Customer Reviews

A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius : A Memoir Based on a True Story

5 star:		(357)
4 star:		(196)
3 star:		(144)
2 star:		(127)
1 star:		(151)

 

 

The arch tone of the title and the wit of the preface may blind readers to the real wonder of Egger's book: he's telling the truth. In a world of air quotes and the constant misuse of the word "ironic", Eggers is trying very hard to tell a difficult story. He writes of the death of his parents in the most unflattering terms, without the soft focus and belabored sentiment our culture has lead us to expect. The slow death of someone you love is sometimes horrible, and this story never denies that, or the way your mind escapes from that horror and focuses on trivia. While the writing may be self-conscious, it isn't pretending to be anything else, and the wonder is that Eggers is willing to accept everything that comes into his head, regardless of whether it seems appropriate. No other book has so honestly touched me since the death of my father, or more accurately captured what his dying meant to me.

Several reviewers have written of the way the book loses focus after the first section, but to me that is one of its strengths. In fiction the protagonist doesn't wander around pointlessly, especially not after a significant event like the death of a parent, but in the real world lives are untidy. As a new parent I appreciated the author's experimental attitude toward child rearing as well as his attempt to create a fascinating life for himself. The quality of the writing made his business woes, his menus, and his Frisbee obsession equally fascinating. The memoirs of a man who isn't afraid to show his own warts, but is touchingly considerate of those closest to him, this is a kind and engaging book.

Clearly this book isn't for everyone. It's incredibly self-reflexive. It's more than willing to employ a device while simultaneously satirizing it. Eggers, as described in his own words, is rarely likeable, noble, humble, or charming. Instead, he's self-indulgent, arrogant, and so full of neurosis that Woody Allen looks calm and confident in comparison.

And while these factors will elicit cries of how overrated the work is, I find them the fuel behind what is a darkly compelling fever dream. Eggers takes the theme of being consumed (by cancer, by being young and wanting to make a mark on the world, by the responsibility of raising a child while maintaining friendships) and exposes its results in a harsh light. And it's angry and difficult and ... well ... real.

Far different and more challenging than the back-patting, self-congratulatory, "Gee, aren't I a strong and admirable person for surviving these tribulations?" tone that fills most stories of this genre. I congratulate him on avoiding making things neat and tidy. The result is an astonishing, staggering, and, ultimately, heartbreaking work.

I'm certainly not of the MTV generation, more like the AARP generation. This book cuts across generational lines with witty, profane, touching prose. The last few pages left me literally breathless. I'm going to pass this book around. But not before I read it again.

Maybe I'm just too old. Maybe I'm just not cool or hip enough. It has to be me, right? After all, this book was a book of the year according to the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, and USA Today among others. But I found it unreadable. Really. Sixty pages into this book and I wanted to just give up on it. Both of Eggers' parents died of cancer within a few months of each other and this is his memoir of their death and his raising of his younger brother. It actually starts off OK but fairly early in the book Eggers runs out of things to say. This probably could have been a good short story but at over 400 pages it just drags on and on endlessly.

Even the writing style is annoying as he writes these long, boring run on sentences that go on to discuss how he and his brother are the coolest people on the planet and how he can throw a Frisbee higher and farther than anyone which the San Francisco Chronicle thinks is the Zen of Frisbee but that I think it is just attempting to write stream of consciousness sort of like you are James Joyce but Joyce took years to write Ulysses and the paragraphs here read like they were written in an afternoon after a couple of beers while Oprah's playing in the background and you really wish that you were back in the car driving to the nude beach because hanging out with your brother is a lot more fun than writing a book even if you know that people are going to spend their money to read it but you did warn them in the preface so if they are bored beyond tears then too bad because they were warned and so they really have no right to complain about the dreary and pointless paragraphs about imagining that your brother is killed in some insanely tragic way like being run over by a van in slow motion or the uninspired complaints about neighbors or women at the little league games or any of the other dull, lackluster, pedestrian, spiritless, and unimaginative paragraphs that grace this tedious book.

Anyway, I am sure you are much cooler than I am so you will love this book so don't pay any attention to this review and go out and buy the book and be fascinated by stories of warehouses and starting magazines and excrement coming out of backed up toilets and meeting Bill Clinton and wanting to kill people because they don't treat you and your brother like the horrible tragic victims of the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone because God knows that no one has ever lost their parents before and that no one has suffered as much tragedy as you and your family so writing a memoir and whining for 400 pages makes perfect sense and this reviewer is just a big jerk who doesn't get it.

This book was one part genius, two parts heartbreaking and five parts staggering. I bought it because the copywrite page had me cracking up in the bookstore, and when I read the first few pages out loud to my teenagers, we were laughing together (mostly because they thought hearing mom edit as she read was hilarious).

Eggers is right when he tells you that much of the book can be skipped. It does get a little tedious in the middle, but it's still worth reading. And it's good to know we have "permission" to skim through the long boring parts. The MTV interview, in particular, starts becoming repetitive and deserves to be skimmed. Interestingly though, after I was done with the book I went back and re-read the parts I had skimmed. They were still long and boring, but added to the story.

Eggers set himself up with the title -- we expect SO much when we're told we're reading a work of genius. When I finished the book, however, I realized that Eggers ego works for him. While I may disagree about the level of genius, I realize he could not have "made it through" his life without humor, mania, and ego.
If nothing else, the book reminds me that we "all have a story" and that it's how we live that story that matters.

The book bordered on 3 3/4 stars--it's readable, it's interesting, but it runs long. I'd definitely recommend it as an "interesting" book. When friends ask about it, I tell them only to read it if they're up for the emotional rollercoaster of a twenty-something young man with too much responsibility. And if they're okay with knowing ahead of time that they'll likely be skipping entire sections of the book.

It started out as the most brilliant and hilarious book I've ever read. I couldn't understand why it was getting so many mixed reviews, but then I got to the halfway point. AHWOSG, Dave Eggers memoirish first novel is quirky, funny, touching and exhilarting at times, morose, trite and annoying at others. It is almost as if two books were thrown into one. The first half dealing with him and his little brother, Toph is wonderful. Eggers reminded me of when I was 20 and taking my 12 year old brother places in my car and to the movies. It is a true and honest relationship. The caring, the kidding, the teasing, Eggers creates realistic characters in these two brothers. His stream-of-conciousness storytelling is NOT all over the place as you would think that type of writing tends to be. It is merely the true processing of his thoughts. It has focus. His mind races with indecision and worry each time he comes upon a situation, like leaving his brother with a babysitter, going to bed with a sexologist, etc. And I personally love his moments of braggadoccio: like when he and Toph are throwing the Frisbee or how he believes they are the best example of a parent/child relationship.

I love how his characters are used as dramatic representations of his memory, how they step out of character to take the form of his dueling conscience (ie: Toph suddenly begins talking way to scholastically for a little boy), and I love Eggers' unconventional style (as with his Monty Python-like acknowledgements page, his reenactment of a scene as a stage play, or his simple drawing of a stapler).

Around page 150 or so is when the bottom drops. When Eggers auditions for MTV's The Real World. What I didn't like about the second half is it becomes more of a straightforward story that is basically boring. I know that at some point there has to be an actual story, but maybe the problem is that it's not a very interesting one. Yes it's sad and tragic, but there are way too many "poor me" stories out there -- and though Eggers acknowledges that and his right to express it because it is his story and he wants the world to know it (which is part of his character's "look-at-me" persona) -- for me, this part of his book reads like one of those "poor me" tales. Like one of your run-of-the-mill gen-x cliches.

But that doesn't mean it's a bad book. It really is good. It's just a better book -- a GREAT book -- when Eggers takes chances. I believe he is a true talent, and I highly recommend reading AHWOSG.

Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is...well...just that. What more can I say? (See below.)

Let's talk the book's flaws: It's pretentious. It drips with silly 20-something life-angst that seems...well...unimportant and self-obsessed. Eggers prose often is often overwritten, overly cute, annoying. He concentrates too much on his own thoughts, which entertain at first, then numb.

But he warns us of these flaws in the book's preface! And he thoroughly disarmed any reservations I might have had for the book! How frustrating! How charming!

Eggers can write. The scenes of Eggers watching over his dying parents, his description of his brother, sister, and healthy parents ring true, feel electric, are as vivid as any character sketch you will ever read. And Eggers is funny. He's self-deprecating, honest and severe with himself. He's obsessed with sex. He plays Frisbee well.

This book is touching and annoying and funny and pretentious and electric and slow-moving. I loved its honesty and candor. True self-revelation is so rare in this recent memoir movement, it's refreshing to have Eggers out there.

Advice for Eggers: In future books, lose the self-introspection and write dialog and scenes. That's where your strength lays.

Advice for writers: Do not attempt to imitate Eggers' writing style. You will only fail and annoy your readers. (I've already noticed that the Eggers reviews on Amazon are sounding like cheap copies of the real thing-this one included!. Knock it off!)

The premise of this novel is great. It reminded me of a TV show of a few years back, Party of Five, featuring Neve Campbell. The parents pass away, and now the kids must fend for themselves, reorganize themselves into a kind of family, with Dave Eggers now assuming responsibility for Toph, the youngest brother. It hooked me emotionally at first.

At first. But what soon happens, it seems, is that Dave Eggers loses sight or track of his original emotional core, the main story and the novel grows more and more long-winded describing the circumstances following the arrival on the west coast. And later the novel degenerates even more with a sort of self-referential meta-fiction type hyperawareness.

What made me put the book down was a MTV interview which is supposed to provide more background on Eggers, but which is revealed to be a self-conscious gimmick for exposition: in other words, this is where he unloads all the stuff he couldn't technically fit elsewhere in the story.

I'm really fed up with this kind of meta-fiction gimmickry. It reminded me of the film Magnolia, where all the characters also seem to be aware that they are, yes, only characters or functionaries in a "story," with characters saying things like: "this is the part of the movie where you help me out," etc. This is so boring, and irritating. And old, already.

Back to AHWSG -- I finally did pick it up again, after skipping over the MTV part, but the long-windedness of the writing remained. There was a part near the end about Eggers remembering his mother's funeral and how few people seemed to show up to pay their respects -- and that part moved me because Eggers was able to drop the cloying ironic hipster mode and write about real feelings and his true sadness, which is something most of us can sympathize with. This part made me like the book more. But I thought why couldn't the whole book be more that way? Is the theme of abandonment and mortality simply too "heavy" to deal with head-on?

As other reviewers have mentioned, a reader needs a lot of patience with this book. You need to wade through a lot of inconsequential pages before reaching the book's emotional core. Eggers writes as someone not at all in a hurry to get to heart of his story. Stylistically, you might say he's "laid back." Nice diction, nice arcing sentences, easy flow, smooth...if only it all meant something, and sometimes it does. Sometimes.

Anyway, pick up a copy of this book, but only if you have the patience for it. I want you to lower your expectations. Don't expect in-your-face storytelling. Just yet Eggers is not that kind of author, although he obviously has natural talent. I also need to mention that other novel, "THE LOSERS CLUB: Complete Restored Edition" which other reviewers have brought up. Richard Perez is no Dave Eggers, but at least he can deliver short tight sentences and stay on track narratively. And I recommend both books over I AM CHARLOTTE SIMMONS, which at 600+ pages may be the greatest waste of paper ever; I pity the trees. Hard to believe that Wolfe, as a journalist, was once in the same cutting-edge league as the late Hunter S. Thompson. I could imagine Eggers writing a 1200 + page version of CHARLOTTE when he reaches Wolfe's age.

as a huge douglas coupland fan, i thought i might enjoy 'a heartbreaking work...' i should've known better. i tried to read 'you shall know our velocity' last year and found it entirely unreadable. i gave up after 200 pages of nonsense. several friends raved about 'ahwoasg,' so i thought, 'ok, i'll give eggars another try.' again, i was horribly disappointed.

the pros: yes, it's funny at times and very *honest* (though can we take eggars at his word? never trust an autobiography). i laughed out loud several times while reading. many of eggars observations are insightful and funny. and yes, we do feel badly for dave and toph (at least in the beginning) and the the sibs after they lose their parents and head west. the 'here's a drawing of a stapler' was a good one, but the novel is short on humor and long on 'look at me and feel badly for me and my poor little brother.' in the end i just didn't care, nor did i have any reason TO care. narcissists don't necessarily make compelling protagonists.

the cons: 500 pages of psychobabble, 'witticisms,' and 'biting obseravtions' don't necessarily make one a 'talented writer,' as so many have stated. get an editor, for crying out loud. the prose isn't anything write home about -- it's sloppy and unfocused (and what's the dropping the 'f-bomb' 20 times per page? get a thesaurus while you're at it). read eggars and then read steinbeck, eugenides, or ishiguro and you'll see the masters at work. this novel is so completely self-indulgent and bloated that i kept looking for a needle under my bed to pop the darn thing. eggars tries WAY too hard to show how 'clever' he is (by using his oh-so-ironic hipster slang), but he's not as clever as he wants to believe (unless he's playing us all -- which in that case, i would applaud him).

in short, it needs to be about 150-200 pages shorter. it needs an editor. it has it's funny moments, yes, but so did my grandma's funeral. i'm just glad i bought it used.

Have you ever had a friend who just couldn't stop talking about him or her self? They seem to have no other concern in life but to tell you how great, magnificent and important they are. It's as if they think they're the only ones who exist, or worse yet, matter. And after reading Dave Eggers' "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius", I couldn't help but feel that's exactly who I had been listening to.

Alright, perhaps I'm being a bit harsh. Eggers is a very talented writer, with enough quirkiness to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool to brimming. The subject matter he attempts here is very "heartbreaking", and he manages to evoke strong emotions from his readers without becoming overtly sentimental. And in dealing with the tragic loss of two parents to cancer (in the same month), this would be easy to do. Eggers deftly keeps his memoir moving by utilizing humor, anger, and a jarring, schizophrenic leaping from story thread to story thread.

Eggers shows a clever and refreshing playfulness in his writing. Where else are you greeted with directions on how to read a book? Where else do you get the story notes "before" the story actually begins? The book is also filled with various other clever devices, such as diagrams which point out optimal areas on his kitchen's hardwood floor for sock-sliding, a chart which explains all of the symbolism in his book (for his less alert readers), and a number of formatting switches, such as to movie script format or interviews written in italics. Eggers has employed nearly every trick in the book to maintain his reader's attention.

The story, however, even as Eggers states in his "reading directions", is a bit uneven. The heart of the story, that of Eggers' coping with raising his young, orphaned eight-year-old brother, Toph, is rendered with tenderness and honesty. Simple acts such as throwing frisbee and sliding down a hardwood floor in one's socks take on a philosophic poignancy, and the remarkably realistic dialogue between the brothers is captivating.

However, true to his schizophrenic nature, Eggers is not content to merely talk of Toph. The middle of the book he fills with stories of his attempts to start up a (relatively pointless) satirical magazine, Might, and his attempt to get on MTV's even-more-pointless reality show, The Real World. These threads, while somewhat entertaining, tend to wear thin, especially when Eggers continually rants about how great and important he is. The worst part is a nearly fifty page "transcription" of his interview with the producers of The Real World to sell himself onto the show. Pages and pages of where he grew up, what his favorite food was, and why he is so gosh dang vibrant and beautiful and necessary to everyone on the planet. Energy is refreshing. But in Eggers case, it gets self-indulgent at times.

Still, there is something to be read here. The first 100 pages and the last 50 are fantastic, particularly his thoughts on his mother, and Eggers exuberance, as well as his ferocious anger, are marvelous to behold. Staggering? Yes. Masturbatory? Very. Genius? Not quite. Entertaining? You betcha'.