Declare Out Of Books A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
| Title | : | A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius |
| Author | : | Dave Eggers |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Deluxe Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 485 pages |
| Published | : | February 13th 2001 by Vintage (first published February 17th 2000) |
| Categories | : | Fiction |
Dave Eggers
Paperback | Pages: 485 pages Rating: 3.68 | 163351 Users | 9061 Reviews
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'When you read his extraordinary memoir you don't laugh, then cry, then laugh again; you somehow experience these emotions all at once.' "Well, this was when Bill was sighing a lot. He had decided that after our parents died he just didn't want any more fighting between what was left of us. He was twenty-four, Beth was twenty-three, I was twenty-one, Toph was eight, and all of us were so tried already, from that winter. So when something would come up, any little thing, some bill to pay or decision to make, he would just sigh, his eyes tired, his mouth in a sorry kind of smile. But Beth and I...Jesus, we were fighting with everyone, anyone, each other, with strangers at bars, anywhere -- we were angry people wanting to exact revenge. We came to California and we wanted everything, would take what was ours, anything within reach. And I decided that little Toph and I, he with his backward hat and long hair, living together in our little house in Berkeley, would be world-destroyers. We inherited each other and, we felt, a responsibility to reinvent everything, to scoff and re-create and drive fast while singing loudly and pounding the windows. It was a hopeless sort of exhilaration, a kind of arrogance born of fatalism, I guess, of the feeling that if you could lose a couple of parents in a month, then basically anything could happen, at any time -- all bullets bear your name, all cars are there to crush you, any balcony could give way; more disaster seemed only logical. And then, as in Dorothy's dream, all these people I grew up with were there, too, some of them orphans also, most but not all of us believing that what we had been given was extraordinary, that it was time to tear or break down, ruin, remake, take and devour. This was San Francisco, you know, and everyone had some dumb idea -- I mean, wicca? -- and no one there would tell you yours was doomed. Thus the public nudity, and this ridiculous magazine, and the Real World tryout, all this need, most of it disguised by sneering, but all driven by a hyper-awareness of this window, I guess, a few years when your muscles are taut, coiled up and vibrating. But what to do with the energy? I mean, when we drive, Toph and I, and we drive past people, standing on top of all these hills, part of me wants to stop the car and turn up the radio and have us all dance in formation, and part of me wants to run them all over."
Be Specific About Books To A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
| Original Title: | A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius |
| ISBN: | 0375725784 (ISBN13: 9780375725784) |
| Edition Language: | English |
| Literary Awards: | Pulitzer Prize Nominee for General Nonfiction (2001), Guardian First Book Award Nominee (2000), Borders Original Voices Award for Nonfiction (2000), Puddly Award for Memoir (2001) |
Rating Out Of Books A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Ratings: 3.68 From 163351 Users | 9061 ReviewsWrite-Up Out Of Books A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I was reading this book and around page 237 (or was it 327? fuck), I figured it out- he's talking to ME. He wrote this book for me. Dave Eggers looked into the future and saw that I would want to read a self-referential, self-satisfying memoir. He knew that I would be trying to figure stuff, being in my twenties and all, and while not dealing with the enormity of losing both parents and having to rear a young sibling, I would have my own shit to work through. He.A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius, the 2000 memoir by Dave Eggers, was recommended to me by a college student I've gotten to know at McClain's Coffeehouse. I spend my weekends there writing and wasting time on social media while this guy is studying French or wasting time playing poker. We use each other as a sounding board when we're writing. We both love to read; he can't believe I've never read William Faulkner or Philip Roth. I can't believe he's never read Elmore Leonard or Stephen
Before I picked up this book I had heard endless tales of how wonderfully smart and funny this book was, how terrific the writing was and how the originality would slap me in the face like a cool wind on a summer's day. They were wrong. I hated this book like The Cure hates happiness. I understand writer's have their own style, and that is what, in and of itself, separates them from all the others. But, seriously, we learn paragraph breaks for a reason. It gives the mind's eye a break, a
OK, I give up @40%. There are some nice ideas, few interesting scenes and fun dialog here and there but it's all buried in cum from all that verbal mastrubation.
I had problems with Dave Eggers for a long time. Having never read a word he'd written, I immaturely thought I had every right to hate him. He was young, successful, and adored by critics. That was enough right there. When it first came out, I would see AHWOSG in the bookstore and grimace at it (more than once, I even gave it the evil eye). My loathing was out of sheer jealousy. I recognized it as such back then, but still carried on. It's hard to let go of things sometimes.OK. Fast forward
A very fine book, but tied closely with its period, so a bit dated. I suppose the publisher will be foot noting it before too long. Im going to have to read that really long, really serious Péter Nádas novel afterward, for AHWOSG is far too hysterical. Excessive hysteria pushed past all reasonable thresholds of human tolerance into the realm of whistling past the graveyard. I think its the twentysomething prospect of near-continuous coitus thats to blame, making the text at times almost a giddy
I was sick of Eggers'self-absorbed schtick after three pages of the preface. But, the cover read"pulitzer prize finalist" (among other superlatives), so I forged on. I'd madeit to page 33 of the actual text (without laughing once) when I noticed Eggers'picture on the back cover. He reminded me of some people I'd met when I wasworking at a startup company during the early internet boom. They were so fullof themselves with their free-wheeling style, their stock options, and theirflat-front
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