I first read FISKADORO when it was published nearly 30 years ago. I'd read Johnson's poetry and his first novel, ANGELS, and I was beyond curious about his second novel. I recall being startled, delighted, surprised, and mystified (in a good way). I'm pleased to say FISKADORO holds up very well. It's still energetic and imaginative. It maintains its dystopian "edge" nicely too; Johnson's observations about American culture remain both harsh and revealing. Best of all, we have Johnson's long and remarkable career over the last three decades -- a career that enriches the context for this inventive novel. Despite the post-nuclear tragedy of its setting, there's something about FISKADORO's spirit and language that will keep this book on my "recommended reading" list, especially for other writers, for a long time.

3.5 stars. The story is profound, but left me with many questions. I wanted more and I wanted clarity. What was Johnson trying to tell us?

Like most of Johnson's work, describing the plot details does little to describe the uncanny allure of his prose. His knack for creating characters and settings like this one that are wholly strange yet thoroughly lived in make for deeply personal journeys that make you notice the beauty and horror of existence.

A strange little book by Denis Johnson. It started out great about a young boy named Fiskadoro seeking clarinet lessons in a dark and dystopian post-apocalyptic world in the Florida Keys about 60 years after a nuclear holocaust. The world Johnson painted seemed a real possibility in its dreariness and regression. However, as the story progressed it became more and more weird and confusing. This was not one of Johnsons better books, most of everything I've read from him have been 5 stars but this one came up short.

a little embarrassing tbh

interesting find and I love his writing style. I will be reading more books by Denis Johnson. I have always liked his short stories and this is his first novel I have read.

I'm having trouble understanding what exactly DJ was aiming for with this post-apocalyptic novel. The story itself is just okay. Focusing around a couple of characters, the present day plot is forgettable. The flashbacks to the crisis itself were much more interesting. Mr. Cheung and his grandmother try almost desperately to cling to those memories of life before the apocalyptic event. This suggests that the theme may be associated with memories and our longing to tie our lives to past events. Our desire to be a part of something bigger than ourselves maybe.

The impressive Johnson prose is there though. And I liked the blend of cultures and languages that Johnson uses to make up the surviving society of the South Keys.

Overall, though, this novel is really just okay and is mostly for the DJ completionists out there.

A very difficult, discombobulated read with very little to show for it.

Another stunning view of—or maybe from—the bottom of everything.

Bit of a muddle in parts but very good in others. I like Johnson's writing. An ambitious dystopian novel that doesn't quite manage to engage fully in parts but it is a rewarding and engaging book for the most part. The eponymous hero was a little underused unfortunately. It's between a 3 and 4 star read but my admiration of the writing of Denis Johnson incline me towards the latter.

I get the feeling that with Denis Johnson, I'm chasing the Tree of Smoke dragon.

I read Jesus' Son in college -- didn't much care for it -- and then only read Tree of Smoke because I'd heard such glowing things from people whose taste I respected. And I was floored by it, I really was.

Then I read Train Dreams. Meh.

Then I read Fiskadoro. Meh.

Mediocre post-apocalyptic fiction, designed as a mood-and-set piece, where the mood was fairly interesting, but the set did nothing for me.

“My father is dead!” As soon as he’d said it, Fiskadoro saw he’d made it true again—again for the first time. Did it just go around and around? He began to see that his sorrow wasn’t simple. It wasn’t one thing, but a thousand things carrying him away to the Ocean: the work of a person’s life was to drink it.”