Customer Reviews

Love Me

5 star:		(9)
4 star:		(5)
3 star:		(6)
2 star:		(11)
1 star:		(7)

 

 

Fans of Prairie Home Companion may or may not like GK's new book "Love Me," but to fans of his books it will not disappoint. It's definitely R-rated, but in his uniquely human and self-conscious way.

Not every action of the main character is likeable, but we're all flawed and fallen, which is a central theme of this book. In regards to a previous review, all of GK's books seem to be part autobiography, part fiction. I wouldn't assume that much of the book depicts real events from the author's life.

If you've already read a summary of the plot, be sure that there is much more to the story. It's a very rich and rewarding book, filled with GK's insights and unique humor, but it isn't the 'News from Lake Wobegon,' and may offend some more conservative readers.

I absolutely loved this book and recommend it without hesitation. If you're new to Garrison Keillor as an author, my personal favorite books are 'WLT: A Radio Romance,' and 'Wobegon Boy,' though I've enjoyed them all.

Reading these other 12 reviews, I am disappointed in the reaction to this brilliant book. Granted, if you're already a Keillor fan, you're in heaven as you read the lines and hear Garrison's voice insinuate the pauses and hesitations, the stuttering and comic inflections, that make his radio show a 25-year enduring icon of compassionate comedy.

His theme is a bit odd -- a young writer dreaming of one day joining the New Yorker fulfills that dream, only to be beset by the Mafia, a "can't live with it, can't live without it" marriage, and terminal writer's block. Within the story is another story, that of the protagonist as lonely hearts editor. The letters he receives, and the replies he sends, are hysterical, odd, and clever.

Don't overanalyze the humor and hyperscrutinize the plot. This is just plain funny stuff, with the occasional poignant and touching revelation about what it means to be a human wrestling with one's devil of an ego. It's vintage Keillor, and vintage fun.

First, I wouldn't read this book until I were over 50. It would also help to have been married at least once. Second, I wouldn't read it if I were wound too tight, if sex and obscenity disturb me, even if described skillfully.

Keillor is a marvelous writer, and throws off more off-hand wit in a poem or paragraph than you or I could in a lifetime. His parodies of free verse alone are worth the price of the book.

I wish Keillor had stopped writing "Love Me" about 20 pages before its ending. The bathos of the hero's medical problem and the gratuitous slam on President Bush were unnecessary, in my opinion.

That said, no hesitation at all recommending this book.

The book begins on a clever premise that just runs out of gas. By the midpoint I had the distinct feeling that Garrison was dealing with a severe case of "um, what do I do now?". His obsessive but dumbly implausible study of the inner workings of the New Yorker magazine struck me as an "in joke" between him and his buddies at that famous magazine.

And by the end, after leaving his wife in a fit of midlife crisis, and slogging through multiple sexual conquests (ultimately unfulfilling, of course) he worms his way back into his wife's good graces, where he slips into old age with little grace and less dignity. End of book.

Meanwhile, Keillor seems absolutely enamored with the premise that if you're a writer, even a very bad one, women everywhere want to sleep with you, no matter your marital status, how old you are, or how young they are. Of course, he might be right. I wouldn't know.

However, the fundamental implausibility of just about everything that happens in these pages left me continually shaking my head. It occurred to me more than once that this book was probably better for Garrison than it was for us.

Anyway, I started the book hoping to recommend it to friends and family. By the time I was done, I just tucked it away on the shelf, and quietly moved on to The Kite Runner.

Keillor in his fifties knows first hand the struggles with the meaning of life, alcohol, silly sex, and why marriage is good for you. Larry Wyler's wife, Iris, does just fine, thank you very much, without Larry, but Larry spirals out of control without her steadying influence. And within this story is the wonderful satire of inside The New Yorker magazine, where all the famous writers display exactly opposite personalities of how they were in real life.

This sly book hides its serious core of midwestern values with hilarity and satire. "Love Me" is Keillor's best book so far. Unlike Larry Wyler, Keillor's alter ego in this book whose writing regressed in quality and quantity, Keillor's seems to just get better.

I giggled out loud reading this book. Garrison never hits you over the head with with obvious humor. If you slow down and read every word your attention is rewarded with puns, call backs, oddities and intelligent humor.

This is a delightful book. Read it.

Garrison Keillor often seems obsessed with sex. Sex is a good thing, but "Love Me" is too much of that one good thing. Stick to radio.

Some people (like my wife) have no appreciation of Garrison Keillor. I, on the other hand, have been known to temporarily absent myself from a family barbecue and go out to the car so I can turn on NPR and catch the latest News from Lake Woebegon. He is without doubt the most hypnotic storyteller in America today. But if your only exposure to his stuff is Prairie Home Companion, if you've never read his novels, then you don't know that Keillor also has a salty side. My personal favorite is still WLT: A Radio Romance, but this latest offering ranks high on the list. Larry Wyler of St. Paul (Keillor's hometown and his Everytown) has an English degree and the ambition of being published in The New Yorker and living the Good Life. Iris, the love of his life even when they're semi-separated for years, is a no-nonsense do-gooder who doesn't approve of conspicuous consumption. Larry tries hard to come up with the Great Midwestern Novel, but his writing is just too self-conscious and mannered. Finally, spurred by How to Write Your Novel in Thirty Days (we've all read books like that), he cranks out an action-adventure potboiler, sells it within weeks for a big advance, and hits the best seller lists. His ship has come in. He's in demand on radio and television. People line up for his autograph. His publisher advances him a quarter-million for his next book. And all Larry can think about is escaping St. Paul and moving to New York for an office at 25 West 43rd Street, the Mecca of all serious American writers. Of course, his move is spurred also by Iris's discovery of his two almost casual infidelities. And Iris has no interest in New York, so off he goes. He becomes sailing buddies with Bill Shawn, Salinger drops by to chat (in between appearances on TV game shows), Updike tells him about the pistol in his desk drawer, Kael takes him to the movies (and brings her own popcorn). And Larry can't write another damn thing. Blocked like an ailing colon. In desperation, and because he needs the income, he takes on a twice-weekly advice column, "Ask Mr. Blue," for the Minneapolis newspaper, which he delivers by email while remaining in his tiny New York apartment. But that's the only bright spot in his life now. His second novel is a pretentious bomb, immediately remaindered (Barnes & Noble removes the security tags so as not to discourage shoplifters), the only good thing he writes gets left on a train, and he's drinking and gaining weight. But things will brighten up eventually -- sort of. To me, the strongest part of the book is the resilient relationship between Larry and Iris, their crowd of odd friends, and the behind-the-scenes look at the New Yorker staff (to look at them, you'd never know they were all Sicilian and that the publisher was a Mafioso). The letters Mr. Blue receives and Larry's replies -- his only writing that seems to come easy -- go a bit over the top, I think, though they also serve as markers in his own life. And I would have left off the Epilogue entirely; it's way too much of a downer and threatens to spoil the essentially hopeful thrust of the rest of the book. Still, Keillor is mostly successful, as he mostly always is, and I shall be looking forward to his next.

Garrison Keillor isn't Jonathan Franzen or Michael Chabon. Love Me won't be a Pulitzer finalist, and the prose isn't the sort of muscular writing that wins an author rave reviews from the New York Times Book Review .

With that disclaimer out of the way, Keillor's latest novel is utterly charming. It tells the story of a relationship over a lifetime, carrying the reader along from the first date (at a choir concert) through decades of separation and infidelity and onward to the realization, acknowledged from the start of the book, that the narrator's place is in St. Paul with his wife, not hobnobbing in New York or gallivanting in Holland with a more stylish woman.

Seeing that from the start would make for a more satisfying life, but it wouldn't be much of a book. Instead, Love Me has plot twists to spare. Larry Wyler-narrator and thinly-veiled Keillor stand-in-slogs along as an unpublished writer, suddenly achieves bestsellerdom and fame, works at the New Yorker , rubbing shoulders with Updike and Salinger, releases a flop, and becomes Mr. Blue, an advice columnist. In a bizarre plot twist that offers a revealing sample of the novel's overall mood, Wyler discovers that the New Yorker -the magazine he has worshipped all his life-is a vehicle for the mob, and he is called on by the staff to kill the publisher, who plans to merge the magazine with Field and Stream .

The writing, for most of the book, is suitable for such a plot, playful and inviting, and it carries the reader along. As Wyler ages, the prose changes; the novel's conclusion is written tenderly, a reflection of the narrator's softening and newfound wisdom as time goes by, and the result is a tone fitting for those who imagine Keillor's famous voice as they read his work. The shift makes the final fifth of the book the best part of it; as Wyler works to fix his marriage the new kindness he lavishes on his long-neglected wife is reflected onto the reader as well.

An added bonus for this reader was Keillor's apparent love, though jaded, for his home in Minnesota. Scenes relaxing at the cabin up north, roaming the State Fair, and simply existing around St. Paul and Minneapolis are perfectly rendered to inspire a bout of Minnesota nostalgia.

Keillor has also let his bitterness about the current political situation seep through: Bush's ascendance in 2000 is an important event near the end of the book, and St. Paul's mayor, clearly meant to be now-Senator Norm Coleman, comes in for some harsh treatment. But this is a minor distraction from a delightful, if admittedly also minor, novel.

Garrison has done again. So,if you've liked what he's done before, you'll like this novel; if you despise him (and thus have likely hated his work without reading it),you'll hate this one too.

As usual, he takes on the Republicans,the media, most of the female race, and the elite for our amusement. He savagely attacks what he sees as the elite right, including our newest senator Norm Coleman ("100% smile and 0% content" ). However,he reserves the harshest attacks for himself, assuming this novel to be auto-biographical, describing his various extra-marital dalliances and even difficulties with adulterous impotence!

He'll no doubt be criticized by many who feel his political comments are out of line, even though he uses the guise of fiction (including very thinly disguised characters) to promote his liberal views.

As a liberal,it was a delight to read the political parts of this novel, and thus no problem to read through them to the more hilarious difficulties he faces with his career and marriage. Reading it in bed last night, I couldn't help but repeatedly laugh out loud, resulting in some personal marital strain. Others of a more conservative persuasion may find the political pill so hard to swallow that they won't appreciate the great writing he offers here. This novel is definitely not about Lake Wobegon, but about what happens after Lake Wobegon has been left far behind.

Reading this book reminded me of sitting through a meeting of my son's Boy Scout troop (average age 13). There are a lot of dumb jokes, distressing attitudes and oh, my, such a fear of appearing even a little grown-up.
Still, it's hard not to like a book that makes a bonfire of the recent spate of sanctimonious old-New Yorker memoirs. Keillor's bizarro-world editor William Shawn is the antonym of the plaster saint of shy mannerliness his former magazine colleagues depict. This Shawn is a two-fisted-drinking, powerboat-driving, Hemingwayesque he-man -- worth a look, despite the silly Mafia subplot that's apparently meant to score off the real-life, Italian-surnamed publisher of the New Yorker at the time of its takeover by a magazine conglomerate.
"Love Me" is a ragbag of material Keillor seems not to have had the energy to develop further. There's a scene or so from his brief marriage to a Danish woman, samples of the recurring Mr. Blue advice column Keillor actually wrote for Salon magazine and a lot of bleep-on-your-background humor that echoes "Prairie Home Companion" sketches. If you lose your place, it doesn't matter much -- except in a few spots where some kind of honest feeling comes through.
There's a part near the end in which the narrator reflects on the value of a long marriage and the destructiveness of adultery. Why search the world for the perfect tuna sandwich, he asks, when your wife makes a good tuna sandwich? Reductive, and a bit nasty, sure, but this is Keillor giving a serious subject his best try. In the context of a story about an interrupted marriage, with a dedication to the author's late first wife, it's touching. That said, the author is then so embarrassed, he ends the book by giving his character an amnesiac illness, played for uneasy laughs.
I hope someday Keillor feels able to write his memoirs. I'm reminded of a time I heard an interviewer ask this plummy-voiced radio personality to "say something in" his native Minnesota accent. Keillor refused, for no particular reason I can remember. Maybe he could get it back, at least in print, for a more forthright book about his life. That would be a story readers really could love.