt he would like to fall in love with, at least for a while, and so little time left." There is really no arguing with that.

man, I really wanted to love this

conceptually, I love the idea - focusing on the creative process of an old writer who never recreated their lightning in a bottle “masterpiece,” and who now approaches their final chapter that will be their legacy is so interesting (and very clearly reflective of the author)

It just kind of whimpers out, unfortunately

So many sections of the book are failed starts to books that our main character writes and, intentionally or unintentionally, they are bad and not fun to read

Reflecting on Catch-22 a bit, I’ve realized Heller was simply exceptional at writing scenes, dialogue, and characters. Still true here, my absolute favorite parts in this book was watching Pota interact with the people in his life, with his conversation with an ex-wife being a particular stand-out.

Unfortunately, I’ve also now realized that I’ve never loved Heller’s prose or the internal monologues of characters. This is unfortunate, as this felt like 80% of the book, especially the failed drafts sections.

It’s sad, since I can tell there’s a lot to be analyzed here. Pota is canonically a self-insert (makes lines like “why do women love you so easily” very funny), so there’s this fascinating triple-layered “what is the subtext that this failed book has towards Pota, and therefore towards Heller” and trying to parse the misdirects from the insights.

That’s why I didn’t skim the failed book sections - I felt like the purpose was to gain insight towards who Pota was as a creator by analyzing his work. But MAN, did they feel like homework

I think there’s something valuable to find in here, I just have no desire to do it

Finally, while maybe a bit presumptuous, it was clear that Heller deeply reflected upon his legacy and literature as whole and how he would be remembered

I greatly appreciated insights of this throughout the book, from the misuses of the phrase Catch-22, to tongue-in-cheek lines like “no matter what I release, there will be reviews in the paper saying ‘it’s okay, but it doesn’t reach the same heights as his magnum opus’”

Ultimately, I can’t help but feel Heller got the last laugh. While not the best book I’ve ever read, I can tell there was something cathartic about this being written.

I wonder if he took joy in the fact that the failed book sections kind of sucked, knowing that he didn’t have to edit those deeply. I wonder if he giddily made jabs at editors and writers and himself, knowing the line between Pota and himself was blurred.

In a book that is so reflective on how others perceive our art and trying to find the perfect end to a lifetime of creating, I wonder if part of the reason this book exists was to let go of these expectations and write something on your own terms.

While it’s often mooted that an author’s first novel serves as an autobiographical catharsis for the author, there is little if any consensus about the relationship between an author and their last novel. With this quandary steadfast in his thoughts, Eugene Pota, a world-renown author and aging cassanova, tries to unravel this enigmatic relationship while producing a novel that lives up to the past glories of his literary career, and in particular his first book – which rightly earned him a place in the history of literature.

Tracing the inner workings of the writing process, from the intimate embarrassment of writers block, through to the mystifying otherworldliness of success and the dizzying and perpetual fear of rejection, the issues deftly rendered in Heller’s last, posthumously published novel, transcends the barrier between fiction and autobiography and depicts the mesmerizing struggle between an author and a novel.

As Pota plants an array of weak, desperate plots and follows the subsequently questionable prose that grows uncontrollably weed-like, the heart rending sense of failure looms ever closer and ever larger, as Pota heroically tries to avoid coming to terms with the closing chapter of his career. With every turn of page in a literary race for time, and as the growing failing of Pota’s writing skills becomes apparent, the question that constantly assails the reader is whether Pota can overcome the overwhelming self-doubt and loneliness of writing and arrive at an idea from which to grow his final novel. Dragging the reader through meetings with his past muses, his literary agent and various facets of his life, through until the heady conclusion of the culminating chapter, a foreboding sense looms over the reader that not only Eugene Pota’s career rests on the success of his last book, but also the sanctified career of the Heller himself.

While the simplicity and measured pace of Portrait of the Artist suitably counters the complexity and mayhem of Catch-22, the high quality crafting of the writing, leaves the book as a laudable reminder and farewell from a master of humour. Ably pulling itself out from the shadow of Catch-22 and standing as a provocative example of how artful a final novel can be, it would not only make Eugene Pota proud, but also serves as a deserved slight to GK Chesteron’s ridiculous assertion that: “A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.” This is not only a great novel, but it’s also one that tells us the truth about its hero, the truth about its author and the truth of writing process. A definitive read for anyone even vaguely interested in the creative as well as the receptive side of literature.

This was a book of moments for me. Some lines, some tales within the tale which made me smile or snort. That's fitting since this reads in some places like a bunch of partial essays... Which they they really are. It's a genius structure and explores the art of writing as well as the cessation of writing. It's a glorious romp through time and the works of many, many myths and authors. Heller invites us into the world and minds of authors as struggle to begin and create the last, great novel that will bring them lasting fame, happiness and wealth. Ya, right!