You shall know our velocity
This is a novel by Dave Eggers, mastermind behind McSweeney's, a most excellent literary project, also author of a Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which he can say with only a modicum of arrogance. YSKOV is maybe not 100%brilliant, maybe 75% brilliant, but 100% original and inventive.
The narrative line is hard to follow, no traditional arc, but rather mapped out over suffering. The main character, the I, is really grieving for a friend. He's inherited money earned some ridiculous amount for posing on a light bulb box and can't keep, feeling anxious for having the money. So he tries to travel with his friend around the world to give it away to "deserving people."
Some parts tend to drag on a little. It took two tries to settle into it without feeling nervous or anxious for something to happen. But there are some really beautiful moments and insights, too. Part of it seems a commentary on US foreign policy, in terms of aid. Giving money haphazardly, sometimes to people who don't really need it. Believing that money is the problem, the core evil, when maybe the evil and unrest is us.
This reminds me of the great line from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate factory, or maybe it's Charlie, anyways, the first one that's totally creepy in a fantastic way. Willie says, "We are the music makers; we are the dreamers of the dream."
The capitalist in me thinks this would make a great t-shirt, the artist in me says fuck yeah! we ARE the creators. But the thing is, do we create nightmares or blissful heavenly landscapes.
Anyways, other highlights of this include play with layout and abstractions that aren't abstractions at all but more a visual concreteness paired asymmetrically with verbal wishes. I want to be this bird right here, and there is a picture of 30 birds with one circled. Why that one? Why is that one special?
Why not?
He has a brilliant way of describing the grieving process, comparing memory to a library peopled with renegade librarians who bring his worst memories to him when he is vulnerable, in triplicate.
And the imaginary conversations he has with people is a solid trope for describing the detachment and alienation we feel in modern societies. Unaccountably the pushing of things inward, the gravitation towards an asexual unembodied interface.
The narrative line is hard to follow, no traditional arc, but rather mapped out over suffering. The main character, the I, is really grieving for a friend. He's inherited money earned some ridiculous amount for posing on a light bulb box and can't keep, feeling anxious for having the money. So he tries to travel with his friend around the world to give it away to "deserving people."
Some parts tend to drag on a little. It took two tries to settle into it without feeling nervous or anxious for something to happen. But there are some really beautiful moments and insights, too. Part of it seems a commentary on US foreign policy, in terms of aid. Giving money haphazardly, sometimes to people who don't really need it. Believing that money is the problem, the core evil, when maybe the evil and unrest is us.
This reminds me of the great line from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate factory, or maybe it's Charlie, anyways, the first one that's totally creepy in a fantastic way. Willie says, "We are the music makers; we are the dreamers of the dream."
The capitalist in me thinks this would make a great t-shirt, the artist in me says fuck yeah! we ARE the creators. But the thing is, do we create nightmares or blissful heavenly landscapes.
Anyways, other highlights of this include play with layout and abstractions that aren't abstractions at all but more a visual concreteness paired asymmetrically with verbal wishes. I want to be this bird right here, and there is a picture of 30 birds with one circled. Why that one? Why is that one special?
Why not?
He has a brilliant way of describing the grieving process, comparing memory to a library peopled with renegade librarians who bring his worst memories to him when he is vulnerable, in triplicate.
And the imaginary conversations he has with people is a solid trope for describing the detachment and alienation we feel in modern societies. Unaccountably the pushing of things inward, the gravitation towards an asexual unembodied interface.
posted by InkSpot | 12:33 AM
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