Jonathan Lethem Books

I read As She Climbed Across the Table four or five years ago and thought it was cute but I didn't really connect with it. It felt stuffy in a way, and I couldn't understand some of the character motivations. At first I thought it was a flaw on the author's part, but since then I've come back round to reading Lethem books again, and so I re-read this one. This time I couldn't believe how sad and funny this book is, how accurate a picture of academics it sketches. I think the book was always this good, but I hadn't had the right experiences in life yet to understand it. I'd read it before I was ready. Now, after college and a few heartbreaks of my own, I completely get it. Identity is a fiction, but we try desperately to fill our own lack with things, preferences and dislikes, people, friends, families, lovers. A sad truth to confront, but I see the emptiness there, and why love is so important to fill it. I'm glad I gave this book another go round.

I am an avid reader of Jonathan Lethem and have been happy with many of his novels (ie Motherless Brooklyn, Fortress of Solitude, Girl in Landscape) though less impressed with some of his others. This particular story is really fantastic. The narrator is fabulously flawed, sharp witted, slightly egocentric but very much in love. Discovering he is the other man to a scientific experiment throws him into a great depression and gives him the drive to win back his lover.

Unlike many of Lethems other novels which take themselves very seriously this novel is fun, it's a quick read and it's very clever.

I'm not sure what to think of Jonathan Lethem these days - each work I read by him is, for a time, effortless, close to perfect, and then finds itself veering into a land of bad bad choices. Reading his The Fortress of Solitude, I was left to wonder what the book would have been like if it were simply kept as its electrifying first half, instead of allowed to wander, halfheartedly, into its characters' imagined futures. A similar sensation takes hold in As She Climbed Across The Table - it's not that what becomes of its characters is bad, per se, as much as it is simply ignorant of the novel's wondeful strengths. The book doesn't conclude, per se, doesn't quite complete its central love story - a bizarre love triangle in which Alice, the main character's girlfriend, is drawn away by a hyperactive physics blackhole called Lack - nor does it quite fulfill it, as a first glance at its ambiguous, artsy ending might assume. That's an interesting choice, to be certain, but it also ignores what the book does right. That's because As She Climbed... is effortless not as a love story, but as a breezy satire on academic life. It trots in a revolving door of bizarre academic types, each using Lack - which is, clearly and repeatedly stated, a giant nothing - as a springboard to represent their own attempts at fulfillment, their own need to "get" a situation. Its characters - named in bizarro Pynchon-esque monikers like Georges DeTooth, Dr. Soft, Carmo Braxia, Gavin Flapcloth (!) - are then a wild evocation of pretention in action, a goofy take on collegiate pretentions. There's not much of a sense about Philip Engstrand, a pleasant enough lovestruck protagonist, but its love story itself is a bit of a pleasantry meant to present the lack in its characters' own self-images that make its lunacy possible. All of that leaves this novel breezy, easy to read, fun, and not much of anything. Still, its goofiness is a treasure, especially climaxing in the actions and reactions around DeTooth, the wigged, deluded deconstructionist who explains to a physicist that his response to Lack is to, "compose a document. Perhaps it will not mention Lack. Perhaps it will consist of only the word 'lack.'" The physicist's response is to start vomiting.

I'll keep this brief. This book seems like it's trying to be weird for the sake of weirdness. Skip this one and try Lethem's other books, like "Motherless Brooklyn" and "Fortress of Solitude."

Two of Lethem's prior works, "Gun with Occasional Music" and "Amnesia Moon", offer so much more to the reader than "As She Climbed Across the Table". The earlier novels had characters that were likable or despicable--at least they were interesting. The worlds of those other books were the product of an active imagination.

"As She Climbed Across the Table" manages to annoy where his earlier works captivated. The characters aren't interesting or likable and the setting is a modern-day American University. There's nothing to grab the user and make them love anything about the book.

Lethem throws in some random science talk in the last chapter to allow the book to be called science fiction. Otherwise, it's a soap opera--and a boring one at that.

Jonathan Lethem isn't afraid to take chances, and he takes lots of chances in "Girl In Landscape," mainly in taking a familiar and predictable theme making something fresh and interesting out of it. For the most part, he succeeds in "Girl." However, this novel is not of the caliber of, for example, "Motherless Brooklyn," "Gun with Occasional Music" or "Fortress of Solitude." But it's much better than "As She Climbed Across the Table."

Some critics have described "Girl" as a melding of the sci-fi and "Western" genres. That's fair, insofar as the story involves space travel from a future, ravaged Earth to another ravaged, distant planet of a once-mighty, now-departed alien race, where the drama unfolds on the edge of a wild and alien frontier. (Think, "The Million-Year Picnic" meets "Little House on the Prairie," with some of the claustrophobic intensity of Stephen Crane's "The Blue Hotel," and the vigilante "justice" of "The Ox-bow Incident.") "Girl" is more than "just" a Sci-fi Western. It's a novel full of nuances and shadows, both in the characters and theme. It asks more questions about "what it means to be human" (a perennially favorite sci-fi theme) or to have courage in the face of the violence and cowardice of which small colonial minds are capable (shades of "High Noon"), than it offers by way of answers.

The "pioneers" who inhabit this off-world Podunk are all émigrés from Earth, seeking a new life on the planet of an ancient alien race known as "the Archbuilders" who, somehow, ruined their own mess kit and left behind a world of elegant and inscrutable ruins. Along the way, they developed "viruses" to alter their environment and themselves, to which the colonizing humans are vulnerable and must take pills to counteract. Those Archbuilders who remain are the ne'er-do-well, left-behind descendants of this once-mighty race. They are vaguely humanoid, hairy over an exoskeleton, walk upright, with two double-jointed legs and two double-jointed arms. They speak good English ("and invite you up into [their] room") and are quite friendly in an odd, almost humorous way, and hang around the humans' frontier village: one poses for paintings and gives sexual favors to a lonely "artist"; another plays backgammon with the town heavy's hired hand. In subtle ways they mock their human colonizers by taking on "human" names such as "Lonely Dumptruck," "Hiding Kneel," and "Truth Renowned." The humans generally despise and mistrust them and believe they are all potential child molesters. (Now *there's* an interesting twist on alien menace.)

Into this paradise, across the galaxy from Brooklyn, NY, comes the Marsh family: Clement, the father, a failed politician, wishy-washy to the core; his 13 year old daughter, Pella, the protagonist; and two younger brothers, Raymond and David. They are, truly, "motherless," - the result of the sudden and untimely death of their mother, Caitlin, felled by a stroke just as the family is preparing to immigrate to the new world. Pella is forced to deal with the loss of her mother, her new and ambiguous role as the mater familias to her father and younger siblings, the father's inability to be man, much less a father, in the new environment, and, among other issues, the motives of the town strongman, Efram Nugent. Nugent is a loner and the original colonizer of this part of the planet, a self-styled "expert" on the Archbuilders past and present. To Pella, he is an intimidating but irresistible hall of mirrors who has, as she learns, agendas within agendas, including an unsavory interest in Pella.

Without being a spoiler, suffice it to say there are the semi-predictable cultural clashes between the aliens, with their gentle but disturbing ways, and the humans, with their crude and judgmental worldviews and propensity to violence. Along the way there is interspecies sex, arson, murder, betrayal, redemption, etc., etc. Pella emerges with a new toughness and understanding. You can see it coming a mile away, but when it arrives, it's not a disappointment.

What makes this book a "four star" instead of a "five star" is the weak beginning when the Marsh gang is on Earth. It's too long, and not enough attention is paid to Clement to make his ineffective weakness in the new world more credible. What makes this book a "four star" instead of a "three star" though is the quality of Lethem's writing. You can't beat it. Some writers feel they have to describe everything in minute detail. Lethem's spare descriptions of characters in "Girl" (except for the aliens, virtually zero in the way of physical description except parts of the body-- e.g., Nugent's powerful hands, Pella's budding breasts, etc.) is an effective technique that deflects the reader's attention away from trying to imagine what characters "look like" and focuses the reader's attention on what characters are.

I'll have to give Lethem credit for not repeating himself (although I've only read two of his books so I'm probably not that qualified to make that sort of judgement . . . but who's going to stop me?) since this book is radically different from the last one I read. That's a good thing, in my opinion. The style here is science-fiction but it's more about using the weird themes and landscapes as a background, something to throw his ideas up against, which pleases the literary crowd that normally develops a twitch every time the word "sci-fi" gets tossed around, as they imagine spaceships and people saying things like, "So, Zolgar, we meet again". But I'd consider this science-fiction, just a little more esoteric. If that makes any kind of difference to you, then go crazy. So, the concept. This time out, Lethem tries to get us to believe that another planet has been discovered and the inhabitants have invited people from Earth to go live there and settle. Unfortunately, the planet is mostly abandoned and crumbling and the Archbuilders (the people who live there) that are left are curious and friendly, but not really all that useful. Into this settlement comes the Marsh family. The dad, Clement, apparently lost an election and that means that the whole family has to move (why this is, Lethem never explains, and it did bother me a little bit), so they try to settle on the new world. Clement's idea is to have them all fit in as best they can, so this involves not taking special pills that make humans immune from whatever bioengineered viruses that the Archbuilders left behind. There are other people on the planet as well, including slightly xenophobic homesteader Ephram, who Clement's daughter Pella finds herself both drawn to and repelled by. If I told you that everyone finds peace and harmony and the story ends with the happiest of feelings, would you believe me? Probably not, right? Basically this seems to be Lethem's version of a Western, there's definitely echoes of The Searchers (and I don't just say that because they mention it on the back cover) and the story seems to suggest that you can take the people off the planet but you really can't make them act any different. The story glides along nicely, but I do have to agree with the people who suggest that the setting is more interesting than the characters, but in some cases it is. A lot of the characters really don't come alive, although this may be because most of the story is told through Pella's eyes, and she comes across well enough, although you may have a hard time believing that she's thirteen. But you may not. Ephram has the strongest personality but then he's totally channeling John Wayne so that may account for it. Clement remains rather ineffectual and the Archbuilders are amusing window dressing. So Lethem probably doesn't run with the concept to the extent that he could have but I do give him points for trying and the overall concept is fascinating enough that it manages to carry the book on its own (I wish he would have given us more background, but that probably would have bogged the novel down) and it's short enough that by the time you start to really get irritated by these things, it's over and done with. Another fine effort, it's not going to change your life or make you see literature in a new way, but there are certainly worse ways to pass a few hours.

Lethem is nothing if not inventive; each of his novels is different from all the others, and they seem to have only superficial similarities with anyone else's work, too. Thirteen-year-old Pella Marsh, just edging over the cusp into womanhood, is the oldest of three children of Clement and Caitlin -- the former a failed politician in a post-enviro-catastrophic America, the latter now dead of cancer. They've transplanted themselves to the over-bioengineered World of the Archbuilders in order to escape Earth, but our world's most basic interpersonal problems have accompanied them. The Archbuilders -- those few who remain after the great bulk of them went off into deep space -- are quiet, gentle, curious polylinguists whom the humans don't really understand and probably never will. There are only a handful of other families in their little town-without-a-name: The Kincaids, with a son Pella's age, the drunken Grants with their two socially warped offspring, a lesbian couple with a baby, and a few bachelors. But one of those is Efram Nugent, the personification of violent inadaptability whom Pella sees as part of the rock of the new planet, almost an undeniable force of nature, and whom she alternates between fearing, loathing, and idolizing. Perhaps it's really the Planet of Efram. And he's far more adaptable than anyone could know, because he, like Pella, declines to take the drug that keeps him from inhabiting the "household deer" in his sleep and speeding and spying across the valleys, witnessing all the personal human things that no one else should see. There's a certain titillating Nabokovian flavor here (though without his humor) but don't let that distract you. The story is mostly a bleak but moving look at human inability to be anything other than human, regardless of the landscape.

Based on some of the comparisons on the back of the book, you would think that Lethem's science fiction novel was some sort of masterpiece. One critic went so far as to compare the book to Nabokov's Lolita. I'm not sure I see the comparison other than a very subtle, as in so subtle you not only barely register it, but aimply do not care, current of sexual tension that reveals itself at the very end of the book. I still for the life of my cannot figure out how this was published to so much acclaim, other than the theory that the book picked up steam after he published Motherless Brooklyn (which actually was a magnificent book, one that deserves all of the acclaim it has received).

The novel is about Pella Marsh and her dysfunctional family living in some post-apocalyptic future. At some point, the Marsh's, following the death of Pella's mother, relocate to another world that was once inhabited with a super-evolved race that, other than a few stragglers, went off to colonize the rest of the universe. I think part of the disappointment is the lack of concrete description. So much is left unsaid, and although the writing school mantra "show don't tell" works with books dealing with things that are familiar to us, here, in a world where there is nothing to anchor us but the writer's descriptions, anything short of a full-blown explanation (peppered with descriptions and what not) of what it is we are supposed to be experiencing. Although some of the concepts are highly interesting, there is simply too much missing from this book for it to be nothing more than an early outing from a now celebrated and much improved writer. John Gardner said that your first novel is something that should be locked away in your desk, never to see the light of day, and I wonder if Lethem should have done that with this book.

Since Robert Heinlein's death, I have been looking for anyone who could sustain Heinlein's ability to project the reader into an imagined future and then to build sympathy with the characters. Lethem has the critical ability to establish empathy essentially with his every character, and few do this as easily as he. I have just completed Amnesia Moon, where Lethem tries on empathy with a clock and a potted plant as (metamorphosed) primary characters - and he makes even that work. Therefore, I found Pella, her family and friends, and the alien race in particular (not to mention the planetary ecosystem), to be so sympathetic that it was somewhat wrenching to put the novel down (the same was true of Amnesia Moon, though in that case, the characters were not intended to be quite so sympathetic). The last time I felt this way about a book was reading Heinlein (and in this case, Heinlein's earlier rather than later novels). This is perhaps the only book I have ever read about which I still experience literal pain due to the fact that there was so much more of the story to tell, and it is virtually certain that the sequel (or sequels as I imagined them) will go unwritten. (By the way, I found the analogy to Lolita to stretch credibility. I have read both books, and they are entirely different projects. At the most fundamental level, Lolita was about Humbert Humbert - not really about Lolita at all. This novel is about Pella - more akin to a project such as Heinlein's Podkayne of Mars, but with Lethem's mastery of empathetic character development.) In short, the single best science fiction book I have read since Heinlein.

This little book is curiously insubstantial, both overall and within most of the short stories. Jonathan Lethem's works are usually fascinating, given his unique thematic insights on the big thoughts of average people, and plotlines that walk the precarious edge between the normal and the surreal. Many of Lethem's full novels are highly recommended, and maybe he needs entire book-length plots to really stretch out and realize the subversive points he obviously wishes to make about the human condition. But many of the short stories here seem like quick knock-offs that only introduce ideas that may or may not go anywhere if they were in longer form.

While hardcore literary theorists may find subtle insights in some of the more mundane entries here, you may find yourself asking "what's the point?" with 15-page stories about a guy having a dispute with his optician or another guy who lets his washed-up friend move in. The better tales here take a little more time to develop eccentric characters more fully or to delve into social satire, most notably the weirdly intriguing "Access Fantasy;" "The Dystopianist, Thinking of His Rival, Is Interrupted by a Knock on the Door;" and "Super Goat Man." But at just 160 pages of mostly half-baked themes, this book just doesn't offer a true taste of Lethem's talents. [~doomsdayer520~]

Lethem's novels are superior to his essays and short stories. His essays are superior to his short stories. He has a wonderful way of articulating a particular view in american culture that is sadly lacking in competant literary and critical figures. Most of his published work is far better than the majority of stuff out there. Worthy of the price - at least checking out of the library. Remember those?

but not all the stories are fantastic. By my count, 3 of these were amazing, 3 of them bland and the last one I'd read before so it doesn't count. My personal favorite is Super Goat Man, which was magnificent. Jonathan Lethem is a very expressive writer, and I can see a bit of noir in his writing. I have to read Fortress of Solitude now.

I took a long time to finally open this after getting the paperback, and finally read the first two stories on the beach at Sandy Hook, New Jersey -- occasionally glancing up to reflect on the skyline of the author's own Brooklyn. Obviously these stories are not intended to be beach material. Lethem tackles the same themes of loss, misplaced self-absorption, petty jealousy, and very occasionally, redemption. In many ways, "Men and Cartoons" tackles the same basic story in nine different styles and genres -- eleven, if you read the paperback with two extra stories. This can get a bit tiresome if you read all the stories consecutively, but spread out over several days, and best read one at a time, almost all of these stories are inventive, lively, and downbeat.

"The Vision" and "Super Goat Man" are both entrenched in the Marvel Comics universe, as told in the first person by a Brooklyn-born adult who's somehow failed to cash in on the promise of adulthood. Both stories climax at an awkward dinner party, and each end on a slightly different note of wistfulness. The last line to "Super Goat Man" is perhaps one of my favorite short story punchlines.

Similar to "Super Goat Man" is "Vivian Relf", although the title subject here is an alluring young woman (rather than a retired superhero) whom the narrator may or may not know from somewhere else in his past. The story again ends at a dinner party, with words that would have been best left unsaid. Lethem is in full-on fantasy mode in this story, with places names like Vagary and characters called Vander Polymus.

The sci-fi stories are "Access Fantasy" and, in the paperback, "This Shape We're In". The first features an unreliable main character stuck in the perpetual traffic jam that seems to take place in a bloated futuristic Brooklyn. As in the other stories, the narrator almost manages to get the girl, but not quite. "Shape", new to the paperback, is the Trojan Horse of this collection, springing a surprise literary revelation about its main character in the final pages.

Neither "The Glasses" and "The Dystopianist" make any sense. They're both very short and end on off-beat "what the heck?" moments. I suppose if I read each of these multiple times, I might grasp the theme, but I'm not going back. Also short, but slightly more to the point, is "The Spray", which first appeared in a magazine called "Fetish" and it's easy to see why.

The paperback edition ends with "Interview With the Crab", which on the surface is a satire on the fate of sitcom stars in an "E! True Hollywood Stories" vein. Lethem writes himself as the main character here, although the title subject keeps calling him "Lehman". Picture a drunken ALF interviewed by "Playboy" and you'll know exactly whether or not you'll want to read this.

"Planet Big Zero" and "The National Anthem" both concern high school friends who don't quite connect years later. The narrator in "Planet" is a modestly successful cartoonist for an alternatively weekly, who tries to write his drifter friend into his strip, with unintended, slightly paranormal consequences. "Anthem" seems like a submission idea for Open Letters, a defunct web journal to which Lethem once contributed. You'll have to accept the premise that people actually write this way to each other in this age of e-mail -- pouring personal history and emotions out onto the page, breaking down the song "Dark End of the Street", and ending with a prescient comment about the fate of the 2003 New York Mets.

In a collection full of genre stories, that makes this perhaps the most fantastic tale of them all.

"Men and Cartoons" is an all too brief, return visit to the fictional worlds created by Jonathan Lethem in his memorable novels "Motherless Brooklyn" and "Fortress of Solitude", with more than a passing nod to such classic early work from him like his literary debut "Gun, With Occasional Music". Hence it is an interesting, often fascinating, blend of literary styles from quasi-cyberpunk science fiction to hard-boiled noirish detective stories reminiscent of the best from the likes of Raymond Chandler and Elmore Leonard. However, it is not Lethem's most impressive story collection when I can find only one truly memorable tale in this terse anthology; the emotionally captivating "Super Goat Man". And yet there is another tale which almost succeeds as a work of literary art, "The Glasses", which is a fascinating glimpse into racial relations and standards of normal, mentally stable, behavior. If there is one common underlying thread which links all of these stories, then it is Lethem's ongoing fascination with Brooklyn, growing up there as adolescents in the 1970s, and a devout, almost fanatical, love for comic books. Those who are truly interested in reading some brief examples of Lethem's intriguing, often elegant, literary style won't be disappointed with this story collection.

Bookshelf space demanded that I purchase "The Dissapointment Artist" as an audio CD instead of in hardback, something I did with a little hesitance--no matter how good the reader, many books on CD remind me of kindergarden storytime.

This is not the case with "Artist." Lethem reads his essays with an even, mellow pace as he tells of nerdy childhood obsessions...then slowly, slightly, lets his voice lower, his tone darken, as he frankly discussions the death of his mother and its effect on him.

I give a hearty "thumbs-up" to the Audio edition of this book--it's worth every cent.

I love introspective essays - I think they are the purest form of creative writing. In an essay, a writer can discuss the topic that he knows most about (himself) while writing in whatever voice and whatever form the author deems appropriate. If there are few rules in fiction, there are even less rules in essays. Who can tell you that you're wrong in your opinion on yourself?

Jonathan Lethem's "The Dissapointment Artist" is a collection of essays that chronicles the pop culture obsessions that made Lethem into the writer that he is. Music, movies, and art are all given ample time, but books and authors make up the lion's share of topics discussed. He also spends a chapter talking about Hoyt-Schermerhorn, his favorite New York City subway station.

New York City itself also played a formative role in his writing style, as "The Fortress of Solitude" is set there. "Motherless Brooklyn" goes so far as to wear the Big Apple's influence on Lethem in its title. Other previous works include science fiction novels "As She Climbed Across the Table" and "Girl in Landscape."

Lethem addresses his beginnings in science fiction by admitting to seeing Star Wars twenty-one times in one summer in one essay, while also telling of an obsession with Philip K. Dick that drove him to drop out of college and move across the country to join the Philip K. Dick Society, which was dedicateding to "propagating his works and furthering his posthumous career."

Lethem addresses each essay with a nostalgic excitement. Some essays retain the fanatical qualities all the way through, like the essay on Dick, and another on comic books titled, "Identifying with Your Parents." Others take a reverent turn. Lethem waxes philosophical on both the personal and public meanings of little-known author Edward Dahlberg in the title essay, while "Two or Three Things I Dunno about Cassavetes" made me wonder why no one had told me of film-maker John Cassavetes before, if he is so wonderful and important.

The strength of the essays lies in the strength of Lethem's convictions. Besides the pinpointing of a different formative influence in every essay, there are few things that hold the book together. The book is horribly non-chronological, skipping all over Lethem's life. Topics rarely get even so much as referenced again after their essay is over. Most of the topics he discusses are obscure, as I only knew Star Wars, Pink Floyd and Philip K. Dick in a 150-page book. Yet this book is compelling in the extreme, because Jonathan Lethem can really write. Even though his obsessions teeter precariously on the cliff that is "cultish" towards the sea that is "arcane," he explains his obsessions with such clarity, insight and humor that is impossible not to enjoy the ride through his influences.

I can't believe that such a narcissistic piece of work could ever get published - but I am better off for having found it. The distinct style with which Lethem writes could suck anyone in, and the humor and interesting insights will keep you reading. The fact that Lethem is an author of fiction plays a role in drawing the reader in as well - many of the essays seem to unfold in a very character-driven style, with Lethem using himself at different ages as the protagonist. This method is extremely conducive to enjoying this work.

If you're a writer, this book is a must. Seeing a writer deconstruct his own writing style and discuss how he became a writer is fascinating. If you're a fan of essay style, this book is also a must, as Jonathan Lethem's dissections of pop culture are compelling and enthralling. It's not often that a book comes along that makes me want to read it over and over, but this book has me on the fourth reading already.

Anyway, I sure wish I'd read this one BEFORE I'd read Motherless Brooklyn and some of his other works, as this collection gives insight into the novelist himself. It is not fiction, but a sort of memoir or a set of essays that focus on things that interest Lethem as well as parts of his life. You'll discover quite a bit about him here, all written very well.

There is quite a lot of variety in this book but I found the parts that focused on his family, his early, rather unconventional life and all the events, large and small, that affected him, to be most engaging for me. I could see how certain aspects related to his books He also writes quite a bit about popular culture and he is the only writer I've read who has admitted to a similar obession to me- watching and rewatching favorite movies, sometimes more than 20, 30...even 40 times. But all this makes sense to me in the context of Lethem's work.

I also happen to believe that it is the losses or more difficult parts of our life that often form the basis for our creativity, our urge to understand, come to terms with or even transcend that loss. Letham admits to being affected by loss, a particular loss, but I'll let you read the book to find out what that was (I hate spoilers). Well worth buying and for those of you short on time, you can read just about any essay in this book, in any order. A DEFINITE plus for those of us who are short on time. This is NOT, however, a book to just read lightly or skim through. There is plenty to think about, sink your intellectual teeth into...and all that.

The reason to read this collection of personal essays, is not their subjects, but the thoughfulness of the author and his simply amazing writing skill. Regardless of my interest in the topics, if found them all captivating -- from the consistence of his brilliant writing and the deeply personal cast he lent to each of them. The essay about his father, the painter, is deeply affecting. Lethem's insights into what shaped him as an author and as a person are so candid and meaningful. Now I feel I will be able to read his novels next with a broader perspective into what went into them.

i'm not sure how anybody could give this less than 4 stars. If you became a teenager in the 70's, this book is the rarest treasure.

As a Northwesterner, I was interested in reading this book because of its setting. The descriptions of Washington State (my home state) were done pretty well, but the dialogue between the unrealistic characters was less than satisfactory. Malamud chose to ramble on, sometimes in two page segments, in inneffective attempts at a sort of social statement. The ending of this book was absolutely ridiculous.

Sy moves away from a disintegrating life in NY to rebuild and recreate himself in the mid west. But like the scorpion in the fable;he just can't help being who he is! Malamud seemed to move into this area of exploration with more contemporary characters in his latter books-this is broadly similar to 'Dubins Lives'-where are lives are influenced by our natures and the moment in history we exist in,yet we continually try to satisfy the falsehoods of society,or other peoples expectations.
This is a good,satisfying read.Malamuds prose of even mundane surroundings leave a vivid picture in your mind,and there are great pieces of humour: ("We're going to do it on the desk?" "I hated to mention the floor,but where else is there!")
I love Malamuds work for many reasons.Yes this is a lot 'softer' than 'The Fixer' or the life of poor old Fiedelman,but it gives another insight to Malamuds take on life.
He's also a member of the 'Holy Trinity' of great 20th century Jewish writers;sitting alongside Beshevis Singer and Saul Bellow, in my view.

'A New Life' by Bernard Malamud is the fifth novel I've read by him and with each book I am further convinced of his genious. He was a master at the novel (not just short story). Though his works are funny they are also deeply humane and, from a literary standpoint, subtle. I can't think of anything more difficult in writing than subtlety. Time and again, while reading this book I'd have to pause and reread a line or paragraph because of his subtle and miraculous use of language. The main character, Levin, is somewhat of a comic hero, but there is deep truth in him. His life is regret and he wonders when he will actually begin living. Already thirty, an outcast from the east in a northwestern college town, Levin's new chapter of life is on vivid, often comic and sad display for the reader. Another masterpiece!

Bernard Malamud is known for creating deeply flawed characters with strong ideals, and Seymour Levin - known interchangeably as S, Sy, Seymour, Levin and Lev - the central character in this wonderful novel, is no exception. A thirty year old masters graduate, down on his luck, but with the backing of an NYU education, he lands a job as a college instructor in the English department of a fictional mid-western state (Cascadia) college. This opens up an interesting cast of characters who view him with a mix of interest, disinterest, partly an inferior, an activist/idealist (his beard suggests he is a radical in the year 1950 in the midst of red-baiting and community suspicion), a potential threat, an alien, an anomaly.

Levin, "formerly a drunkard" (to quote the author) has deep seated problems and issues of self worth. He is a plain man, though definitely an idealist; however, one gets the sense early on that his idealism comes less from a passionate, inward set of convictions and more from a sense of inferiority, and a desire to find meaning in ideas. His activities and how quickly he reacts to the new environment are fascinating - he wastes no time getting inappropriately involved with a female student, sleeping with the wife of a trusting colleague or getting embroiled in the politics of the English department (here Malamud provides an interesting look at a college in a conservative town that values professional training at the expense of literature and learning) and being drawn into a myriad of ethical and moral dilemmas. Without spoiling the plot any further, Levin breaks every conventional rule in the book - this makes him less a sympathetic character and more someone the reader is almost glad to see suffer the fate he does. I would not have felt this way if I got the sense that Levin was fighting for something and doing it sensibly - while I love literature, the way Levin goes about seeking its elevation seems foolish and misguided. Perhaps more about ego and an attempt to feel worthy than out of a true love of books.

This is in essence something of a morality tale, and if I had to get to the heart of what Malamud is saying here it would have to be that misplaced idealism - without moral or ethical standards - will destroy the person within. I found it to be both gripping and bleak at the same time, but surely one of my favorite Malamud novels (and I have now read them all, so will have to find a new author to stalk!).

It seems that from the sparseness of the reviews here and from the seeming lack of recognition this book has received, it is one of his least known works. That is a shame because the characters and plot are fascinating; the themes are timeless (suspicion of someone who looks different, moral bankruptcy, clash of conservatism and radicalism, status quo versus change) and the writing is very good.

I am a long-time admirer of Malamud. In my view, "The Assistant" and "The Natural" are two of the outstanding novels of the 20th Century. I can still recall my gratification upon finishing "The Magic Barrel."

In the case of first-time exposure to a book,play,or movie, I believe that expectation frequently colors reaction. Given my experience with Malamud, I began to read "A New Life: with a sanguine attitude. The first page, carefully calculated to entice the reader's interest, validated this attitude. Although my enthusiasm waned over the next 20 or 30 pages, I reminded myself of Malamud's literary prowess. He's just having a little trouble revving up the engine, I thought. Happens to the best of them. My man will get off the ground shortly and we'll be soaring into the clouds.

Malamud's early take on Levin bolstered my confidence. Levin is an unsuccessful teacher, a former drunk, a tactless, gauche klutz whose professional and intellectual capacity and social skills are, to say the least, limited. The reader will identify with Levin, or root for him, or feel sorry for him, or simply connect with him, however attenuated the connection, WHEN LEVIN CHANGES. And so, the reader looks forward to finding out what manner of event, what shift in circumstance, will rehabilitate Levin, or trigger his turnabout, or spark his transformation, or signal some incipient but viable adjustment of his personality and character. Or perhaps will reveal some redeeming quality, some suppressed side of Levin that is rational, perceptive, sensitive, sensible.

It doesn't happen. Levin's self-destructive behavior accelerates, and the book plunges irreversibly into contrived farce and fatuous set-scenes devoid of credibility. Contrary to Mr. Lethem's Introduction, the book is neither comic nor tragic; it is simply hollow in its core.

To revisit the credibility issue, Levin's attempts to insert himself into and influence campus politics are so maladroit as to be unbelievable. His relationship with Pauline is self-delusional and empty-headed, and is not plausible. The ultimate implausibility, of course, is the last segment.

The book does contain well written descriptions of scenes from nature. But why so many? Some of the dialogue is clever in a stilted way. College-faculty environments are unquestionably as vicious as reflected, but surely the real-life intrigues are not conducted on the level of ineptitude depicted here. Beyond those small plus-factors, the book fails in terms of plot, narrative, and character development. Like Levin, "A New Life" is a loser. Come to think of it, Malamud's purpose may have been to write the book as a metaphor for stupidity.

Thomas Berger is a master of turning the mundane into nightmare, as he proves once again in Meeting Evil. When John Felton, a real estate salesman, regular guy next door, answers his doorbell early one morning and a stranger with car trouble asks for assistance, he willingly obliges. This is Felton's first mistake.

As the situation escalates into chaos, it is clear that something is very wrong. Ritchie, the stranger, is both obnoxious and obsequious, given to sudden flares of temper. John's go-along personality has gotten him into an untenable situation, one that seems to offer no immediate avenue of escape and Felton is confused about why he is with the volatile Ritchie. John's habitual tentativeness is a great disadvantage, leaving him as vulnerable as the proverbial lamb waiting for slaughter. "He was conscious of a lifetime of urge to do right."

What happens when a rational man finds himself in an ever more dangerous situation, where he is helplessly mired in moral perplexities? As more innocent bystanders are drawn into Ritchie's vortex, it is John's conscience that struggles with escape, at the mercy of a sociopath. Ritchie's escalating violence is intolerable and John Felton's life is seriously out of control.

John must decide if he can maintain his integrity and still remain a passive bystander, caught between adapting to Ritchie's unpredictable impulses and escaping without harm. All Felton's struggles are as yet internal; he is unable to take action for fear of the consequences. "To be no hero is shameful, but taking satisfaction in that state of affairs would be."

This is the story of a family man, a suburban Everyman, spending his days in comfortable rapprochement with his environment, never questioning his ethics in the world at large. John is complacent, his manhood unchallenged, in one sense a moral NIMBY (not-in-my-backyard). When evil threatens, John is immediately paralyzed, equivocating. But what works in every day situations may not provide the appropriate answer in extreme circumstances. Meeting Evil poses the philosophical dilemma of life in a civilized society pitted against aberrant behavior with no room for error. Luan Gaines/2003.

Meeting Evil is a great book. In it (like in Neighbors and The Houseguest) Berger explores the themes of the limits of hospitality and the shield of insulation that we as members of society build around ourselves. However, in this novel, Berger uses the character of Ritchie to explore the nature of Evil more than he does with any other character. Ritchie's motivations are random and surreal and chaotic in contrast to the overly orderly and logical John Felton. It is as if Berger purposely makes Ritchie as illogical as possible while simultaneously showing John (and the reader)to be completely unprepared to deal with or understand him. Preparation requires logic, and logic is useless in dealing with chaos. Ritchie does not seem as sinister as he does chaotic.

This little book carries the same unique charm that Lethem's other short works have displayed. Being most similar, I think, to his novella "This Shape We're In", they share the strange atmosphere of mystery and prohibition. The strange subject matter or as sci-fi as his writing can tend to get, it's always harnessed and made palatable (and literary) by Lethem's prose and creativity--two aspects that keep me coming back to his work, no matter the subject, length, or critical press (which has usually been positive).

The two stories presented, "How We Got In Town and Out Again" and "The Insipid Profession of Jonathan Horneboom", are firmly set in two worlds that let the readers in through relatable narrative, but paint pictures (almost literally in the case of "Hornebloom") of inhospitable cultures. It's this distance created by this overwhelming sense of caution that gives poignancy to the stories that wouldn't be there if they were open-armed and welcoming.

These were stories published previously in "Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine" and "Full Spectrum S", respectively, though the real star is the longer "Horneboom". Published at the beginning of his career ("Horneboom" has echoes of "Gun, With Occasional Music") they are a great window looking back at the genesis of Lethem's professional writing. For those that know him from only "Motherless Brooklyn" and/or "Fortress Of Solitude", these two stories could be off-putting, but to actually shrink from them would be damaging to Lethem's character. Without weird stories such as these, or "Shape", or "Amnesia Moon", or "Gun", we wouldn't have the writer that Lethem is today, a man who (as evidenced by my title for the review) I hold in high regard. As the reader grows comfortable with these stories, it becomes apparent that the man that wrote these two stories, both overwhelmed by their quirkiness, is indeed the same man who wrote "Brooklyn" and "Fortress" as their respective quirks become even clearer in hindsight and with the reading of Lethem's other work. As Neil Young said of his own music, "It's all one song!" I think, in a way, the same could be said of what Lethem's trying to do with his work: everything is built around a stylistic thread continued from each previous endeavor, and even though the finished pieces don't necessarily look alike, the more you read the more of the thread you see.

These stories are weird, but worth the read even if you don't really understand them (I sure don't, I'm not much of a science-fiction aficionado). They are put into context by the sharp afterword Lethem wrote especially for the book. This short, four page conclusion gives more depth to the stories as it places them within the timeline of Lethem's career, as well as fleshing out what kind of person and writer Lethem is. He's not ashamed of revealing himself and his influences and does so with flags waving. He admits these are early examples of his work, but still finds the value in their existence (and points it out).

Packaged in a smart dust jacket adorned with artwork by (I'm guessing) his brother (who has work printed inside as well), this book would be enough to impress your friends and family just on looks alone. Luckily, with a writer like Lethem, what's inside will lead you to even more wonder, even if that wonder is more head-scratching than revelatory.

My son, who is now 38, told me I must read this novel, without telling me why, just "Trust me." So I did, and saw immediately why. Throughout the first 16 years of his life, we--he and I and his mother--lived in the exact neighborhood where this story is centered. In fact, at one point the protagonist, Dylan, is looking out the back window of a friend's house on Pacific Street between Hoyt and Bond, across the backyards and into the windows of the apartments above the antique stores on Atlantic Avenue--which meant he was very possibly looking into the back windows of our apartment. For me the story is filled with similar shocks of recognition; Lethem's acute eye for detail makes this one of the most hypnotically fascinating novels I've read in the last decade, and reading it really was like a visceral visit to a place so familiar that even after almost 25 years away from it, its sensory textures could be evoked in an instant. So of course I'm a special case, as is my son; I have no way of knowing how someone who has never been to or lived in Boerum Hill and its surrounding neighborhoods would relate to the story. That said, I had a similar experience to that of several other reviewers in that when the story took its sharp turn into the fantastical, I was initially jarred. Possibly I shouldn't have been--after all, the title telegraphs this possibility, referring as it does to the Arctic stronghold of the world's seminal comic-book superhero. But that feeling didn't last, and ultimately I felt that Lethem was saying something true and perhaps universal about the places where we grow up--that for every child, behind the ordinary reality of familiar places lies the possibility of magic.

Really dug this one. Cool story, lots of music and comic book references, and good pace. Recommended.

I was really loving this book and recommending it to people through the first half of the book. But when the point of view changed to first person halfway through I lost interest. I finished it though. This book could have been a lot shorter, although thats easy for me to say, I didn't have to wrap it up.

I agree that there were really no likable characters left at the the end, which was too bad because the first half really had me pulling for these guys and thinking about them between readings.

I think the writing is fantastic and the author is very talented. Friends have recommended Motherless Brooklyn as a superior book to this and I will seek that out and read it. I am glad I read it but almost didn't finish it just out of spite, I was so disappointed with it near the end. Like the guy at the movie pitch says, there are some problems with the Third Act.

Amen.

Any fan of Lethem knows that his writing defies most conventions. You get the sense, more than in most contemporary (dare I say literary?) authors, that Lethem is willing to let his novelistic worlds swell out to the furthest reaches of his imagination. He's not about absurdism for its own sake (a Pythonesque "psycho gratia psychosis," if I may); his worlds play according to solid rules, but those rules aren't any more sensible than the genre-bending oddities they contain. Check out Amnesia Moon, As She Climbed Across the Table, or any of his short story collections. You'll see what I mean. His stuff is, in a word, weird.

And good. Really good. Few things are greater than reading a book by a talented author who is writing for, if anyone, himself. And Lethem is talented. One of the first things they'll teach you in English Lit 101 is that any writer worth his salt chooses words not because they're pretty or for their utilitarian bluntness, but also because language itself is so slippery, so self-subsumed. Everything means something. Carver knew this. Woolf knew this. Lethem, too. His words, with all their weighty import, soar above their subject matter. You can pick up one of his books, read about a gangster kangaroo going head-to-head with a hard-boiled detective from the future, and get the sense that there's more there than just a sci-fi nod to Philip K. Dick.

"The Fortress of Solitude" is Lethem's most contemporary novel, and also his most autobiographical, and it bucks his old habits just as much as those old habits bucked everything else. It's a bildungsromanian masterpiece (I know; another English Lit word) about growing up white in Brooklyn. Its delicate detail is very real, very lovingly harsh, the tale of young Dylan Ebdus (white) and his pal Mingus Rude (black) as they grow old and learn the fragile economics of race, social class, and stoopball. Their lives revolve around what can be learned from music, from drugs, and from the mechanics of friendship. The book bears Lethem's love of language, as well as the evidence of his own motherless past (Motherless Brooklyn, anyone?) and life with a father who was (like Dylan's) a devoted artist.

Lethem has divided the tale into two halves, the split occurring right about the time Dylan discovers the dirty, dreary and dynamic contours of adulthood. The second half of the book, while well-told, isn't as tight as the first; it seems like a second-thought counterpoint to the first half's heart-breaking simplicity. Lethem, showing where Dylan's and Mingus's paths have led, tries to make a point about "middle places," those nameless and usually innocuous moments that make up the most potent of nostalgias (and the book is, if anything, a tribute to and criticism of nostalgia). The novel is filled with instances of these middle places, but they are more recognizable after the turn of the last page. That's probably the point.

Even with its adequately humorless maturity, the second half of the book is good stuff, solid, interesting, if not disjointed. In fact, the only thing that really drags the novel down is Lethem's (habitual?) need to add a small dose of unreality. In this case, the "weird" of the book concerns a small ring that bestows superpowers onto its wearer. Lethem uses the ring to make a few (sometimes) obvious and (occasionally) intriguing points about life and hopes and dreams. It's kind of cool, a tad interesting, but mostly it's just distracting. Lethem goes to such sublimely strenuous lengths to make his tale authentic to its time; then he introduces this supernatural element, and the characters treat it as a mildly curious but easily dismissable anomaly.

But, hey, that's Lethem, treating the weird as if it were no more or less out of place than anything else. While it might scar his otherwise sweet and sterling story, it also acts as evidence that Lethem is never completely willing to succumb to the cranky rules of reality (even that of his own childhood) or to the stuffy expectations that are usually part and parcel with coming-of-age novels such as this one. Even if it soars like its own kind of crippled superhero, this novel is ten times as ambitious, and every bit as amazing.

What is it like to grow up a white child in a black world, "yoked" in a double-bind that keeps you small and paralyzed? It's not something you can talk about, and I never saw anyone so astutely describe the experience until I read this book.

Lethem's semi-autobiographical novel reveals itself gradually, like a multi-layered painting. During his early childhood, the protagonist lurches zombie-like through a thick fog, smothered by grim surroundings and events that he cannot control or even understand. Gradually, as he matures, the fog starts to lift. And we see how his victimization has carved into Dylan's psyche a complex love-hate obsession with blacks and a burning need to be a hero - or maybe to get revenge.

This book is about betrayals, about the illusory nature of autonomy and choice, about the costs (and rewards) of fulfilling one's class and race destiny by leaving one's roots behind.

And the ring? Is it magical realism, as some have proposed? I see it more as a metaphor. Initially, it is about power and the freedom of escape. Later, it stands for invisibility, the feeling of being unseen and unknown by those around you.

The topic is painful and the style meandering. But it is a great book.

This book will convince you that insomnia isn't all that bad a thing.

Which is worse: a megalomaniac or someone pulling the strings who doesn't even know he's doing it? Lethem will have you scratching your head continuously as you try to figure out the meaning of this (pick a genre so long as "strange" is part of the description) book.

It seems the consensus of reviewers is that there is a weak ending. Add my vote to that tally. This is a weird book which is fine; but coupling it with a non-existent finish does a disservice to the reader.

This is a road story where the main character leaves his town in Wyoming to find his identity and answers to key questions that churn over & over in his mind. It all sounds straight ahead, simple, but there's been an apocalyptic event some indeterminate time ago that has changed the face of the USA; the town he's leaving is full of mutants; he leaves with one of them, a girl covered in fur; his dreams suggest that he's not who he thinks he is and others can see his dreams when they sleep nearby. The story hooked me early.

On their travels Chaos and the girl, Melinda, encounter widely different communities - aside from the mutant town, there's one encased in a green fog, another where government officials star in their own TV show and also police the community...all of which seem to be conjured by those in the community that have the ability to broadcast their dreams to the masses around them. Is Letham commenting on how people can be brainwashed and controlled by those with power? Some of the communities are cult-like, with inhabitants doing as they are told by their demi-god.

No-one seems clear on the nature of the "disaster" that led to this post-apocalyptic world or at what point in time it occurred. There is no shared reality on this point beyond acceptance that a disaster of some sort happened. This makes the book intriguing, especially in a time where we all accept that we're waging a "war on terror". Even if we can't define the scope of what that encompasses, we accept that it needs to be done. It is one shared reality in my world.

This book made me think about how we become communities, how we arrive at shared values, how we are governed/controlled, the power of "group-think" & how much we are prepared to accept at face-value without questioning. The story may seem slight, more novella than novel, but it's thought-provoking if you let your mind play with the ideas.

I've read most of Lethem's novels and all of them are different, so you never know what to expect. And most of them are pretty good, especially _Motherless Brooklyn_ and _The Fortress of Solitude_. Lethem is obviously getting better and better as he goes along -- which may explain some of my dissatisfaction with this one, which was his second effort. It's a post-holocaust story, though it never becomes clear what the holocaust actually consisted of; various characters have differing memories of what happened. Chaos -- whose real name may, or may not, be Everett -- is living in an abandoned multiplex in a small desert town, dividing his time between drinking and dreaming contagious dreams. Circumstances lead him to leave, taking with him a thirteen-year fur-covered girl named Melinda. Their subsequent travels lead them to a settlement high in the mountains that is blinded by some sort of green fog, then to Vacaville, California, where the survivors change houses twice a week and maintain order and curb antisocial behavior by writing each other tickets. They end up in San Francisco, where Chaos/Everett apparently came from originally. Through all of it, his dreams impinge on the sleep of those around him. And at that point, a little over halfway through, I have to confess I lost what little interest I had been able to maintain and withdrew my bookmark. I hate not finishing a book. More than that, I resent it. Especially when the author, like Lethem, has proved his bona fides.

In 1971, Ursula Le Guin wrote the short novel, _Lathe of Heaven_ in which George Orr's "effective dreaming" tranforms reality in just the arational way you'd expect from the subconscious. Le Guin's novel ends with "the break," an event that changes reality in contradictory and chaotic ways. In both content and form, Lethem's novel feels like a sequel to that novel. Chaos, Everett, Moon--whatever name you go by--lives in a world permanently and madly altered by effective dreaming. The difference is that the talent was unique in _Lathe of Heaven_. In _Amnesia Moon_ dreaming transforms reality locally, producing overlapping and confusing realities. In this case, the aftermath proves less interesting than an inciting incident deep in the background of the Lethem's novel. Though ably written, _Amnesia Moon_ is ultimately less satisfying than Le Guin's work, a less exciting and less interesting continuation. By itself, the novel is compelling enough, but juxtaposed with Le Guin, it seems mere fluff.

Sometimes I find myself reading the old Philip K. Dick books and thinking: Where did Dick get these ideas? Were they transmitted to him from an alien satellite brain (or Vast Active Living Intelligent System)? Who's picking up those transmissions now?

Here's the answer. Except for the 1990s references, this book could easily have been written by Dick himself. (There is a brief reference to Dick's DR. BLOODMONEY at a San Francisco cocktail party). This book bespeaks an enormous freedom of imagination: "something" has happened, nobody knows what (shades of Delany's DHALGREN), but afterwards some are "dreamers" able to construct oneiric "Fictitious Subjective Realities," and others are trapped in these FSRs. The narrator Chaos (or Everett) and his sidekick, the furry little girl Melinda, travel through a variety of these dreams, from the postapocalyptic wasteland of Hatfork, Wyoming, to the zombified media-slave suburbia of Vacaville, to the fog-shrouded Oedipal struggles of San Francisco. to the wars with the alien hives in LA.

This book is truly an explosion of creative promise, drawing out those threads first revealed in Lethem's short stories in CRANK! and elsewhere. I'm eager to pick up more old Lethem SF, before he caved to the exigencies of verbosity for mainstream acceptance.

You never know what to expect from Lethem. Compare the terse, stripped-down language of "Gun, With Occasional Music" with his hyperverbose description in "Fortress of Solitude." The man is a literary chameleon, a ventroliquist of strange new voices.

Of what I've read so far, my favorite two Lethem stories are "Mood Bender" from The Best of Crank! anthology and "The Happy Man" from this one. Like what other reviewers have said, the rest is a mixed bag. Most are interesting, and might show the beginnings of Lethem's literary aspirations, as they are more vignettes than traditional stories ("Light and the Sufferer," about crackheads shadowed by strange mute aliens, is the best of these). Frequently, I found myself impressed by the ideas far more than the stories themselves.

But the collection is definitely worth reading, especially for fans of Philip K. Dick looking for something new in SF. I enjoyed them much more than his more recent novels, where he takes a nose-dive into big-L "Literature," with its endless description and dearth of plot.

It is the sign of a true master that none of these short stories bears any resemblance to another, yet each is in its own way outstandingly audacious.

Some worked better than others, and from reading the other reviews here it seems the selection varies from reader to reader. Yet the range and boldness of his ideas nearly staggers the imagination, and to have pulled this off -- not once, but seven times -- is astonishing.

I loved _Gun with Occasional Music_ and _Amnesia Moon_ but this collection didn't really do it for me. _The Happy Man_ was great, I liked _And Forever, said the Duck_, _Vanilla Dunk_ was fun even though I hate sports. But like another reviewer said, no real conclusions, more like story fragments. His quirky style is great, he just needs more room to develop it.

After reading Gun With Occasional Music, Amnesia Moon and Motherless Brooklyn and thoroughly enjoying all 3, I consider myself to be a Lethem fan--DESPITE this book.

I have not read any other short stories by Lethem, but I didn't enjoy ANY of the stories in this book. They all start with really interesting and promising ("lethemesque") premesis and then either go somewhere too wierd in what is apparently an attempt to be provocative, or go nowhere. Each could probably be a great novel if flushed out. Instead, they either gross you out, put you to sleep, or bore you to death.

With this collection of seven stories (three of which are reprints from Asimov's) Lethem continues to befuddle me. I loved Motherless Brooklyn, Gun With Occasional Music, and a short story in the Best of Crank anthologyÑbut I hated Amnesia Moon and another story in Best of Crank. While all the stories in this collection benefit from brilliant premises and Lethem's dexterous prose only the two best two ("The Happy Man" and "Vanilla Dunk," both from Asimov's) have true "endings." The other five trail off into nothingness or incomprehensible weirdness that make me wonder if Lethem's subconscious is bound by the old writer's adage that no ending is better than a bad ending.

"The Happy Man" features a dead man who is raised from the dead so he can financially support his family, the catch is that his consciousness must reside in hell part of the time. There he has bizarre nightmares that lead to an unfortunately predictable denouement. In "Vanilla Dunk," professional basketball players are issued suits giving them skills of former greats. From this interesting idea, Lethem fabricates one of the best sports stories I've ever read, as an obnoxious white kid wins the "draft lottery" and gets to be the next Michael Jordan and racial tensions ensue. "Light and the Sufferer" follows a crack addict, his brother, and the mysterious alien who follows them around New York. The humans' story ends rather obviously, but the significance of the aliens is left somewhat obscure. "Forever, Said the Duck" is about a cocktail party inhabited by clones of everyone who's had sex with the two hosts. It's promising enough at first, but degenerates into a psychedelic nonsense. The nifty notion of "The Hardened Criminals" is that convicts are physically hardened and used as bricks for a massive prison tower. Lethem seemed totally unable to make anything out of the premise, however, and when a young criminal meets his father in the wall, the result is rather forced. "Five ..." presents the mystery of a woman who has sex with a man and "loses" two weeks of her life. Unfortunately, the story implodes rather than leading anywhere interesting. The final story, "Sleepy People" is simply odd and makes you wonder why it was included.

Lethem is certainly a creative genius, however, he's still pretty hit or miss in harnessing his creativity. Sometimes he doesn't seem to know what to do with it and ends up writing himself into a bizarre corner. Still, I'll continue to read him to catch the sparkling stuff.