(4.7/5.0) There’s that moment in American Beauty, just after Kevin Spacey gets shot in the head. At this point, the director takes a bold step, inundating us with a profusion of voiceover and somber piano music. We are then transported into the fragments of his brain that are now splattered across Annette Bening’s kitchen. From there, the plot comes to a standstill, and we enter an otherworldly space. Trying not to be overly critical, Spacey delivers that famous final monologue, into which Alan Ball has managed to cram all sorts of overly sentimental signifiers. Remember that final monologue? With the autumn leaves and the grandmother’s hands? And the clouds and the ballerinas and the crackling fireworks and the first time Lester got to see his Cousin Tony’s brand new Firebird? All of it presented in this grainy, slow-motion black and white, as if it were a commercial promoting Omega watches. Well, imagine if it had been written by someone else. In the case of Something Happened, by someone whose perverse wealth of compassion is manifested only through humor and cruelty.

So much of this book is shocking and dreadful, and there’s so much of this book that makes us think “(ha, ha).” It’s one of those vortex novels, where the plot takes a backseat to the characterization and the mood (in this case, Bob Slocum and his manic alienation). All we ever read about is Slocum’s wife, his children, his first love, Virginia, all those other women, his two hundred bosses, and next year’s keynote address in Puerto Rico. This goes on for over five hundred pages, all in Slocum’s voice. Moreover, his monologue loops around, allowing us to revisit points he’s already covered. He tells cheesy jokes. He plays golf. He hopes for little more than a middle management job in a firm whose products are never disclosed. He scours the company phonebook and creates info-graphics for amusement. But by focusing solely on the ultra-mundane and departing from everything that made his debut novel remarkable, Heller gives us a character who is so vividly realized that we forgive him for his anger and his cowardice. We see his monologue as an elegy for life, as a longing for everything he realizes will never happen to him again.

Form Pages 364-365:

Something terribly tragic is going to happen to my little boy (because I don’t want it to), and nothing at all will happen to Derek. The police and ambulances will never come for him. I see no future for my boy (the veil won’t lift, I don’t get a glimmer, I see no future for him at all), and this is always a heart-stopping omen. When I look ahead, he isn’t there. I can picture him easily as he is today, perhaps tomorrow, but not much further. He is never older, never at work or studying to be a doctor, writer, or businessman, never married (the poor kid never even goes out with a girl), never in college or even in high school; he is never even an adolescent with a changing voice, acne-prone skin, and the first sprouts of sweaty hair darkening his upper lip and jaws. I mourn for him (my spirit weeps. Where does he go?). He doesn’t pass the age of nine. He stops here. (This is where he must get off. Every day may be his last.) Either he has no future or my ability to imagine him in mine is dulled. I view the empty space ahead without him sorrowfully. Silence weighs heavily. I miss him. I smell flowers. There are family dinners, and he is not present. What will I have to look forward to if I can’t look forward to him? Golf. My wife’s cancer? A hole in one. And after that? Another hole in one.

“I made a hole in one,” I can repeat endlessly to people for years to come.

When obscurity and old age descend upon me like the thickest night and shrivel me further into something small and insignificant, I can always remember: “I made a hole in one.”

On my deathbed in my nursing home, when visitors I don’t recognize arrive to pay their respects with gifts of very sweet candy and aromatic slices of smoked, oily fish, I may still have the power to recall that I made a hole in one when I was in my prime—I’m in my prime now and I haven’t made one yet. It’s something new to strive for—and it may cause me to smile. A hole in one is a very good thing to have.

“Will you believe it?” I can say. “I once made a hole in one.”

“Have another piece of smoked fish.”

“A hole in one.”

“I don’t know what else one can do with a hole in one except talk about it.”
 “I made a hole in one.”

“Eat your fish.”

I never wanna be in Bob Slocum’s head ever again

A Funny but Disturbing Glimpse into the Mind of a Moderately Successful Businessman in Mid-20th Century America

In the mid-20th century, America was a land of opportunity and aspiration. It was a time when the American Dream seemed within reach for many, and a moderately successful businessman was at the forefront of this pursuit. This book offers a unique and fascinating look into the mind of such a character.

The story is both funny and disturbing. On one hand, the businessman's antics and his preoccupation with status, beauty, and money are comical. He chases after the latest trends and fads, believing that they will bring him happiness and fulfillment. On the other hand, his shallowness and his lack of true values are deeply disturbing. He seems to have lost sight of what is truly important in life.

I feel like there is a lot of media similar to this book. Many works of literature, film, and television critique or satirize Americans' perceptions of status, beauty, and money. However, this book stands out as a very well done version of it. The author's writing is sharp and incisive, and the characters are vividly drawn.

That being said, the book could have been a bit shorter. Some of the scenes felt drawn out, and I found myself losing interest at times. Overall, though, it is a thought-provoking and entertaining read that offers a valuable perspective on American society in the mid-20th century.

This is the most deeply miserable novel I've read in a very long time. It is brilliantly observed and incredibly harsh. Heller makes a powerful point when he posits that the Norman Rockwell construction of the American man who attempts to satiate his endless greed is indeed poison and will ultimately doom us all.

He also argues that love is all we truly have, and when we grind it out, all that remains is paranoia and torment. It's hard to find fault with his argument in a world where the Amazon is burning, fascists are returning to power, and misogynistic gurus are polluting the minds of young people on a children's dancing app designed to consume all of the user's attention forever.

The novel serves as a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked greed and the importance of love and human connection in a world that often seems to be moving in the wrong direction. It forces us to confront the harsh realities of our society and question whether we are truly on the path to a better future.

Overall, it is a thought-provoking and deeply disturbing work that will stay with you long after you've finished reading it.

An amazing book, told as a stream-of-consciousness inside a middle-aged man's head. Heller delves deep into the insecurities, fear, unspoken hatreds, and dark places that lurk within all of us. It's a remarkable exploration of the human psyche. However, there is one major drawback. He could have achieved the same impact in half the pages. It is just too damn LONG. I was completely enthralled by the first 200 pages. The story was engaging, the characters were vivid, and I couldn't wait to see what happened next. But as I plodded on, page after page, my enthusiasm began to wane. By the time I reached page 529, I actively began to hate the book. It felt like a chore to finish. I can't help but wonder if no one had the courage to tell him that he needed an editor. Maybe a more concise and tightly edited version would have made this book a true masterpiece.

You may find yourself sitting behind the wheel of a large automobile, cruising along the road.

You live in a beautiful house, a symbol of your supposed success.

And beside you is a beautiful wife, who seems to complete the picture of the perfect life.

But this novel is not just about the outward appearance of prosperity. It is the inward soul cry of “my God, how did I get here”?

Bob Slocum is an average man in middle America, living in the middle of a turbulent century.

He is experiencing a midlife crisis, trapped in a medium priced suit. He judges others, cheats, plans and plots, always focused on the tiny next corporate moves.

However, he overlooks the big emotional changes happening in his family.

There is no nice guy redemption in this story. It has a bleak ending when a major event finally occurs towards the very end.

The colours of his life fade away to a boardroom grey. Success is measured only in dollar bills and sales targets, while the beautiful mysteries of the human heart remain undiscovered.

We’ve all been trapped at times, in our own ways. But we’re all only as trapped as our imaginations and our will keep us. It’s up to us to break free and discover the true meaning of life.

It was our book club's selection for February.

It was chosen because everyone had a liking for Catch 22.

Five men and four women showed up for it. However, several others excused themselves. Surprisingly, NO ONE FINISHED reading it, and NO ONE LIKED IT. I managed to read the first 187 pages and the last 50.

This turned out to be a very tiresome read. On my Kindle, it had 570 pages. Page after page was filled with a stream of consciousness and long, convoluted sentences that delved into Bob Slocum's insecurities, paranoia, misogyny, meanness, hatreds, biases, corporate life, adultery, sexual fantasies, and so on, to the point of nausea. There was a lot of redundancy as well.

There is simply nothing to admire about Bob Slocum. The setting alternates between New York City where he works and his home in an exclusive suburb. The time frame is set in the sixties.

Parts that described corporate life brought to my mind The Peter Principle by Tom Peters and Life in the Crystal Palace by Alan Harrington. But unless I was completely unaware, it did not align with my experiences in the corporate world during the relatively same time period.

It was indeed far too long. Just like life, ha ha. It seemed to be repetitive, much like an argument that goes on and on. It was also similar to the chorus of a song that keeps coming back. Or like sex, which can have its moments but also becomes routine. Even like going to work day in and day out. Sometimes it had its amazing aspects, but still, it wasn't quite enough to deserve a full 5 stars. There always seemed to be that one 5-star book lurking ahead, making you fear that yours might pale in comparison.

The events that took place were actually foreshadowed a long time ago, but by now, it no longer held much significance. Strangely enough, the very fact of its lack of significance was what made it stand out. Early on, we were all asked that question: What happened to that perfect child? The one we all began as? The one our own children started out as? Even the one that the child with special needs seemed to be before it became clear that he wasn't. Something occurred to shatter that perfection, and it wasn't clear what exactly it was or when it happened. In the end, we ended up like Bob Slocum, or like his wife or daughter. What was that something that happened to transform what was once glorious into a boring routine and sadistic games while we wait, filled with terror, for the inevitable end? But perhaps it doesn't really matter. Because by now, it's far too late to do anything about it.

The original text seems a bit unclear. But here's an attempt to rewrite and expand it while incorporating the given phrase:

It was as if more like nothing happened. The situation remained largely unchanged, and it was almost as if the events that had occurred were insignificant. People carried on with their daily lives, going about their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Amirite? It was a strange state of affairs, where the lack of a significant impact was both puzzling and, in a way, comforting. There were no major disruptions, no earth-shattering consequences. It was as if the world had simply shrugged off whatever had happened and continued on its path. But perhaps, beneath the surface, there were still ripples of change that would eventually make themselves known.

I hope this meets your requirements! If you have any further clarifications or specific details you want to include, please let me know.

Oof. This was truly a slog. It was a very annoying book, all in all.

I mean, I like a book that delves into the internal struggles of the affluent white man as much as the next guy. But this one just didn't do it for me.

I have to admit that I liked the parts set in the narrator's office the most. There were at least some good characters and funny situations there.

However, the bulk of the novel is just him constantly lamenting his trouble relating to his family. He's always regretting his so-called "retarded" son, arguing with his wife and kids, and generally just lamenting his whole life and identity. Boo hoo. It's so boring and tedious.

And don't even get me started on all the parentheses! They were so annoying.

I did read in an interview where it was mentioned to Heller that he never wrote anything as good as Catch 22 and he replied, "who has?". I guess that's a pretty good flex. But it doesn't change the fact that this book was a disappointment for me.

This book almost drove me insane, in a really interesting way.

It is written in a very much stream of consciousness style. The perspective is that of a guy who almost seems like he's descending into Alzheimer's.

The disjointed and fragmented nature of the narrative makes it a truly unique reading experience.

As you follow the protagonist's thoughts and memories, you can't help but feel a sense of confusion and disorientation, just like he does.

It's as if you are inside his mind, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of ideas and images.

The author does an excellent job of capturing the essence of what it might be like to experience the early stages of Alzheimer's.

The book is both captivating and disturbing, making you question your own perception of reality and memory.

It's a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the inner workings of the human mind.

This book had all of the essential elements and structure that could have made it one of my all-time favorite books. It told the story of an ordinary person, an average Joe, who was striving to discover meaning in the corporate world while also looking back nostalgically on his relatively more profound youth. I had high hopes that this book would be similar to American Beauty, one of my all-time favorite movies, and would incorporate the trademark wittiness that Heller showed in Catch-22. However, unfortunately, it didn't quite meet my expectations.

As numerous other reviews have pointed out, the novel was rather disjointed and overly long, running to 200 - 300 pages. Overall, the long paragraphs and the absence of breaks through chapters made it a real chore to get through. Although there were certain moments when I could appreciate the straightforwardness of Bob Slocum and his boldness in saying the things that all of us think but are too scared to express, many of his thoughts and statements simply didn't strike a chord with me.

I believe the strength of the novel lay in the anecdote about Virginia and the regret over the missed opportunity for youthful love. However, other aspects that the book focused on, such as Bob's extreme narcissism and his abuse of his wife, were major turn-offs.