i think i had really high expectations for this book, because i've heard a lot of amazing things about jonathan lethem, and clearly, the man can write. i really loved the first part of the book, because he just has an incredible style that really shines through the narrator. it manages to be eloquent and poignant and mind-blowing at times, without being close to pretentious.
that said, i didn't love the set-up of the second half. i think switching the narration to dylan's pov works, structurally, and even as a means to tell the story, but the language lost some of its beauty in transferring to a character's words. and somehow the end, even though things aren't left nice and tidy, all felt a little too epic...a little too coincidentally arranged...a little too aligned.
that said, it's a really impressive book, and i am still super excited to read Motherless Brooklyn.

Romanzo molto intenso e lettura impegnativa. Molto coinvolgente la prima parte che racconta l'infanzia dei due protagonisti nella Brooklyn degli anni '70, più lenta e meno riuscita a mio parere la seconda parte, appesantita dai riferimenti alla realtà musicale e artistica degli anni '90.

This may be the most brilliant rendering of the awkward business of growing up a boy in the concrete jungle, with extra points for the inter-racial context and the musical background that swings throughout this epic odyssey. JL's writing is so assured and vivid that the pain and the joy of the experience resonates no matter how different we are placed.

So why only 4 stars?
I might change my mind, but at this point, having just finished the book, I am not certain about the ring. It was the one note of incredibility I found hard to integrate. Was it a fantasy, or a fantasy of a fantasy?

"Maybe the song knew something you didn't yet, something you weren't necessarily ready to learn from the radio." p296

"The world may be a dungeon these days, but a few voices called out to a few others." p 461

JL's voice soars above the banal, wrapping us in it's warmth and empathy.
I do love you yet.

This is a very 21st century novel: sharp, clinical descriptions of a diverse community; infused with popular culture; a sprawling and occasionally dazzling prose style which can border on nonsensical. It's let down by a lack of consideration for tone, however, and unfortunately quickly becomes a slog.

I think this novel will sit as a my favorite piece of fiction I have ever read.

I wouldn't say it's the best peice of fiction, or everyone's cup of tea, however for me I couldn't put it down, and read it very slowly. It took me to a 1970's, Spike Lee Brooklyn neighbourhood of pastel row houses (see Lee's 'Clockers', same area - Gowanus - however not as grimy). A coming an age story of a white boy growing up in a black neighbourhood, intertwined with a cultural history of stoopball, hip hop culture, soul music, graffiti art and the changing Brooklyn landscape. It's a unique and fascinating portrait, heartbreaking and real.

For some unforgivable reason, the writer has mixed in a bit of superhero - magical realism with a magic ring. While this doesn't spoil the novel, it certainly detracts from it.

Characters come and go (over 100), each playing their small role in this young mans life. The language is captured perfectly. The novel drops off a little in it's third part, the real shine is in the first 300 pages.

My first book my Jonthan Lethem, and look forward to reading more. My favourite peice of fiction of all time.

This book is uneven and indeed it almost feels like the second part was written by a different person. The first part that deals with the two main characters early days in Brooklyn is full of charismatic scenes. But the second part feels like an anti climax. In the end it's just too long. Lethem is clearly an author with talent but perhaps in future I shall stick to his shorter novels.
Despite the above criticisms this is well worth the journey. Lethem' knowledge of Seventies music is impressive and he has a feel for the milieu of downtown Brooklyn that is hard to fake. Unfortunately there are few decent female characters in this book. It's a shame that the story of Mingus and Dylan kind of obscures them.
Definitely one for anyone that digs the music of that era, particularly the soul and funk genres. Though it does wear it's hipster groove on its sleeve a little too much.
Play that funky music white boy.

This book feels like an absolute feat to read. It is an amazing construction of a book which follows two friends across a number of decades. The boys have an intense relationship when they are kids at school growing into adulthood, and part three - which follows them as adults - is both hilarious and heartbreaking as we read about where the two friends begin the rest of their lives.

Lethem is an incredible writer and his prose feels really decadent and at some times dense. I read this book really slowly but felt like I revelled in the slowness of it. It feels like you want to take time to know the characters and properly grow with them. It’s a slow book but weighed down with heavy emotions and some disturbing scenes so it does help to take a step back from the book sometimes in order to fully absorb what’s happening.

I initially wanted to read this because of Lethem’s link to Bennington College where Donna Tartt and Bret Easton Ellis were his classmates. He mentions Bennington really briefly in this book as Camden (same college as in Ellis’s work) and although it was only included in two chapters it was worth it. I liked the latter part of this book a lot more than the first so definitely recommend pushing through if you find you are struggling.

Really looking forward to reading more Lethem after this as he is a brilliant writer and has proven he knows how to craft a juicy story.

About two boys growing up in Brooklyn, mingled with urban music history. I loved this book.

Never has a rating pained me more. The first half of the book was incredible. The vivid descriptions of Brooklyn and childhood helped paint this romantic vision of Dylan's youth that almost everyone can relate to. The struggles of childhood and the pains of growing up were easily relatable. In the second half of the book, the struggles of adulthood are also easily portrayed and relatable. My issue with the second portion of the book lies in its execution. I just felt that the second part of the book failed to follow the story like the first part of the book. Instead of a linear story that continues the beautiful development of Dylan and Mingus' story, it bounces around. It gets more "poetic" and tries to become something different. Nevertheless, I still loved this book. The writing, when it was at its best, was some of the best writing I have ever enjoyed. The story of Dylan and Mingus ended far too soon. I want to read about the next 50 years of their lives. I cannot recommend this book enough, and although it may not be perfect, hardly anything is, and this book certainly left me wanting more.

I have so many mixed feelings about this book.

The entire time I was reading I couldn't stop thinking about how much I hate Jonathan Lethem. He definitely doesn't believe in humanity, and I'm not sure if he actually intimately knows any black or hispanic people. A lot of the characters were kind of caricatures of hood legends that we've all seen before on Law and Order or Crooklyn.

It's racially messy, and most of the messiness stems from its conventionality. Maybe this was on purpose, but I'm not sure why Lethem thought it was important to present us with yet another white male's construction of blackness. At times I thought that he was just writing this book as some sort of 500 page excuse to experiment with the word nigger. You can tell Lethem's got this weird fetishistic relationship with the word and he tries to project it onto black characters. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it but whatever, that and his general disconnect from people of color made me really dislike the author.

He's also really longwinded and not as funny as he thinks he is. I found myself questioning wether or not certain parts (Liner Note and Prisonnaires) were written poorly on purpose.

Despite (or maybe because of) all of these problems, I still liked the book. I finished it a few days ago and I'm still thinking about it.

At times the prose was gripping and it has some awesome passages. I also think that parts 2 and 3 don't detract from the part 1, if anything they work to show how much things have changed and stayed the same since childhood. The last 2 parts also really made me question the main character's maturity and motives. All of the characters are so sad, live such sad lives, which I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised by since the book is called Fortress of Solitude.

I liked how depraved and infuriating it was at times and i enjoyed the elements of magical realism.

That said, I don't see myself reading anything else by Letherm in the future. Mixed feelings, man.

I finished this book and I think I enjoyed it. I didn't love it, but it was an interesting read. Still, something felt missing, and I have orbited around this review for several days, unsure of what I wanted to say or how. Then, unfortunately for Jonathan Lethem, I started reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and with one sentence, she sort of demolished this whole genre. This isn't to say that I suddenly didn't enjoy the book, but the distance I was feeling from it crystallized.

Note: The rest of this review has been withheld due to the changes in Goodreads policy and enforcement. You can read why I came to this decision here.

In the meantime, you can read the entire review at Smorgasbook

Ora torno a casa
Ecco, torno solo ora da un lungo giro a Brooklyn. Forse non conosco bene il mio quartiere come quello. Percorrendo le pericolosissime strade con un ragazzino, Dylan, disperatamente inadeguato, in un quartiere di neri arrabbiatissimi, scafati e grandi sin da piccoli, che lotta con incredibile forza di resistenza contro angherie, umiliazioni, soprusi, fino a diventare davvero un uomo diverso. E’ stato “accalappiato” migliaia di volte, il piccolo : gli si storce il braccio dietro la schiena, si strozza la gola, fino allo svenimento, poi ci si allontana dicendo: suvvia, era uno scherzo, lo sai, no?
Prima Lethem ci scaraventa nell’inferno angusto di un quartiere maledetto dove imparare a sopravvivere senza conoscere le regole con il solo aiuto, vitale, di un amico nero. L’angelo nero, Mingus, che insegnerà a Dylan che non può salvarsi che da solo. Poi, disinvolto, dopo 152 pagine col fiato corto a guardarci le spalle nella strada deserta, a diventare un campione di tiro per far colpo sulla banda, a farci rubare qualunque cosa abbiamo in mano: la fetta di pizza, un dollaro, la bici nuova, precisa: “Questa è Brooklyn, nulla si integra in modo innocente.”
Ora, questo non è un libro, sono due, o forse anche tre. E’ una Recherche moderna, piena di rumore, follia e ottima musica (non importa se ne conosco solo un quarto, è musica) e il giradischi suona ininterrottamente durante tutto il libro. Con l’arte suprema del dettaglio, laddove Proust ci fa perdere mesi con una madeleine, Lethem ci inganna con giochi di strada (la famosa palla, la spaldeen rosa fluo, che rimane in mente a tutti i lettori di questo romanzo), e ci fa correre, disperati, dietro quell’imprendibile palla, come se ne dipendesse la nostra vita. Vi sono abbastanza personaggi perché un romanziere talentuoso scriva una decina di romanzi: il padre di Dylan, Abraham, che realizza in tempi dilatati microsequenze di un filmato che impegna tutta la sua esistenza, (“Abraham Ebdus si credeva ragionevolmente prossimo alla distruzione del concetto di tempo”) e dura meno di venti minuti, la madre, Rachel, la grande assente la cui sparizione dà senso e forma alla ricerca del figlio. E il simbolico uomo volante, che getterà la sua ombra lunga su tutta la storia.
Lethem riesce persino a farci credere, a far credere a me, che non ho letto fumetti da piccola, a un Aeroman, a superpoteri, in un rovesciamento di quel “Birdman” che non sapeva più volare. E, dopo che per un momento abbiamo sospeso l’incredulità, abbiamo volato davvero, perché un romanziere che sa scrivere così ci fa volare in ogni modo.
Poi, si atterra, e si riflette; Lethem ha acceso molte connessioni nella mia mente: mi ha ricordato Proust per il tema del solco dei ricordi d’infanzia, Perec per il tema della scomparsa, Roth per il tema del colore della pelle (La Macchia Umana). E nessun altro per lo stile sparato che lo contraddistingue: “Per un momento fu come se Barrett Rude Senior fosse arrivato lì in groppa a un mulo, come se il latrato dei cani all’inseguimento per le paludi fosse arrivato fino a quella stanza.”
Troppa roba davvero nel libro per renderne conto, forse appesantita nelle parti centrali, ma qui ho trovato quello che Lethem definisce “uno spazio intermedio”: “Tutti anelavamo a quegli spazi intermedi, in quelle ore d’estate in cui Josephine Baker faceva il vuoto a Parigi, quando Bothered Blue scalava le classifiche, quando un Elvis adolescente, che ancora sognava la sua prima session in sala di registrazione, se ne stava seduto ai Sun Studios a guardare i Prisonaires, quando un top-to-bottom sulla fiancata di un metrò sfrecciava fiammante per una stazione, rinnovando il mondo per un istante, quando i piatti dello stereo nel cortile della scuola venivano alimentati da un cavo attaccato a un palo della luce, quando l’elettricità semplicemente fluiva.” La Fortezza della solitudine è uno spazio intermedio: ho vissuto lì il mese di febbraio, con Dylan e tutta la banda, ora torno a casa.
p.s. Lorinbocol, grazie di avermelo fatto leggere, allora, grazie a una tua bella recensione sul buon vecchio sito morto...