From Publishers Weekly
Where Barbara Ehrenreich surveyed the low-wage workplace with righteous indignation in Nickel and Dimed, novelist Cheever (Famous After Death) recounts his entry-level service jobs with rueful humor. His economic security (thanks to his wife) allows him to write about ventures that otherwise would be shrouded in shame, he says, leaving him with "bragging rights as a failure," since his novels haven't sold. Not everyone will buy that posture, but Cheever manages to combine empathy and edginess in his episodic chapters. As a security guard, he follows instructions to the letter, calling the cops to report a suspicious garbage truck. On the selling floor at CompUSA, he concludes that customers often just wanted to be listened to. At the more Darwinian electronics store Nobody Beats the Wiz, he finds the job's "moral unpleasantness" always pushing that extra insurance compounded by physical privation, as employees must ask permission to use the toilet. Versions of the best chapters have already appeared in print. At the high-volume, high-quality Cos¡ Sandwich Bar in Manhattan as reported in Gourmet magazine Cheever is known as "Slow G," short for "Slow Grandpa." At Borders Books & Music as he recounted in the New York Times Book Review he writes, "My enthusiasm seemed strangely out of place, and actually alarmed many of the customers." At the Auto Mall as told in the New Yorker he learns, "When you come here, you'll be selling Ben Cheever first." He likes the work, despite the inevitable deception, suggesting that the semi-faux charm of car salesmen is much like that wielded in other social circles. "I've grown to respect the people on the other side of the counter," concludes Cheever, declaring that there is camaraderie and decency in even humble jobs. (Oct.)~Forecast: Though more of a meditation than a manifesto, this book should be a natural for talk show and other discussions.
Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Library Journal
You've heard the moral of Cheever's tale before: never shop retail. Actually, that's only a by-the-by message of this quick-reading riff on working life in the malls of America, conceived when this boomer writer living in suburban New York comfort in the mid-1990s, rather acutely conscious of being the less-famous writing child of a celebrated practitioner of fiction had the idea that he could sell extended journalism after failing to sell the manuscript of his third novel. So off he went to work at a series of jobs he never really needed, as a guard for a nationally known security firm, salesman for a chain computer store (Apple to the discerning only), sandwichmaker at a Gourmet-approved franchised outfit, clerk at a Borders bookstore (librarians are right to snort), appliance flogger at a discount giant (discount, heck!), and, finally and most sadly, as a wannabe Toyota jockey peddling Oldsmobiles. Despite the smug tone he drops his medium-intellectual celebrity wife's name so much that she will probably regret her gig as a film critic and a constantly pushed irony button that sometimes edges over into outright class snobbery, this is a very funny and informative look at downward mobility just prior to the dot-com prosperity that's already nostalgia fodder. Highly recommended for academic and public libraries. Scott H. Silverman, Bryn Mawr Coll. Lib., PA
Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.