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Pocket Kings
In this dead-on satire of online obsessions, a novelist with writer's block finds a new-and very lucrative-stream of income in a virtual world that appears to give him everything he lacks in the real world.When Frank Dixon, a frustrated writer who has seen his career crash and burn, decides to dabble in online poker, he discovers he has a knack for winning. In this newfound realm, populated by alluring characters-each of them elusive, mysterious, and glamorous-he becomes a smash popular, rich, and loved. Going by the name Chip Zero, he sees his fortunes and romantic liaisons thrive in cyberspace while he remains blind to the fact that his real life is sinking. His online success, however, does not come without complications, as he comes to realize that his “virtual” friends and lovers are, in fact, very real, and one rival player is not at all happy that Mr. Zero has taken all his money.Heller's cautionary tale is continually surprising and startlingly real, a tour de force of satirical storytelling in the vein of Jonathan Tropper and Sam Lipsyte.
355 pages, Paperback
Published March 27, 2012
18 people are currently reading
255 people want to read
About the author
Ted Heller
6 books40 followersHello, Reader.
I am the author of three—no, make that FOUR—novels. They are, in order of appearance: Slab Rat, Funnymen, Pocket Kings, and West of Babylon.
Slab Rat was a dark novel about office politics in the magazine business and how one man (the book's narrator) would sink to any level to succeed. The Washington Post named it one of the year's 10 best books.
Funnymen was a slightly less dark, fictitious "oral biography" about a Martin-and-Lewis-type comedy team. It followed them from cradle to grave. If there's a better novel out there about comedians, I don't know about it.
Pocket Kings, which came out in 2012, was a very, very dark novel about a failed writer who achieves playing online poker the success and glory he sought in the literary world. Thought he makes hundreds of thousands of dollars playing, he still manages to lose everything else.
And now comes West of Babylon. It's not really that dark at all but, compared to Pocket Kings, neither is a black room with no windows, doors, light and air. West of Babylon is about a Long Island-based rock band that's been together for almost forty years. Although their heyday is long gone, they still record and play. They now face their most serious crisis ever, though, as one of the band members is seriously ill.
My agent and I sent out West of Babylon on the heels of the rave reviews for Pocket Kings, but publishers passed on it. I thought that this book was too good to not publish so I am publishing it myself, in electronic format only. There was no way I was going to let this story and these characters die.
I had a lot of fun writing and researching West of Babylon. I listened to music I hadn't listened to for a while and read books about the Rolling Stones, the Band, the Allman Brothers, etc.
I hope you read West of Babylon and really like it.
Thanks
I am the author of three—no, make that FOUR—novels. They are, in order of appearance: Slab Rat, Funnymen, Pocket Kings, and West of Babylon.
Slab Rat was a dark novel about office politics in the magazine business and how one man (the book's narrator) would sink to any level to succeed. The Washington Post named it one of the year's 10 best books.
Funnymen was a slightly less dark, fictitious "oral biography" about a Martin-and-Lewis-type comedy team. It followed them from cradle to grave. If there's a better novel out there about comedians, I don't know about it.
Pocket Kings, which came out in 2012, was a very, very dark novel about a failed writer who achieves playing online poker the success and glory he sought in the literary world. Thought he makes hundreds of thousands of dollars playing, he still manages to lose everything else.
And now comes West of Babylon. It's not really that dark at all but, compared to Pocket Kings, neither is a black room with no windows, doors, light and air. West of Babylon is about a Long Island-based rock band that's been together for almost forty years. Although their heyday is long gone, they still record and play. They now face their most serious crisis ever, though, as one of the band members is seriously ill.
My agent and I sent out West of Babylon on the heels of the rave reviews for Pocket Kings, but publishers passed on it. I thought that this book was too good to not publish so I am publishing it myself, in electronic format only. There was no way I was going to let this story and these characters die.
I had a lot of fun writing and researching West of Babylon. I listened to music I hadn't listened to for a while and read books about the Rolling Stones, the Band, the Allman Brothers, etc.
I hope you read West of Babylon and really like it.
Thanks
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 66 reviews
June 20, 2012
With the passing of Ray Bradbury went one of the most prescient minds in all of literature. Two of his creations from "Fahrenheit 451" have taken a pit bull's grip on the way we interact with one another: the Seashell, with which Guy's wife withdraws from him at night to listen to her own music, and the parlor walls that show television programs. The ultimate media purchase, of course, was the four-wall parlor that would show holographic television shows in the middle of the room -- making it as though the owners had a new set of friends over for the evening.
Fast forward to the Walkman, and now the iPod in all of its forms. Fast forward to the online avatar, behind which any person can take on a new identity and actually BE that identity, at least as far as the rest of the chat room knows.
Enter Frank W. Dixon. No, he's not the pseudonymous group of men who wrote all of those "Hardy Boys" books, although people mistake him for that conglomerate when he goes into bookstores looking for his own published work. Instead, he is a novelist who has written one decent novel, one bad novel, and then a third that is so dark and depraved that it disgusts the editorial assistants to whom he sends it. Indeed, his own agent has stopped contacting him -- even enough to release Frank's book back to him.
Caught in writer's limbo, Dixon has a full-time job (the nature of which we never really learn) and a beautiful wife, but neither are enough to assuage the growing hole in his self-esteem. And so he turns to the world of online poker, becoming the avatar Chip Zero. Even as he gains weight and starts to look insane in real life, he takes on a grandiose form in the poker room, attracting the attentions of the Artsy Painter Gal and the watchful eye of the Second Gunman. Over the course of the story, Chip Zero builds up over half a million in winnings. Unfortunately, he forgets what it is like to be engaged in the real world. He goes to working half-days and then quits altogether; he sets up an all too real week of adultery in London with the Gal, only for his wife to find out (and for the week to have an even weirder conclusion).
The story is all too predictable, though, careening towards an ending that you can, if you want, guess about halfway into the book. The first-person narrator starts to sound like Richard Lewis in any of his appearances on "Crub Your Enthusiasm" after about 8 1/2 pages. Which is good if you like that sort of thing. The plot moves quickly, and there are some nice comedic touches, such as the banter on the cross-country cab ride that Chip Zero, Second Gunman and the Toll House Cookie (yes, THC) take in real life from New York City to Vegas, only to find that real-life poker is much too scary for them; they end up spending the week gambling via laptop.
However, I don't like watching traffic accidents unfold over the course of several hours or days, and while I was reading, I would keep waiting for Frank to slap himself in the face, to wake up and realize the depths to which he has sunk, the life that he is missing. The only question, of course, is whether he will realize that he still has hands.
Fast forward to the Walkman, and now the iPod in all of its forms. Fast forward to the online avatar, behind which any person can take on a new identity and actually BE that identity, at least as far as the rest of the chat room knows.
Enter Frank W. Dixon. No, he's not the pseudonymous group of men who wrote all of those "Hardy Boys" books, although people mistake him for that conglomerate when he goes into bookstores looking for his own published work. Instead, he is a novelist who has written one decent novel, one bad novel, and then a third that is so dark and depraved that it disgusts the editorial assistants to whom he sends it. Indeed, his own agent has stopped contacting him -- even enough to release Frank's book back to him.
Caught in writer's limbo, Dixon has a full-time job (the nature of which we never really learn) and a beautiful wife, but neither are enough to assuage the growing hole in his self-esteem. And so he turns to the world of online poker, becoming the avatar Chip Zero. Even as he gains weight and starts to look insane in real life, he takes on a grandiose form in the poker room, attracting the attentions of the Artsy Painter Gal and the watchful eye of the Second Gunman. Over the course of the story, Chip Zero builds up over half a million in winnings. Unfortunately, he forgets what it is like to be engaged in the real world. He goes to working half-days and then quits altogether; he sets up an all too real week of adultery in London with the Gal, only for his wife to find out (and for the week to have an even weirder conclusion).
The story is all too predictable, though, careening towards an ending that you can, if you want, guess about halfway into the book. The first-person narrator starts to sound like Richard Lewis in any of his appearances on "Crub Your Enthusiasm" after about 8 1/2 pages. Which is good if you like that sort of thing. The plot moves quickly, and there are some nice comedic touches, such as the banter on the cross-country cab ride that Chip Zero, Second Gunman and the Toll House Cookie (yes, THC) take in real life from New York City to Vegas, only to find that real-life poker is much too scary for them; they end up spending the week gambling via laptop.
However, I don't like watching traffic accidents unfold over the course of several hours or days, and while I was reading, I would keep waiting for Frank to slap himself in the face, to wake up and realize the depths to which he has sunk, the life that he is missing. The only question, of course, is whether he will realize that he still has hands.
October 30, 2014
Okay, it's been awhile since I finished a book with chills. Absolute-fucking-chills. I read this because it was free on Kindle unlimited and I figured, hey why not.
Let me say this.
This is not a book about what it is like to live in the digital age.
Nor is it a book about cell phone culture.
This is a book hipsters will hate.
This is a book about an overweight, middle age, author who is both extremely unlikable and terribly easy to relate to all at the same time. This is a book about who we are vs how we are perceived. It's about lying, cheating, stealing, and creativity. Creativity as good and evil. Monkeys on-the-back abound.
It's pure fucking genius and I rarely say that about any author.
Go read, this, it's a good one.
Let me say this.
This is not a book about what it is like to live in the digital age.
Nor is it a book about cell phone culture.
This is a book hipsters will hate.
This is a book about an overweight, middle age, author who is both extremely unlikable and terribly easy to relate to all at the same time. This is a book about who we are vs how we are perceived. It's about lying, cheating, stealing, and creativity. Creativity as good and evil. Monkeys on-the-back abound.
It's pure fucking genius and I rarely say that about any author.
Go read, this, it's a good one.
May 31, 2012
The writing is witty, the plot is sort of thin. I started out enjoying this novel a great deal, the first person narration was humorous. After awhile, though, it started to wear thin on me. I do not know if this was due to the author or to my own shortcomings as a reader. By the time came for the Las Vegas roadtrip, I was skipping pages and skimming just to not lose the threads of the story.
I guess there are three areas being explored (or skewered) in this book. The first--and, really, foremost--is modern day publishing. The narrator has written two (apparently bad) novels, which he incessantly tracks their sales ranking on Amazon (a nice touch). This subplot would be more interesting, but all of the targets are very easy marks--i.e. mixing and matching names of authors like Franzen, Foster Wallace, Chabon, etc. to mock "serious literary" media darlings--is not exactly new, nor is having agents be shifty, lying douchebags, editors be largely clueless outside their cocktail lunches and barely literate suburban moms with incredibly stupid ideas suddenly rocketing up the bestseller list. The real saving grace is that the narrator admits that his books, too, were essentially trash.
The second area is the world of online poker. The book assumes readers will be familiar with poker and its terms, and does not explain much of anything regarding poker itself, anyone's strategy or why it would be interesting and the hub for all of the main characters' lives. The narrator never describes his poker playing in detail really, preferring to stick with summaries like "I logged on and won $6,000 in four hours." So, folks looking for a story that revolves around poker and high-stakes gambling--despite the title and cover art--are likely to be disappointed. And, as with the satire of the NY publishing scene, here the narrator delivers the shocking revelations that 1) people online lie about their appearance, lives and other vital statistics; 2) people feel more "connected" to their online "friends" than they do to the people in their "real" lives; and 3) that is the recipe for disaster. Again, not any bombshells divulged here.
Lastly, this novel explores various relationships --both online and in real time. The narrator is pretty much an unlikable cad who lies to his patient wife constantly, attempts to cheat on her with a woman he only knows from online, and (SPOILER ALERT) is only "sorry" after he has been caught. In his other relationships, he pretty much is uncharitable to everyone he meets or interacts with over the course of the entire book. Again, he is often equally uncharitable about his own shortcomings, which readers may find either refreshing or else creating an unpleasant individual to spend several hundred pages with while reading.
It may sound like I really detested this book, but that is not the case. The writing is sprightly enough that it is easy to read as one is reading. It is only after one is done reading and considers what has just been read that the above conclusions are more apparent.
Overall, I think the writer is talented and I would try something else from this writer for a few chapters and see from there. This is not a bad book, just not particularly striking in any area.
I guess there are three areas being explored (or skewered) in this book. The first--and, really, foremost--is modern day publishing. The narrator has written two (apparently bad) novels, which he incessantly tracks their sales ranking on Amazon (a nice touch). This subplot would be more interesting, but all of the targets are very easy marks--i.e. mixing and matching names of authors like Franzen, Foster Wallace, Chabon, etc. to mock "serious literary" media darlings--is not exactly new, nor is having agents be shifty, lying douchebags, editors be largely clueless outside their cocktail lunches and barely literate suburban moms with incredibly stupid ideas suddenly rocketing up the bestseller list. The real saving grace is that the narrator admits that his books, too, were essentially trash.
The second area is the world of online poker. The book assumes readers will be familiar with poker and its terms, and does not explain much of anything regarding poker itself, anyone's strategy or why it would be interesting and the hub for all of the main characters' lives. The narrator never describes his poker playing in detail really, preferring to stick with summaries like "I logged on and won $6,000 in four hours." So, folks looking for a story that revolves around poker and high-stakes gambling--despite the title and cover art--are likely to be disappointed. And, as with the satire of the NY publishing scene, here the narrator delivers the shocking revelations that 1) people online lie about their appearance, lives and other vital statistics; 2) people feel more "connected" to their online "friends" than they do to the people in their "real" lives; and 3) that is the recipe for disaster. Again, not any bombshells divulged here.
Lastly, this novel explores various relationships --both online and in real time. The narrator is pretty much an unlikable cad who lies to his patient wife constantly, attempts to cheat on her with a woman he only knows from online, and (SPOILER ALERT) is only "sorry" after he has been caught. In his other relationships, he pretty much is uncharitable to everyone he meets or interacts with over the course of the entire book. Again, he is often equally uncharitable about his own shortcomings, which readers may find either refreshing or else creating an unpleasant individual to spend several hundred pages with while reading.
It may sound like I really detested this book, but that is not the case. The writing is sprightly enough that it is easy to read as one is reading. It is only after one is done reading and considers what has just been read that the above conclusions are more apparent.
Overall, I think the writer is talented and I would try something else from this writer for a few chapters and see from there. This is not a bad book, just not particularly striking in any area.
December 30, 2011
A self-important writer finds solace in the world of online poker after his second book is widely panned and his third fails to find a publisher. Franklin W. Dixon (no, not that Franklin W. Dixon) clings to his writing dream even when his wife can't finish his depressing books and his agent quits returning his calls. The only thing that keeps him going is a surprising talent for online poker. Money seems to come his way effortlessly, he makes lots of virtual friends, acts as voyeur to all kinds of emotional and sexual drama at "private" poker tables, and even begins an online affair with a woman who he thinks understands him better than his patient wife.
Heller takes satirical stabs at both the book world and at deluded writers while developing a marvelously flawed narrator. A novel with hundreds of poker hands seems likely to be repetitive, but the author shows great facility at finding an interesting twist whenever things start to stall. And he has plenty to say about what is real and what is virtual.
The depiction of poker might not satisfy experienced players, as Dixon seems to rely more on luck than any real skill to become a winner and the proportion of hands played to hands folded is way to high, but I think a little creative license is allowed here. What's important is that the book is very funny. I particularly loved the pathetic readings, the misbegotten road trips, and the dead-on descriptions of the surface mutual admiration and closet loathing that exists between writers.
Satire isn't easy. Unless it's done particularly well, the ugliness can overwhelm the humor, but I think Heller pulls this one off with panache.
Heller takes satirical stabs at both the book world and at deluded writers while developing a marvelously flawed narrator. A novel with hundreds of poker hands seems likely to be repetitive, but the author shows great facility at finding an interesting twist whenever things start to stall. And he has plenty to say about what is real and what is virtual.
The depiction of poker might not satisfy experienced players, as Dixon seems to rely more on luck than any real skill to become a winner and the proportion of hands played to hands folded is way to high, but I think a little creative license is allowed here. What's important is that the book is very funny. I particularly loved the pathetic readings, the misbegotten road trips, and the dead-on descriptions of the surface mutual admiration and closet loathing that exists between writers.
Satire isn't easy. Unless it's done particularly well, the ugliness can overwhelm the humor, but I think Heller pulls this one off with panache.
September 16, 2012
I received Pocket Kings by Ted Heller for free through good reads first reads giveaway. This book is an interesting tale of a man's descent into addiction. Though this is not the average tale of addiction. The main character whose name is Frank, seems to enjoy every minute of his addiction. I must say though that when it came to this book I was doing what readers should never do, judging a book by its cover. I personally am not into playing cards and know nothing about it, due to this I wanted to read this book but kept putting it off. I am ashamed of this because I did enjoy this book and once starting it I had a hard time putting it down. This is a depressive tale and throughout the story I felt truly sorry for Frank and kept mentally yelling at him, like NOOO don't do that people are going think your crazy and a stalker! Though the only thing I wasnt too thrilled with in Pocket Kings was all the references to cards like two 2s and such because I do not know anything about cards and poker or how to even play I honestly had no clue what it meant. But I guess the main point of this was showing that he was winning money and the extent of the winnings. In general I enjoyed reading this book, its different from what I normally read and was an interesting insight into the world of online gambling and the affect it can have on people and how it mentally affects the people who play.
October 5, 2012
Frank Dixon is a struggling has been writer with one quasi hit under his belt…that disappeared almost immediately after bad reviews from three prominent sources killed the sales. His follow-up fared no better and his masterwork, a trilogy, languishes unpublished and unread. Out of boredom, or maybe curiosity, he dives into the world of online poker…where he forms relationships, crushes his poker enemies, and most importantly, he wins. He lies to his wife, Cynthia, when he fails to inform her that he has quit his job to play poker full time under the online name of “Chip Zero.” He also lies when he tells her he has been writing…
What follows is a journey into one man’s slow disintegration into an unreal world which leads to some unexpected consequences, including a fake online affair, some questionable friendships, and even some enemies, real or unreal.
I loved this book. It moves along so well, is well plotted, and admittedly, it played into a few of my own favorite areas: writing and gambling. It is also hilarious. The part where Frank is in England and desperately needs to find a copy of his book to do a reading, yet he is so unsuccessful as a writer that he cannot even find a copy in any bookstore is both amusing and uncomfortable to fathom, as is also the result of his online affair toward the end of the book.
This is great fun, and appropriately enough, even the form of the story (a fake memoir) bends reality. Great stuff.
What follows is a journey into one man’s slow disintegration into an unreal world which leads to some unexpected consequences, including a fake online affair, some questionable friendships, and even some enemies, real or unreal.
I loved this book. It moves along so well, is well plotted, and admittedly, it played into a few of my own favorite areas: writing and gambling. It is also hilarious. The part where Frank is in England and desperately needs to find a copy of his book to do a reading, yet he is so unsuccessful as a writer that he cannot even find a copy in any bookstore is both amusing and uncomfortable to fathom, as is also the result of his online affair toward the end of the book.
This is great fun, and appropriately enough, even the form of the story (a fake memoir) bends reality. Great stuff.
October 12, 2012
Wow! What a great book! How on Earth did author Ted Heller get this published? POCKET KINGS is a satire on the publishing world and life in the internet gambling community. You need not be a writer or an online poker player to immerse yourself in this story. It's really a story about a$$hole bosses and a$$hole people. We all know them.
Ted Heller (yes he is the son of THAT other Heller) crafts a beautifully twisted story. A failed writer finds himself winning big at online poker. The protagonist lambastes every great modern writer and discusses all the dirty little secrets of the publishing community. At the same time we are plunged into a cyber world of friends and foes in an online poker community. Two different subjects seemingly at opposite ends of the spectrum are presented clearly and authentically. The prose is succinct and masterful the soul of the words are grating.
This is my first time reading Ted Heller. It is clear he is a brilliant writer. I intend to read his other work to see how they measure up. Either way, POCKET KINGS is a real treasure. Ante up for this one!
Ted Heller (yes he is the son of THAT other Heller) crafts a beautifully twisted story. A failed writer finds himself winning big at online poker. The protagonist lambastes every great modern writer and discusses all the dirty little secrets of the publishing community. At the same time we are plunged into a cyber world of friends and foes in an online poker community. Two different subjects seemingly at opposite ends of the spectrum are presented clearly and authentically. The prose is succinct and masterful the soul of the words are grating.
This is my first time reading Ted Heller. It is clear he is a brilliant writer. I intend to read his other work to see how they measure up. Either way, POCKET KINGS is a real treasure. Ante up for this one!
July 19, 2012
It embarrasses me to write this, but Heller's knowing satire of virtual Vegas and New York publishing is laugh out loud funny. Really. You've got to love dialog like "You can't do this to me. My first book got a B minus rating in Entertainment Weekly." Well, I did anyway. The narrator, on the other hand, isn't so easy to like. Frank Dixon is a loser in real-life, a hilariously deluded novelist who finds an escape from his foundering career by becoming an on-line poker whiz. Assuming the persona of Chip Zero, Frank finds the respect and the success that has eluded him as a middle-aged writer of novels so depressingly awful his own wife can't bring herself to finish his latest oeuvre. Perhaps it helps to have written your own terrible fiction.
June 6, 2012
Disappointing. I read a review of this novel about a career-stalled novelist who becomes addicted to online poker that made it sound funny and perceptive. It is neither. Heller’s rants against the literary establishment are old hat -- agents are in business mainly to make money? really? -- and the poker stuff just drones along. Speaking of business -- “Pocket Kings” reads like a book cranked out to meet a contractual obligation. Ted Heller is the son of “Catch-22” author Joseph Heller, if that matters.
April 30, 2012
Not that funny. Not suspenseful at all. Not absorbing. Not interesting. Not compelling. Not well-crafted. Not entertaining, even mildly. One of those books that has me wondering if I've read the same book that others who gave it glowing reviews and praise did.
April 24, 2012
Wow. I just finished Ted Heller’s new novel, Pocket Kings, and I’m exhausted. What a ride he takes the reader on! I count Heller among my favorite authors, and it’s hard to believe that it’s been ten years since the publication of his last novel, Funnymen. It was worth the wait. This time Heller takes on the world of online addiction (in this case poker), along with the current state of book publishing.
Pocket Kings, written in first-person, dumps you headfirst into the increasingly fucked-up life of narrator Frank W. Dixon, also known as his online poker persona, Chip Zero. Frank works at a boring, meaningless job after his first two novels didn’t sell well. He’s got another book completed, but his agent can’t sell it. Frank feels like a failure as an author, but soon discovers one thing that he is great at: online poker. Besides winning loads of money, he forges relationships with other online poker players. But are they real friends, or even real people? People can be whoever they want to be online. And is it ever a good idea to meet these people in real life? Probably not.
Heller never lets his lead character off easy. Which can be a hard trick to pull off when writing in first person (this novel is written as if it’s a memoir, which in itself is a spoof of all the embellished “memoirs” that have been published in the last decade). Here, we get to see Frank/Chip tell us firsthand what he’s thinking, his rationalizations, his insecurities, and yes, his hopes and dreams. We cheer for his successes as much as we cringe at some of his actions, especially the ones we know will hurt his loving and supportive wife, Cynthia.
As Frank/Chip’s success and winnings increase in poker, so do his frustrations as an author, of not getting published and becoming one of the darlings of the critics, the next Franzen, or Eggers, or Chabon (or as Frank refers to them, Jonathan David Safran Franzlethchabeggars). Frank often lapses into revenge fantasies against anyone who has rejected his writing, or who he sees as a roadblock to getting published again. Here he fantasizes about resurrecting his writing career by punching out a famous author and getting some free publicity:
“In lieu of the aforementioned Jonathans and Davids, I could punch out an old coot like Phillip Roth or Joyce Carol Oates and hopefully not kill them. Or I could take on a career-dead writer like Marty Amis or Sal Rushdie, both of whom could use the publicity, too.
But Joyce Carol Oates once wrote a book about boxing and could probably beat me up.”
Frank’s online life and his real life cannot be kept separate for long, and the results when the two meet are funny, sad, and disturbing, and have a lot to say about modern addiction and “quiet desperation,” or as Frank says about himself, “deafeningly not quiet.” Pocket Kings barrels along full steam right up to the end, which is unexpected, satisfying, and makes perfect sense. Frank/Chip is an honest, reliable narrator of this “memoir,” and his outlook on life and his brutally honest opinion of himself is hysterical. Ted Heller is one funny guy. I sincerely hope this novel is a hit, if for no other selfish reason than I won’t have to wait ten years for the next one.
Side note: I’m not a poker player, and don’t know much about it, but I didn’t need to. Heller’s descriptions made sense and I never found it boring or distracting (in fact, it made me want to play online poker).
Pocket Kings, written in first-person, dumps you headfirst into the increasingly fucked-up life of narrator Frank W. Dixon, also known as his online poker persona, Chip Zero. Frank works at a boring, meaningless job after his first two novels didn’t sell well. He’s got another book completed, but his agent can’t sell it. Frank feels like a failure as an author, but soon discovers one thing that he is great at: online poker. Besides winning loads of money, he forges relationships with other online poker players. But are they real friends, or even real people? People can be whoever they want to be online. And is it ever a good idea to meet these people in real life? Probably not.
Heller never lets his lead character off easy. Which can be a hard trick to pull off when writing in first person (this novel is written as if it’s a memoir, which in itself is a spoof of all the embellished “memoirs” that have been published in the last decade). Here, we get to see Frank/Chip tell us firsthand what he’s thinking, his rationalizations, his insecurities, and yes, his hopes and dreams. We cheer for his successes as much as we cringe at some of his actions, especially the ones we know will hurt his loving and supportive wife, Cynthia.
As Frank/Chip’s success and winnings increase in poker, so do his frustrations as an author, of not getting published and becoming one of the darlings of the critics, the next Franzen, or Eggers, or Chabon (or as Frank refers to them, Jonathan David Safran Franzlethchabeggars). Frank often lapses into revenge fantasies against anyone who has rejected his writing, or who he sees as a roadblock to getting published again. Here he fantasizes about resurrecting his writing career by punching out a famous author and getting some free publicity:
“In lieu of the aforementioned Jonathans and Davids, I could punch out an old coot like Phillip Roth or Joyce Carol Oates and hopefully not kill them. Or I could take on a career-dead writer like Marty Amis or Sal Rushdie, both of whom could use the publicity, too.
But Joyce Carol Oates once wrote a book about boxing and could probably beat me up.”
Frank’s online life and his real life cannot be kept separate for long, and the results when the two meet are funny, sad, and disturbing, and have a lot to say about modern addiction and “quiet desperation,” or as Frank says about himself, “deafeningly not quiet.” Pocket Kings barrels along full steam right up to the end, which is unexpected, satisfying, and makes perfect sense. Frank/Chip is an honest, reliable narrator of this “memoir,” and his outlook on life and his brutally honest opinion of himself is hysterical. Ted Heller is one funny guy. I sincerely hope this novel is a hit, if for no other selfish reason than I won’t have to wait ten years for the next one.
Side note: I’m not a poker player, and don’t know much about it, but I didn’t need to. Heller’s descriptions made sense and I never found it boring or distracting (in fact, it made me want to play online poker).
May 12, 2012
I received my copy of Ted Heller's Pocket Kings in a Goodreads giveaway. As the story opens, we find Franklin Dixon in Purgatory - literally. He's in the town of Purgatory, MI, where he's run to after being kicked out by his wife. Unwelcome in his home, and unwilling to go to a clinic, he's about to meet in real life one of his online poker friends. Thus begins the faux memoir of an internet gambling addict.
A year earlier, Franklin Dixon was just a bitter writer whose career never took off, despite having two novels published, one of which was even optioned for film. Things may have been different for him had he possessed more confidence and made fewer poor decisions that only undermined his ability to be respected and taken seriously. It's been months since he handed off his latest novel to his agent, and nearly that long since his agent spoke to him. Things are not great for Frank the writer. But with a decent day job and a lovely wife, nor are they too terrible. Then Frank discovers the world of internet poker and assumes his online persona named "Chip Zero," finally finding something he's good at. Pocket Kings follows Frank's/Chip's snowballing gambling addiction, transformation into the "virtual" character he's created for the game, and eventual fall.
I really enjoyed Pocket Kings. I at different time rooted for and despised Franklin. The pacing was great, measured perfectly to the events of the story such that I as a reader felt the anticipation of the slow then quickening rise to high roller, and the rush and anxiety of Frank/Chip's more manic moments at the height of his self-destruction. The other characters inhabiting Frank's virtual poker world are intriguing, if more than a bit tragic. There's humor, but it's mostly tinged with sadness. I mostly didn't like Frank at all, and that's just as it should be, given the dark subject matter. I personally like Ted Heller's writing style. Pocket Kings is a compelling story with some exciting twists and a trainwreck of a protagonist -- I couldn't pull away.
A year earlier, Franklin Dixon was just a bitter writer whose career never took off, despite having two novels published, one of which was even optioned for film. Things may have been different for him had he possessed more confidence and made fewer poor decisions that only undermined his ability to be respected and taken seriously. It's been months since he handed off his latest novel to his agent, and nearly that long since his agent spoke to him. Things are not great for Frank the writer. But with a decent day job and a lovely wife, nor are they too terrible. Then Frank discovers the world of internet poker and assumes his online persona named "Chip Zero," finally finding something he's good at. Pocket Kings follows Frank's/Chip's snowballing gambling addiction, transformation into the "virtual" character he's created for the game, and eventual fall.
I really enjoyed Pocket Kings. I at different time rooted for and despised Franklin. The pacing was great, measured perfectly to the events of the story such that I as a reader felt the anticipation of the slow then quickening rise to high roller, and the rush and anxiety of Frank/Chip's more manic moments at the height of his self-destruction. The other characters inhabiting Frank's virtual poker world are intriguing, if more than a bit tragic. There's humor, but it's mostly tinged with sadness. I mostly didn't like Frank at all, and that's just as it should be, given the dark subject matter. I personally like Ted Heller's writing style. Pocket Kings is a compelling story with some exciting twists and a trainwreck of a protagonist -- I couldn't pull away.
April 2, 2012
I won a copy on Goodreads Firstreads.
I really liked this novel.Quite often funny,it keeps one engaged so you never want to put it down.The story of a down on his luck author who discovers online poker.As he becomes more involved with the electronic gambling world and the characters that inhabit it, his troubles in the real world continue to grow.The main problem is that he is self-admittedly no good at anything in the real world while he is very good at virtual poker.One of problems is that he doesn't really work at anything.As a young man he wanted to be a painter, so he studied art history.Therefore when he moved to Paris after college he had no technical training and failed to become the master painter he dreamed of becoming.But in the online poker world , he is a natural and excels from almost the very beginning.All of this success gave him false courage and expectations in the real world causing more and more humorous( to the readers at least) situations.You also see the main character falling for the online friends trap.That trap where you think you are really good friends with people you have never actually met or really know that much about.Like he says when he writes he loses but wins and when he plays poker he wins but loses.
I would have given the book 5 stars but the main character just never seems to really learn and repeats the same mistakes over and over until he becomes just a little unlikeable.Also even though I consider myself a fairly knowledgeable reader, I know I missed a lot of the publishing jokes/references.While that isn't the books fault, it did distract just that little bit to lower the rating.Truthfully it would be 4.5 stars if we could give that rating.
I really liked this novel.Quite often funny,it keeps one engaged so you never want to put it down.The story of a down on his luck author who discovers online poker.As he becomes more involved with the electronic gambling world and the characters that inhabit it, his troubles in the real world continue to grow.The main problem is that he is self-admittedly no good at anything in the real world while he is very good at virtual poker.One of problems is that he doesn't really work at anything.As a young man he wanted to be a painter, so he studied art history.Therefore when he moved to Paris after college he had no technical training and failed to become the master painter he dreamed of becoming.But in the online poker world , he is a natural and excels from almost the very beginning.All of this success gave him false courage and expectations in the real world causing more and more humorous( to the readers at least) situations.You also see the main character falling for the online friends trap.That trap where you think you are really good friends with people you have never actually met or really know that much about.Like he says when he writes he loses but wins and when he plays poker he wins but loses.
I would have given the book 5 stars but the main character just never seems to really learn and repeats the same mistakes over and over until he becomes just a little unlikeable.Also even though I consider myself a fairly knowledgeable reader, I know I missed a lot of the publishing jokes/references.While that isn't the books fault, it did distract just that little bit to lower the rating.Truthfully it would be 4.5 stars if we could give that rating.
May 2, 2012
Hilarious, disturbing and uniquely thought-provoking novel about everything that is wrong with everything!
First off, Pocket Kings is truly a laugh-out-loud read. I have received an abundance of scornful looks from fellow commuter train riders who thought they were sitting in the quiet car, not the spit-take as you read car. It is really that funny.
Secondly, there is a real "message" here - actually several - but they can all be bunched together into one big WTF? What is wrong with the world? Why do people suck? How come no one READS anymore? Why is it more comfortable to interact socially online, anonymously among strangers, than with one's own spouse? And on and on.
Ted Heller has fashioned a very intelligent and savagely witty book, that takes no prisoners and effortlessly reveals its generous and rewarding nuggets to anyone lucky enough to delve into its pages. The result is a unique addition to one of the oddest and (to my mind) most enjoyable of literary niches: the slapstick tragedy.
First off, Pocket Kings is truly a laugh-out-loud read. I have received an abundance of scornful looks from fellow commuter train riders who thought they were sitting in the quiet car, not the spit-take as you read car. It is really that funny.
Secondly, there is a real "message" here - actually several - but they can all be bunched together into one big WTF? What is wrong with the world? Why do people suck? How come no one READS anymore? Why is it more comfortable to interact socially online, anonymously among strangers, than with one's own spouse? And on and on.
Ted Heller has fashioned a very intelligent and savagely witty book, that takes no prisoners and effortlessly reveals its generous and rewarding nuggets to anyone lucky enough to delve into its pages. The result is a unique addition to one of the oddest and (to my mind) most enjoyable of literary niches: the slapstick tragedy.
April 2, 2012
Very funny look at online obsession. A once semi-successful author becomes increasingly distraught as his writing career founders. However, at the same time as his chosen profession goes awry he finds himself sucked into the world of online poker. And, surprisingly, he's pretty good at it. I've never actually played poker online but I did get sucked into an MMORPG for a couple of months once and his description of the interactions in the virtual world and the way it becomes increasingly "real" rings true to me. (Massively multiplayer online role playing game for those of you fortunate enough not to know what MMORPG means.) He also satirizes the publishing world but I don't know much about that so I can't comment on how accurately he nails this. His portrait is very funny, however.
Good and funny book. Glad I read it.
Good and funny book. Glad I read it.
April 30, 2012
This book depressed the hell out of me. It was well written and well plotted, but I can't shake the feeling it's left me with.
As a writer, I found myself empathizing with Frank Dixon on a number of levels, which was scary by itself. And while I don't know how to play poker, I have been part of other online communities and seen the dynamics described play out. And, quite honestly, I always worry I'm going to get to a point where (like Frank) I don't recognize that it's time to give up.
As a writer, I found myself empathizing with Frank Dixon on a number of levels, which was scary by itself. And while I don't know how to play poker, I have been part of other online communities and seen the dynamics described play out. And, quite honestly, I always worry I'm going to get to a point where (like Frank) I don't recognize that it's time to give up.
February 4, 2016
Story of the publishing industry, online poker, and addiction. I can't comment on the poker, but it's a painfully accurate picture of the publishing industry; anyone who thinks they want to publish a book should read it.
August 6, 2023
To say that I disliked the narrator of this book is a profound understatement. He was insufferable, completely unaware, a MASSIVE cry-baby, obsessed with himself while also completely abhorring himself, a terrible husband, and the list goes on. This started to grate on me after about 50 pages, and to my horror, I still had hundreds of pages to go. Why didn’t I just stop reading, you may ask. Completing this book became a challenge for me. The creepy eyes on this cover taunted me, saying, “you will never finish this book. I have bested you.” Completing this book became like completing a marathon, like my “Mount Everest” 😂
So I finished the book. Proud of myself but also really disliked it. Giving it 2 stars instead of 1 because it was actually well written, unlike some trash that is out there.
So I finished the book. Proud of myself but also really disliked it. Giving it 2 stars instead of 1 because it was actually well written, unlike some trash that is out there.
July 10, 2024
Sensational, incredulous, crazy, quasi-fictional "reversal-of-fortune" story about hustling in general, coinciding w/the insidious development of an addiction, conveyed through the life, mishaps & marriage of a middle-aged author discovering online-gambling. Thankfully, the tragically serious subject-matter is heavily leavened w/gritty, gut-busting humor. The author even appears to pull a hustle on the reader at the end. Brilliantly written, easy & smooth to read; hard to put down, keeps the reader guessing & in suspense about what may happen next. Makes the unbelievable seem so believable. Impressively pulled-off.
April 3, 2019
This was a horrifying book to read if you are, like me, querying your first novel. It is an in-depth look at the worlds of both writers and online poker players. I would compare it to what Sweetbitter did for the restaurant industry, but perhaps the author already did with "Saucier." I enjoyed it. Funny, sad, and interesting. I recommend it.
December 28, 2023
I couldn't put this one down. I could never figure out quite how self-aware the author was of his critiques of the recent literary set that he disdained and pandered to. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, which made it cleverer. I had been looking for a poker book, but loved the slap-sticky intrigue here.
February 15, 2020
Books about writers are rarely good, and Pocket Kings is no exception. It's the story of a sad-sack, middle-aged, failed novelist who becomes addicted to online poker. At times it's funny, but in general it tries too hard and thinks it's more clever than it actually is.
December 23, 2017
started out strong, then dragged... couldn't bring myself to finish it, because I had lost all interest in the characters.
July 7, 2021
I enjoyed this book about an author's obsession with getting his next book published.
March 20, 2022
Very well written, but the main character/narrator is so insufferable it pained me to read it
May 13, 2024
I could write a review, you know.
May 25, 2013
Ted Heller's fictional diatribe against the publishing industry leaves no one unscathed. His character, Frank Dixon, is a marginally successful author whose world is inhabited by duplicitous literary agents, soulless editors, self-serving reviewers and miserly publishers. Even readers fail to escape this character's ire. If he seems a misogynist, we can even summon some sympathy. His agent once cautioned him that his books would be a hard sell because “...women... read 97.5% of all fiction.” Now, a sensationalistic faux-memoir by a mediocre female writer and published by his former publisher climbs the bestseller lists, even as his own career falters. Frank laments: “I had been dumped, cast aside, forgotten about, for books like this, for pink-covered, luxury-brand-name-filled, brainless chick lit. That's not writing, that's cupcake baking! Why couldn't someone be publishing Dead On Arrival, the book that was going to resurrect my career and make the Lit World take me seriously instead of this … drivel?!”
POCKET KINGS is written as a fictional memoir, and opens at the end, with Frank Dixon reviewing how he came to this place, both physically and mentally. Again, only a quote can adequately convey his despair: “It is a cold and harrowing morning in the life of a man the day he wakes up, looks at himself in the mirror, and finally realizes that he is not, has never been, nor will ever be George Clooney...It's all over now, Baby Blue. James Bond is long gone my friend....The closest you'll ever get to being Jimi Hendrix, or even Eddie van Halen is playing Guitar Hero. You've always been you and will always be you and now there's nothing left to do but ride Life's Moving Sidewalk Unto Death.” It's a marvelous opening – bitter, ironic, yet, campy, and even petulant. From the very beginning we have an ambivalent feeling about this character. This opening is made even better by a later scene that parodies the supposed paramount importance of the first sentence of a novel. That scene is one of the funniest in the book.
So where is Frank Dixon as he voices this lamentation? In Purgatory. Again, Heller teases us. This is not the metaphysical Purgatory, but rather the Purgatory Inn, a dingy motel set on the edges of rural Michigan. It's the middle of winter, his wife has kicked him out of their New York apartment, and he's awaiting the arrival of a woman he's only ever met at an online Poker website. She goes by the handle of Wolverine Mommy. It is soon revealed that Frank fell into a serious poker addiction during a bout of writer's block. He develops a dependency on this fantasy world of made-up identities and acted-out longings. Ironically, as his real-world career plummets, his poker winnings ascend to dizzying heights. Fueled by rage over his rejection, the security of e-friends like Artsy Painter Girl, Toll-House Cookie (who works in a Turnpike Toll Booth), and Second Gunman, and the giddy exhilaration of winning, the delicate skin of inhibition is stripped away from Frank, bit by bit. Listen to him as he toys with ideas for resurrecting his writing career – outrageous ideas, like punching out Jonathan Franzen or David Mitchell at a trendy book party. “But this might be a problem as there is no chance at this point I'd ever get invited to such a book party.” What about writing a cuttingly erudite review in a prestigious literary publication? “I'll write unending comma- and semi-colon-filled sentences about their books and their abundant lack of talent. But in order for me to pull this off I'd have to read their books … and I didn't want to.” The plot moves forward, like a succession of bets and raises in a poker hand. At each humiliation, Frank raises and then re-raises. Behaviors that first seem like pranks morph into the territory of awfulless. This unlikeable character is the infrastructure that holds together the first half of the book. The turning point of the plot is when one of Frank's e-friends, Second Gunman, comes to New York for a visit. The transformation of a cyber-relationship to a real one fuels the plot.
The problem I had with this book was that Frank Dixon felt like Ted Heller's alter-ego. If you come to believe that, then the black humor seems not so much funny as guilt tinged masochism. Second, Frank's unlikeability lacks a necessary crescendo. He doesn't really become a worse person, so much as placed in funnier predicaments by his emotional drives. By the time we reach the end we'd like to believe he is sadder but wiser, but we really don't feel that. I'm still straddling the fence on this one, and I guess that's a good sign, that I'm still thinking about this book days after having finished it. Would I read another of his books? Absolutely. He's a writer with a lot of potential.
POCKET KINGS is written as a fictional memoir, and opens at the end, with Frank Dixon reviewing how he came to this place, both physically and mentally. Again, only a quote can adequately convey his despair: “It is a cold and harrowing morning in the life of a man the day he wakes up, looks at himself in the mirror, and finally realizes that he is not, has never been, nor will ever be George Clooney...It's all over now, Baby Blue. James Bond is long gone my friend....The closest you'll ever get to being Jimi Hendrix, or even Eddie van Halen is playing Guitar Hero. You've always been you and will always be you and now there's nothing left to do but ride Life's Moving Sidewalk Unto Death.” It's a marvelous opening – bitter, ironic, yet, campy, and even petulant. From the very beginning we have an ambivalent feeling about this character. This opening is made even better by a later scene that parodies the supposed paramount importance of the first sentence of a novel. That scene is one of the funniest in the book.
So where is Frank Dixon as he voices this lamentation? In Purgatory. Again, Heller teases us. This is not the metaphysical Purgatory, but rather the Purgatory Inn, a dingy motel set on the edges of rural Michigan. It's the middle of winter, his wife has kicked him out of their New York apartment, and he's awaiting the arrival of a woman he's only ever met at an online Poker website. She goes by the handle of Wolverine Mommy. It is soon revealed that Frank fell into a serious poker addiction during a bout of writer's block. He develops a dependency on this fantasy world of made-up identities and acted-out longings. Ironically, as his real-world career plummets, his poker winnings ascend to dizzying heights. Fueled by rage over his rejection, the security of e-friends like Artsy Painter Girl, Toll-House Cookie (who works in a Turnpike Toll Booth), and Second Gunman, and the giddy exhilaration of winning, the delicate skin of inhibition is stripped away from Frank, bit by bit. Listen to him as he toys with ideas for resurrecting his writing career – outrageous ideas, like punching out Jonathan Franzen or David Mitchell at a trendy book party. “But this might be a problem as there is no chance at this point I'd ever get invited to such a book party.” What about writing a cuttingly erudite review in a prestigious literary publication? “I'll write unending comma- and semi-colon-filled sentences about their books and their abundant lack of talent. But in order for me to pull this off I'd have to read their books … and I didn't want to.” The plot moves forward, like a succession of bets and raises in a poker hand. At each humiliation, Frank raises and then re-raises. Behaviors that first seem like pranks morph into the territory of awfulless. This unlikeable character is the infrastructure that holds together the first half of the book. The turning point of the plot is when one of Frank's e-friends, Second Gunman, comes to New York for a visit. The transformation of a cyber-relationship to a real one fuels the plot.
The problem I had with this book was that Frank Dixon felt like Ted Heller's alter-ego. If you come to believe that, then the black humor seems not so much funny as guilt tinged masochism. Second, Frank's unlikeability lacks a necessary crescendo. He doesn't really become a worse person, so much as placed in funnier predicaments by his emotional drives. By the time we reach the end we'd like to believe he is sadder but wiser, but we really don't feel that. I'm still straddling the fence on this one, and I guess that's a good sign, that I'm still thinking about this book days after having finished it. Would I read another of his books? Absolutely. He's a writer with a lot of potential.
June 4, 2012
“You've always been you and will always be you and now there's nothing left to do but ride Life's Moving Sidewalk Unto Death” (3).
“I'm no longer welcome there even though I, of course, was the one who sprang for the fuzzy welcome mat. (How cruel is that?)” (4).
“But I was never good at sports. To observe me playing basketball is to watch a great unforgivable insult to the game itself...” (14).
“...I let out a groan that sounded like a Bassett hound being neutered by a failing veterinary student” (19).
“Start a blog. Tweet. The final desperate cries for help of wretched losers everywhere” (21).
“The pot was now over six hundred. A third of my rent, or my cable bill for four months, or one-half of a large HDTV, or round-trip airfare to somewhere possibly very pleasant” (28).
“It's amazing to me how you can do everything right, make every play by the book, and still lose. Al Gore must know the feeling” (31).
“Failure was my Siamese twin, a writhing, unctuous viper joined to my hip who plotted against me in my sleep on those rare nights he was kind enough to let me sleep” (34).
“In the tit-for-tat world of Big Literature, I tried to think of some sauteed squid pro quo I could possibly extract from Bev for this” (59).
“It’s sad enough to see a person getting stood up outside a theater, at a bar, or in a restaurant in real life, but to see it happen to a person’s cartoon alter ego on a computer screen is even more heartbreaking” (72).
“Yes, it was sweet; yes, it was sickeningly gooey, but even those of us born without hearts need to wade in a tide of treacle every now and then…” (75).
“And I’d gotten lost in the maelstrom of puerile chat. It was saltwater taffy for the soul” (76).
"The diminutive Hethuh (Bay Ridge-born and bred, Heather could not pronounce her own name too well)..." (139).
“I couldn’t remember the last time I had a tongue in my mouth other than my wife’s or my own” (166).
“…the rest I merely cut into tiny pieces and strategically placed in various far-flung arrondissements around the plate…” (176).
“So who is this guy, Wifey had asked me that morning, soon to occupy our couch and toilet seat?” (178).
“I thought she got a kick out of siccing a vanity press editor on me and that she enjoyed the feeling of being a bar bouncer stamping an ultraviolet LOSER on my hand for the night” (185).
“The sky was the color of muddled blueberries in an expensive exotic cocktail” (195).
“I had once wasted three months of my life writing a twenty-five-page postmodern epic poem called ‘Thirteen Ways of First Looking into Keats’ ‘On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer’’ (219).
"I got some ice, limped back to my room, and applied it to my leg and my Scotch" (287).
“I'm no longer welcome there even though I, of course, was the one who sprang for the fuzzy welcome mat. (How cruel is that?)” (4).
“But I was never good at sports. To observe me playing basketball is to watch a great unforgivable insult to the game itself...” (14).
“...I let out a groan that sounded like a Bassett hound being neutered by a failing veterinary student” (19).
“Start a blog. Tweet. The final desperate cries for help of wretched losers everywhere” (21).
“The pot was now over six hundred. A third of my rent, or my cable bill for four months, or one-half of a large HDTV, or round-trip airfare to somewhere possibly very pleasant” (28).
“It's amazing to me how you can do everything right, make every play by the book, and still lose. Al Gore must know the feeling” (31).
“Failure was my Siamese twin, a writhing, unctuous viper joined to my hip who plotted against me in my sleep on those rare nights he was kind enough to let me sleep” (34).
“In the tit-for-tat world of Big Literature, I tried to think of some sauteed squid pro quo I could possibly extract from Bev for this” (59).
“It’s sad enough to see a person getting stood up outside a theater, at a bar, or in a restaurant in real life, but to see it happen to a person’s cartoon alter ego on a computer screen is even more heartbreaking” (72).
“Yes, it was sweet; yes, it was sickeningly gooey, but even those of us born without hearts need to wade in a tide of treacle every now and then…” (75).
“And I’d gotten lost in the maelstrom of puerile chat. It was saltwater taffy for the soul” (76).
"The diminutive Hethuh (Bay Ridge-born and bred, Heather could not pronounce her own name too well)..." (139).
“I couldn’t remember the last time I had a tongue in my mouth other than my wife’s or my own” (166).
“…the rest I merely cut into tiny pieces and strategically placed in various far-flung arrondissements around the plate…” (176).
“So who is this guy, Wifey had asked me that morning, soon to occupy our couch and toilet seat?” (178).
“I thought she got a kick out of siccing a vanity press editor on me and that she enjoyed the feeling of being a bar bouncer stamping an ultraviolet LOSER on my hand for the night” (185).
“The sky was the color of muddled blueberries in an expensive exotic cocktail” (195).
“I had once wasted three months of my life writing a twenty-five-page postmodern epic poem called ‘Thirteen Ways of First Looking into Keats’ ‘On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer’’ (219).
"I got some ice, limped back to my room, and applied it to my leg and my Scotch" (287).
July 3, 2013
Pocket Kings: Foredoomed Brilliance
Ted Heller's hilarious fictional memoir about winning at online poker while losing at everything else should have already been a bestseller, a movie starring George Clooney, and a babe magnet he could carry around with him on a worldwide book tour. I stumbled on this book at my local library and fifty pages in, ran out and bought a copy. It's one of the funniest and most honest books about being a writer I've ever read. I'm going to make all my writer friends read it.
Failed novelist Frank W. Dixon stalks his literary agent. He writes threatening letters to reviewers who fail to swoon over his unpopular novels. He gets into new-asshole-tearing email battles with editors who refuse to take on his new work. He gets drunk at book parties and readings and insults successful authors. He writes himself glowing reviews on Amazon, and writes scathing reviews for the writers he dislikes.
In other words, Frank is everyauthor. He's the discouraged writer inside all of us trying so hard to keep hope alive as we struggle each day to become the next Jonathan Franzen, John Grisham or J.K. Rowling. We are the 99%. Few writers can read this book without recognizing their own most secret thoughts about the publishing industry we want so badly to love us. What would it be like to tell off all those people (agents, editors, reviewers, readers) for the shitty things they've said about our writing?
Frank lives out the fantasy while making a potload of money playing online poker. He also plays hot and heavy with a sexy poker player, takes an insane road trip to Vegas, and gets stalked by a crazed killer. Once he stops writing, Frank has a life worth writing about.
So why aren't all the reviews for this brilliant satire full of high praise? Why aren't all the readers laughing their asses off? Maybe because this brutally honest novel peels back the glossy cover from the world of getting published and takes a scorching look at the ugly truth. Maybe the idea that a writer this brilliant with a real publisher and real New York Times reviews can still be this bitter about the publishing industry is too disappointing for wannabe authors.
This book should, by all rights, have whisked Ted Heller to international fame and writerly glory. It's that good. But it also bites the hand that fed the author. So, as Frank says with frightening clarity in Pocket Kings, "Even when I succeeded, I failed."
Writers: read this book. It's funny, beautifully written, and the truth.
Ted Heller's hilarious fictional memoir about winning at online poker while losing at everything else should have already been a bestseller, a movie starring George Clooney, and a babe magnet he could carry around with him on a worldwide book tour. I stumbled on this book at my local library and fifty pages in, ran out and bought a copy. It's one of the funniest and most honest books about being a writer I've ever read. I'm going to make all my writer friends read it.
Failed novelist Frank W. Dixon stalks his literary agent. He writes threatening letters to reviewers who fail to swoon over his unpopular novels. He gets into new-asshole-tearing email battles with editors who refuse to take on his new work. He gets drunk at book parties and readings and insults successful authors. He writes himself glowing reviews on Amazon, and writes scathing reviews for the writers he dislikes.
In other words, Frank is everyauthor. He's the discouraged writer inside all of us trying so hard to keep hope alive as we struggle each day to become the next Jonathan Franzen, John Grisham or J.K. Rowling. We are the 99%. Few writers can read this book without recognizing their own most secret thoughts about the publishing industry we want so badly to love us. What would it be like to tell off all those people (agents, editors, reviewers, readers) for the shitty things they've said about our writing?
Frank lives out the fantasy while making a potload of money playing online poker. He also plays hot and heavy with a sexy poker player, takes an insane road trip to Vegas, and gets stalked by a crazed killer. Once he stops writing, Frank has a life worth writing about.
So why aren't all the reviews for this brilliant satire full of high praise? Why aren't all the readers laughing their asses off? Maybe because this brutally honest novel peels back the glossy cover from the world of getting published and takes a scorching look at the ugly truth. Maybe the idea that a writer this brilliant with a real publisher and real New York Times reviews can still be this bitter about the publishing industry is too disappointing for wannabe authors.
This book should, by all rights, have whisked Ted Heller to international fame and writerly glory. It's that good. But it also bites the hand that fed the author. So, as Frank says with frightening clarity in Pocket Kings, "Even when I succeeded, I failed."
Writers: read this book. It's funny, beautifully written, and the truth.
March 5, 2015
Here's what is good about this book; THE COVER. Yes the cover is quite brilliant- I didn't notice this until I was almost finished reading the book itself. The cover shows the face card of a KING- but if you look closely- which you will now-there are human eyes behind the King's face.
Very good. Well done.
One more thing that was good- he Frank Dixon is screaming about nepotism in the publishing industry. This being writers who use their own sir name - which is the same name as a famous relative of theirs- to get their own book published. IE- Sophia Coppola who uses her dad's name ( Francis Ford Coppola) to get ahead.
Well in this brief outrage Dixon starts screaming about several writers who have used their famous sir name- and here he cites Zoe Heller- which is very clever as Ted Heller has continuously used his own father's name to get ahead- Joseph Keller- ( Catch 22 etc)Get it? Heller? Heller?
Apart from that Feh..!
This book, the plot, the characters they are all displaced. Nothing sticks together. There are so many loose ends - I don't even want to start.
Okay I will-HOW COME if his book- Dead on Arrival can't find
a publisher- well then how come everyone and his mother is reading it????
It's not been printed. Then how can they all be reading it???
Now secondly- his wife. How the hell can she be such a sap - that she doesn't utter word when FD quits his day job?? And here- how can she carry on being his devoted wife- when the shmuck has gained 40 pounds?? Strike me dead but if my lover or husband gained 40 pound I'd be out of there on a dime- if you see what I'm saying. Who wants an obese boyfriend- or worse- an obese husband? NO ONE.
This is basically a book about a shmuck who enjoys being a shmuck. Not just a looser but someone who thrives on loosing. Its all just too creepy for me.Like having to watch someone all tickled pink from being a ignored , rebuffed and ridiculed.This guy loves being miserable and he wants us to do it with him.
Really creepy. Really really creepy.
And yes in keeping with that self gratification theme- I do believe that Heller wrote many of the above reviews himself.
Wouldn't doubt it for one instant in time..
Like I said creepy. JM
Very good. Well done.
One more thing that was good- he Frank Dixon is screaming about nepotism in the publishing industry. This being writers who use their own sir name - which is the same name as a famous relative of theirs- to get their own book published. IE- Sophia Coppola who uses her dad's name ( Francis Ford Coppola) to get ahead.
Well in this brief outrage Dixon starts screaming about several writers who have used their famous sir name- and here he cites Zoe Heller- which is very clever as Ted Heller has continuously used his own father's name to get ahead- Joseph Keller- ( Catch 22 etc)Get it? Heller? Heller?
Apart from that Feh..!
This book, the plot, the characters they are all displaced. Nothing sticks together. There are so many loose ends - I don't even want to start.
Okay I will-HOW COME if his book- Dead on Arrival can't find
a publisher- well then how come everyone and his mother is reading it????
It's not been printed. Then how can they all be reading it???
Now secondly- his wife. How the hell can she be such a sap - that she doesn't utter word when FD quits his day job?? And here- how can she carry on being his devoted wife- when the shmuck has gained 40 pounds?? Strike me dead but if my lover or husband gained 40 pound I'd be out of there on a dime- if you see what I'm saying. Who wants an obese boyfriend- or worse- an obese husband? NO ONE.
This is basically a book about a shmuck who enjoys being a shmuck. Not just a looser but someone who thrives on loosing. Its all just too creepy for me.Like having to watch someone all tickled pink from being a ignored , rebuffed and ridiculed.This guy loves being miserable and he wants us to do it with him.
Really creepy. Really really creepy.
And yes in keeping with that self gratification theme- I do believe that Heller wrote many of the above reviews himself.
Wouldn't doubt it for one instant in time..
Like I said creepy. JM
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