Fiction. A Moby Dick for the 21st Century, FOR FUCKS SAKE is a story of obsession, passion, longing, vomiting, and ultimately, aimless travel to a lot of different cities and states, all in the name of true love. Follow "Robert" as he treks through the decadence of New Orleans, the petulance of Philadelphia, the opulence of New York City, and the redundance of Winnesota (the 51st state in this great nation of ours, located between Wisconsin and Minnesota, near the Canadian border), all the time in search of that one perfect woman! Instead, he encounters a variety of feminine personas who make his life more and more miserable: a lesbian bartender who lives in the Ozarks, a bisexual bartender who follows him from NYC to New Orleans to Philadelphia, and finally, a straight woman who is the wife of his best friend.
It's hard damn work writing a book that reads so fun and easy. The same blend of self-deprecating charm and self-important pigheadedness that you find in Bukowski and Fante abounds, and Lasner even throws in some additional flourish. I'm especially fond of his naming and renaming the cities that serve as locations, and, of course, that intoxicating mash of of highbrow intellectualism and low-brow crass -- with some lines being spit-take worthy. My first book of Lasner's, but surely not my last.
What a waste of money. Totally unreadable. If you have it laying around the bathroom you can use it for other things. Can warm the house with it too if you have a fireplace, but not recommended for reading.
First chapter painfully concerned aged former frat boys partying in New Orleans focused only on drinking and looking for sex. No one was interesting in the least; probably a great impression of real life. I can't force myself to waste any more time on the rest of the book.
The title of this book was exactly what I thought as I reached the end of this novel (maybe that's the point). This novel was trying so hard to be so many things. It was trying to be Kerouac's On The Road, but lacked the ability to conjure the essence of a time and place, it wanted to be Miller but the lead character seemed so sexually inept, it wanted to be Bukowski but I know Charles would have put the lead character to shame in terms of his potential for debauchery. So what are we left with, a kind of road novel, involving lots drinking (but without much of the wit and fun of those he clearly aspired too), and some sex, which when it did happen always seemed to leave the protagonist in worse shape than if he'd not had any success. If this novel was terribly autobiographical all I can say is - I'm sorry, I hope you life has got better since. If it is fiction, I'll give you that it is a quick read, in that you are wanting to the lead to grow a pair and sort out his life, but are left after reading the last sentence thinking - FFS
I found this novel to be clever and brief enough to get through, but the lack of real character growth and insight eventually weighed me down. It is a study of a body of facts, and the author is very solipsistic and I hope went to rehab at some point. That said, its worth reading, and if I were younger (or still drinking) I might have thought it to deeply personal and invigoratingly honest.
If you can't judge a book by it's cover, how 'bout by it's title. A twisted tale of one man's post-baccalaureate indulgences of codependency. Scathing and humerous, this is a fast read. Unfortunately, it is filled with explicatives and now I have to watch what I say...
An awesome, gritty coming-of-age tale, a terrific book. Almost like a young Bukowski except instead of being an insightful dirtbag, I remember him being just a dirtbag. Even better. :)
another monotonous book I wanted to like more than I did. Put it down unfinished one day, never picked it back up but like the title so much I had to give it 3.