An interesting book that I thought had a lot of promise that was ultimately unfulfilled. I read six of Denis Johnson's book hoping for each to be better than it turned out. All got three stars except for Jesus' Son that got four.

I think there were sections that were written very well, but not any of the complete books. No more Johnson for me.

Not everything here works, and some of it is kind of dated, but overall this is another humorous, touching, thought-provoking and all around wonderfully written Denis Johnson novel.

Unlike other Johnson novels, Thomas Pynchon often came to my mind while I was reading this; I was specifically reminded of Inherent Vice (which this predates) and The Crying of Lot 49. It also made me think of Bringing Out the Dead (the Scorsese film—I haven’t read the novel). Basically this has that paranoid amateur detective vibe of Pynchon mixed with the aching, probing spirituality of Bringing Out the Dead.

Nobody wrote stories about people living on the outer edges of society better than Denis Johnson. This book has a very troubled, slightly paranoid and mentally unstable man named Leonard English. He is a survivor of an attempted suicide by hanging who moved to Provincetown to take a job with a radio station and work as a part-time detective where he falls in love with a lesbian. A very twisted and bizarre story typical of much of Johnson's work.

this book felt so good starting out and then just flailed aimlessly around, making less and less sense. i skimmed to get to the end and it still was too long (and it's only like 250 pages). after Angels, this was a huge disappointment.

"...especially the ads, the Personals. Did you ever read those?"
None of them admitted to such a vice.

"The thing to do," he said, "is to concentrate on seeing that golden light coming out of you, right from your heart."

Well, I have no idea what I just read. Raymond Chandler meets Joyce Carol Oates meets Thomas Pynchon. What did Leanna see in Leonard?

A pseudo-detective stories that mashes Catholic contrition, queer sexuality and paranoid schizophrenia in a blender. I thought it was a great head-trip. I felt the psychosis just oozing from this story, especially leading up to the unexpected climax.

Denis Johnson’s prose continues to be unbeatable in this book. After finishing this, I’ve realized that thus far into his two novels the plots are thin, but they’re not of importance. His extended prose and analysis of his characters’ ideas on reality is what matters. What they’re drinking at the bar or who they shoot is inconsequential.

“To English it was amazing how a song will take a whole confused epoch in your life, and fashion it into something sharp and elegant with which to pierce your neck.”

“After all, people don’t die instantly. Their images lingered, and they had to fade away before you could ignore them.”

“Porter explained that English’s greatest asset—and greatest defect—lay in his ability to feel what others felt. “It’s a talent, a gift, but it can be a real hazard for you. It’s easy to take it too far. You can end up suffering needlessly just because you can’t stop suffering for someone else.”

Fantastic language.

It was a discarded book at the university library, so I took it. It was a decent read, but not a favorite. The changes the main character went through were interesting to follow.

My first foray into Johnson's work. A used copy has been sitting on my shelf for quite some time. I picked it up thinking it was a short story collection. Nope. It's a breezy read thus far (40 pages in).

This one is fucking weird. I didn’t like the beginning, I liked the middle, and I didn’t like the end. Go figure.