Customer Reviews

The Factory of Facts

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Sante has a wonderful mind, a kind heart, the eye of a detective, an uncanny ear for language, cultural differences, nuance, and the meaning of things. In this book you come to know him and to know a lot about his subject: Belgium, where he started from (the adored only child of quite wonderful parents), and his experience of emigration to the US, and living in two -- or more -- (physical, religious, linguistic, historical, geographic, mental, psychic) places. A Lacanian reverence for language informs this work, which is worth reading and rereading. Each chapter can stand alone as an absorbing and fascinating essay. Wow! You even learn the proper way to pronounce "Sante."

When I had the opportunity to study in Belgium I was told "Belgium is a beautiful country - when the sun shines." That is certainly correct. But if this book had been published before I left for Belgium it would have shown me a way of seeing this country in a whole new light. There is more than one source of sunlight. Luc Sante is one of those sources. If you are planning an extended stay in Belgium read it before you go. Even better, if you have had the experience of living in Belgium for a reasonable length of time you will want to get on the first plane back there.

"This book is the missing link between Benjamin's Arcades and Frank Kogan's fanzine Why Music Sucks, more streetwise than the former and with more potatoes than the latter, while not overlooking the traditions of the Rabelaisian catalogue, the Bretonian weekly junkshop run, or just good ol' Oulipian hijinks. You read this, then shoplift his templates and project them up onto the mural on the darkened childhood bedroom wall of your own life. Sometimes they come out looking like Nan Goldin's photographs; your psyche runs for cover." - John Wójtowicz

When I first heard that the man who had provided the model for the Jon Lovitz character on the criminally neglected cartoon series 'The Critic' had an autobiography out I was understandably excited. Sad to say, this latest entry in the memoir sweepstakes is a grave disappointment. A homely collection of borrowed postmod effects, graceless prose and anecdotes so boring that one begins to suspect the author of a passive-aggressive hostility. Alas, no matter how funny he may look, Luc Sante's no Jon Lovitz.