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420 Characters Hardcover – December 6, 2011
Lou Beach's miniature stories began as Facebook status updates and reveal worlds of meaning in single paragraphs. Beach’s characters contend with the strange and terrible and beautiful in life, and no outcome is certain.
169 pages, Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 2011
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 180 reviews
December 1, 2015
Rating: 4* of five
The Publisher Says: Within this collection of miniature stories, entire worlds take shape—some like our own, some hallucinatory fairylands--populated by heartsick cowboys, random criminals, lovers and drifters. In a dazzling narrative constellation, Beach’s characters contend with the strange and terrible and beautiful in life, and no outcome is certain. Begun as a series of Facebook status updates, 420 Characters marks a new turn in an acclaimed artist and illustrator’s career, and features original collages by the author.
My Review: “The Bryce Method” is named in honor of an online friend who introduced me to the technique, is a summary opinion, plus a short line or a quote from each story, together with a rating for the story. Here, since each story is essentially a paragraph, it's useless! But my summary opinion, I think, is still useful: Form following function is a nice idea in the material world, but can be a but precious in art. I think the author, in this collection, aimed for philosophical and hit it most often, but when he missed, he smacked nose-first into portentousness.
A lovely object, this book, just delightful in is cloth-covered boards, its blind-embossed decorations, its gold-foil stamped title, all wrapped in a very pretty four-color belly band with one of the author's cool collages on it. The text is set, 420 characters a page, in pretty and readable type, the paper is thicker than usual in today's budget-conscious world, and there are four-color mid-signature wraps of more of his collages; the design is quite nice! It speaks well of the publisher to have done this good a job on a story collection. (Boring endsheets, though, really blah gamboge things. Wish they'd done something better there.)
Since there's no way to quote from the book, I'll offer this complete story from page 86:
Any possessor of a fifty-plus year old bladder/prostate combo pack is likely to identify with that.
And because I love it, also because I suspect my fellow readers around here will resonate with it, here's the story from page 133:
Those aren't quotes, mind; those are the entire stories, the entire contents of the pages in question. And they are either gems of lapidary poetic prose, or schnibbles of vacuous nonsense. If you're in camp B, molest not the book, but camp A folks should probably just do One-Click right now because this isn't a good library borrow, it's a mineminemine book. I'm already plotting how to keep the library copy I have....
The Publisher Says: Within this collection of miniature stories, entire worlds take shape—some like our own, some hallucinatory fairylands--populated by heartsick cowboys, random criminals, lovers and drifters. In a dazzling narrative constellation, Beach’s characters contend with the strange and terrible and beautiful in life, and no outcome is certain. Begun as a series of Facebook status updates, 420 Characters marks a new turn in an acclaimed artist and illustrator’s career, and features original collages by the author.
My Review: “The Bryce Method” is named in honor of an online friend who introduced me to the technique, is a summary opinion, plus a short line or a quote from each story, together with a rating for the story. Here, since each story is essentially a paragraph, it's useless! But my summary opinion, I think, is still useful: Form following function is a nice idea in the material world, but can be a but precious in art. I think the author, in this collection, aimed for philosophical and hit it most often, but when he missed, he smacked nose-first into portentousness.
A lovely object, this book, just delightful in is cloth-covered boards, its blind-embossed decorations, its gold-foil stamped title, all wrapped in a very pretty four-color belly band with one of the author's cool collages on it. The text is set, 420 characters a page, in pretty and readable type, the paper is thicker than usual in today's budget-conscious world, and there are four-color mid-signature wraps of more of his collages; the design is quite nice! It speaks well of the publisher to have done this good a job on a story collection. (Boring endsheets, though, really blah gamboge things. Wish they'd done something better there.)
Since there's no way to quote from the book, I'll offer this complete story from page 86:
I rise at 3am to walk my bladder to the bathroom, then return to bed and wait for my face and pillow to come to an agreement. I lie on my right, my left, my stomach, my back, as if attempting an even tan, until I find the Goldilocks spot. The only sound is the hum of the planet, and the whistling and chirping of the little birds who live in my nostrils.
Any possessor of a fifty-plus year old bladder/prostate combo pack is likely to identify with that.
And because I love it, also because I suspect my fellow readers around here will resonate with it, here's the story from page 133:
I lay the book on the floor, open to the middle. It's a lovely volume, green leather covers, engraved endpapers. I remove my shoes and step into it up to my ankles, knees, hips, chest, until only my head is showing and the pages spread around me and the words bob up and down and bump into my neck, and the punctuation sticks to my chin and cheeks so I look like I need a shave.
Those aren't quotes, mind; those are the entire stories, the entire contents of the pages in question. And they are either gems of lapidary poetic prose, or schnibbles of vacuous nonsense. If you're in camp B, molest not the book, but camp A folks should probably just do One-Click right now because this isn't a good library borrow, it's a mineminemine book. I'm already plotting how to keep the library copy I have....
August 20, 2015
This is one of those books I have loaded into my phone and I read whenever I need a moment of amusement but I don't want to read a whole book. I look at this from time to time and I never read it in order. Brilliant stuff and a great thing to have on hand when you want to read something on your phone that isn't social media but isn't a book either. Good for those tedious times when you have to wait for something and need to kill some time but don't have the time or the focus to get all wrapped up in a novel or short story. The kindle version also has audio clips of people like Jeff Bridges reading some of these. I honestly don't listen to any of the clips cause I usually am reading this when i don't really have time or can't be bothered to pull out headphones.
December 12, 2011
this book was a bit too strange for my tastes but there were some stories that i completely adored. here are two that really stick out to me:
"I rise at 3 A.M. to walk my bladder to the bathroom, then return to the bed and wait for my face and pillow to come to an agreement. I lie on my right, my left, my stomach, my back, as if attempting an even tan, until I find the Goldilocks spot. The only sound is the hum of the planet, and the whistling and chirping of the little birds who live in my nostrils." pg 86
"He waited all his life for a splashy catharsis, irrefutable evidence that a profound change had transformed him. It took him many years to realize that he had been altered each day by the sun's rising and the moon's movement, by the unfurling of his daughter's tiny hand to grasp his thumb, by the cat on his chest, by the glass of water his wife brought him before bedtime, by the questions his son asked." pg 143
perfect!
"I rise at 3 A.M. to walk my bladder to the bathroom, then return to the bed and wait for my face and pillow to come to an agreement. I lie on my right, my left, my stomach, my back, as if attempting an even tan, until I find the Goldilocks spot. The only sound is the hum of the planet, and the whistling and chirping of the little birds who live in my nostrils." pg 86
"He waited all his life for a splashy catharsis, irrefutable evidence that a profound change had transformed him. It took him many years to realize that he had been altered each day by the sun's rising and the moon's movement, by the unfurling of his daughter's tiny hand to grasp his thumb, by the cat on his chest, by the glass of water his wife brought him before bedtime, by the questions his son asked." pg 143
perfect!
September 2, 2017
I loved this little book. The stories are no longer than 420 characters; some are hilarious, others troubling, others absolute poetry. It is amazing to think what narrative can be told in about three sentences. A must for writers, both active and looking for inspiration. I truly enjoyed it.
January 27, 2012
I was critical of this book at first; I had just read a book with a similar concept that I had ABSOLUTELY LOVED, and because this book wasn't a carbon copy of that book, it seemed lacking. I didn't think Beach was using his 420 characters carefully enough. I wanted more of a punch in the last sentence of every story; I wanted to feel pummeled and raw by page 20.
Also, obviously, there's a gimmick at play here, and it was initially easy to dismiss it as just that -- gimmicky.
But by about halfway through I was hooked. These are less "sudden fiction" and more "tiny fiction." There isn't necessarily a huge revelation in each story, but it is a complete story, or a complete moment, in 420 spaces. A whole world may be opened up to you on a single page: implications and questions and blanks your mind can't help but fill in. They can be like provocative photographs, where you could sit and look at them and reimagine the context a few different times, show it to a friend, go "huh." They can be like little daydreams. They can make you wish you were there.
Some of the stories have that McSweeney's quirk to them, which I like to think my generation both invented and beat to death, and so when we see it now it's kind of like a zombie horse dragging its sad, stitched up hooves through the now abandoned, candy-littered streets where just hours ago there was a parade -- quirk everyone, quirk! Be weird and also kind of cute, make a failed attempt at simultaneously disturbing us! -- the hen who has nightmares about eating Peeps, the woman who was shot by a monkey in the jungle , the bird who lives under your hat in Brooklyn (man quirk is all about animals huh?) but really, very few of them are like this. And maybe they have their place.
One of my favorites:
I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, leave it protruding for a beat, reel it back in. Is she watching? She must know I do it for her. Is she watching? I sit up straight, order whiskey, no rocks. Is she watching? I laugh, make a joke. Is she watching? I walk to the men's room, saunter. Is she watching? I return, swing my leg over the back of the chair, knock over a bottle of beer. Damn, is she watching? Is she watching?
Also, obviously, there's a gimmick at play here, and it was initially easy to dismiss it as just that -- gimmicky.
But by about halfway through I was hooked. These are less "sudden fiction" and more "tiny fiction." There isn't necessarily a huge revelation in each story, but it is a complete story, or a complete moment, in 420 spaces. A whole world may be opened up to you on a single page: implications and questions and blanks your mind can't help but fill in. They can be like provocative photographs, where you could sit and look at them and reimagine the context a few different times, show it to a friend, go "huh." They can be like little daydreams. They can make you wish you were there.
Some of the stories have that McSweeney's quirk to them, which I like to think my generation both invented and beat to death, and so when we see it now it's kind of like a zombie horse dragging its sad, stitched up hooves through the now abandoned, candy-littered streets where just hours ago there was a parade -- quirk everyone, quirk! Be weird and also kind of cute, make a failed attempt at simultaneously disturbing us! -- the hen who has nightmares about eating Peeps, the woman who was shot by a monkey in the jungle , the bird who lives under your hat in Brooklyn (man quirk is all about animals huh?) but really, very few of them are like this. And maybe they have their place.
One of my favorites:
I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, leave it protruding for a beat, reel it back in. Is she watching? She must know I do it for her. Is she watching? I sit up straight, order whiskey, no rocks. Is she watching? I laugh, make a joke. Is she watching? I walk to the men's room, saunter. Is she watching? I return, swing my leg over the back of the chair, knock over a bottle of beer. Damn, is she watching? Is she watching?
January 25, 2012
Interesting idea and a good mix. Some of the brief stories broke my heart and others made me smirk.
April 26, 2016
These teensy stories with rad art are like little back massages for your brain.
March 12, 2013
420 Characters by Lou Beach started out as an experiment of sorts. Beach originally posted his micro stories as Facebook posts, which were limited to 420 characters per post. Beach then put them together in this book, along with collages he created.
This is the first time I have read this type of "micro fiction," but I have a feeling it won't be my last. With Twitter postings and Facebook statuses standing in for journalism these days, is it any surprise that authors of fiction would give the micro size a try?
I don't want to be dismissive, though. What Beach has done is startling. While I was reading, I was trying to get my mind around what he creates in his stories - amazing emotions, scenes, character. I finally decided that he had boiled his stories down to just a few elements, but had to leave out a few. Plot, obviously. At least that's what I thought until I read this story:
Iris Bedlick sang backup. country, soul, rock, whatever, had a voice could shatter a glass or put a baby to sleep. One night, on the road with Jack Howlette, she was handed a drink that blistered her throat. She never sang again, turned her back on music, was last heard to be a hotel maid. Her replacement married Jack, divorced him, went solo, platinum albums, a Grammy. Started out a chemistry major, became a star. (420 Characters, p 129)
So, even in this micro form, Beach can accomplish a developing plot. Beach's writing is absolutely luminous in some stories:
His chute failed to open and as he fell he struck a pigeon, pinning it against his chest as they rushed toward the ground in tandem. He felt the pigeon's heart beating against his own. He closed his eyes and imagined he had two hearts, one outside his body and one inside, beating like a train. (420 Characters, p 64)
Other stories are comical. Beach has a fondness for a cowboy tale - there are quite a few of those - and there are some fantastical stories, comedies of manners, and dialogue that reminded me of film noir. Each story is a chunk of something special. I left the book - finishing seems like the wrong word - feeling like I wanted more, but not of the same thing. Sort of like eating a giant bowl of potato chips and still feeling hungry, but knowing that the last thing you need is another chip. Beach himself said in an NPR interview that he is finished with this format, and is working on pieces of longer length.
Beach supports his work with a website, http://www.420characters.net. If you are at all interested in this book, visit the website for a very special treat - Jeff Bridges, Ian McShane, and Dave Alvin have recorded some of the stories, and they are fabulous to listen to. Bridges' reading of "Finch" is especially charming and warm, and he seems genuinely delighted to be reading his little tale.
I would also recommend reading this in physical book form, rather than a full audio or electronic format. This book is wonderfully tactile, from its red fabric embossed cover, to the tipped in color plates of Beach's collages. It feels good to hold this book.
If you enjoy inventive, experimental fiction, I would give this a try. Micro fiction is a genre that is probably here to stay, even though at times it seems like a warm up exercise for a college fiction writing class. I may hold out for something a bit longer from Mr. Beach - a short story, perhaps?
This is the first time I have read this type of "micro fiction," but I have a feeling it won't be my last. With Twitter postings and Facebook statuses standing in for journalism these days, is it any surprise that authors of fiction would give the micro size a try?
I don't want to be dismissive, though. What Beach has done is startling. While I was reading, I was trying to get my mind around what he creates in his stories - amazing emotions, scenes, character. I finally decided that he had boiled his stories down to just a few elements, but had to leave out a few. Plot, obviously. At least that's what I thought until I read this story:
Iris Bedlick sang backup. country, soul, rock, whatever, had a voice could shatter a glass or put a baby to sleep. One night, on the road with Jack Howlette, she was handed a drink that blistered her throat. She never sang again, turned her back on music, was last heard to be a hotel maid. Her replacement married Jack, divorced him, went solo, platinum albums, a Grammy. Started out a chemistry major, became a star. (420 Characters, p 129)
So, even in this micro form, Beach can accomplish a developing plot. Beach's writing is absolutely luminous in some stories:
His chute failed to open and as he fell he struck a pigeon, pinning it against his chest as they rushed toward the ground in tandem. He felt the pigeon's heart beating against his own. He closed his eyes and imagined he had two hearts, one outside his body and one inside, beating like a train. (420 Characters, p 64)
Other stories are comical. Beach has a fondness for a cowboy tale - there are quite a few of those - and there are some fantastical stories, comedies of manners, and dialogue that reminded me of film noir. Each story is a chunk of something special. I left the book - finishing seems like the wrong word - feeling like I wanted more, but not of the same thing. Sort of like eating a giant bowl of potato chips and still feeling hungry, but knowing that the last thing you need is another chip. Beach himself said in an NPR interview that he is finished with this format, and is working on pieces of longer length.
Beach supports his work with a website, http://www.420characters.net. If you are at all interested in this book, visit the website for a very special treat - Jeff Bridges, Ian McShane, and Dave Alvin have recorded some of the stories, and they are fabulous to listen to. Bridges' reading of "Finch" is especially charming and warm, and he seems genuinely delighted to be reading his little tale.
I would also recommend reading this in physical book form, rather than a full audio or electronic format. This book is wonderfully tactile, from its red fabric embossed cover, to the tipped in color plates of Beach's collages. It feels good to hold this book.
If you enjoy inventive, experimental fiction, I would give this a try. Micro fiction is a genre that is probably here to stay, even though at times it seems like a warm up exercise for a college fiction writing class. I may hold out for something a bit longer from Mr. Beach - a short story, perhaps?
January 13, 2012
Ah, The Power of Social Media
Writers increasingly turn to Twitter and Facebook to share their stories. And sometimes they strike gold. In 2009, Justin Halpern, semi-employed and living back home, used Twitter to post in 140 character increments the hilarious and potty-mouth things that came out of his father’s mouth. Shit My Dad Says went on to be a bestseller and a TV show starring William Shatner.
Author Matt Stewart also used Twitter. This Yale University graduate had written a book set in San Francisco with an unusual and memorable cast of characters. He shopped around for a publisher but received rejection letter after rejection letter. So he began tweeting his unpublished novel in 140 characters at a time. Twitter users loved it! Word of mouth spread, and Soft Skull Press released The French Revolution on July 14, 2010.
Now we have Lou Beach. Instead of employing Twitter, though, Beach turned to Facebook, where he posted little vignettes in 420-character status updates. That is the creation story for his new book 420 Characters. Beach is not the first to use flash fiction, but he does it like he owns it.
Flash fiction has other names, such as microfiction or short shorts. It is really short bursts of words, sometimes only 100 or so. In a world where billions of stimuli constantly vie for our attention, its length is perfect. However, flash fiction is not for everyone. I like to connect with characters, and a reader just cannot do that in a short short. I will say that Beach does use a few recurring characters, but I had to go back if I thought I recognized a place or a name I had seen before. The recurring names and places did not jump out at me.
I will say some of the short shorts are unusual. For example:
His chute failed to open and as he fell he struck a pigeon, pinning it against his chest as they rushed toward the ground in tandem. He felt the pigeon’s heart beating against his own. He closed his eyes and imagined he had two hearts, one outside his body and one inside, beating like a train.
Beach, as you can tell from reading the above vignette, is a very visual writer. I love that about him. Some of his pieces are beautiful. Many of Beach’s shorts felt like free-verse poetry to me. I want to share with you my favorite one:
I lay the book on the floor, open to the middle. It’s a lovely volume, green leather covers, engraved endpapers. I remove my shoes and step into it up to my ankles, knees, hips, chest, until only my head is showing and the pages spread around me and the words bob up and down and bump into my neck, and the punctuation sticks to my chin and cheeks so I look like I need a shave.
If you go to Beach’s website, you can listen to several recordings by Jeff Bridges, Ian McShane, and Dave Alvin. I loved hearing Bridges’ gruff voice give life to the words on the page.
I easily finished 420 Characters in one sitting. It’s only 176 pages, and it keeps you reading.
Let’s not forget Beach’s talent as an illustrator. The book is full of his original artwork. My advice is to buy the hardcover edition because those images are amazing in color!
Is flash fiction the future? I hope not. It’s different, yes, but it should never replace the novel.
Writers increasingly turn to Twitter and Facebook to share their stories. And sometimes they strike gold. In 2009, Justin Halpern, semi-employed and living back home, used Twitter to post in 140 character increments the hilarious and potty-mouth things that came out of his father’s mouth. Shit My Dad Says went on to be a bestseller and a TV show starring William Shatner.
Author Matt Stewart also used Twitter. This Yale University graduate had written a book set in San Francisco with an unusual and memorable cast of characters. He shopped around for a publisher but received rejection letter after rejection letter. So he began tweeting his unpublished novel in 140 characters at a time. Twitter users loved it! Word of mouth spread, and Soft Skull Press released The French Revolution on July 14, 2010.
Now we have Lou Beach. Instead of employing Twitter, though, Beach turned to Facebook, where he posted little vignettes in 420-character status updates. That is the creation story for his new book 420 Characters. Beach is not the first to use flash fiction, but he does it like he owns it.
Flash fiction has other names, such as microfiction or short shorts. It is really short bursts of words, sometimes only 100 or so. In a world where billions of stimuli constantly vie for our attention, its length is perfect. However, flash fiction is not for everyone. I like to connect with characters, and a reader just cannot do that in a short short. I will say that Beach does use a few recurring characters, but I had to go back if I thought I recognized a place or a name I had seen before. The recurring names and places did not jump out at me.
I will say some of the short shorts are unusual. For example:
His chute failed to open and as he fell he struck a pigeon, pinning it against his chest as they rushed toward the ground in tandem. He felt the pigeon’s heart beating against his own. He closed his eyes and imagined he had two hearts, one outside his body and one inside, beating like a train.
Beach, as you can tell from reading the above vignette, is a very visual writer. I love that about him. Some of his pieces are beautiful. Many of Beach’s shorts felt like free-verse poetry to me. I want to share with you my favorite one:
I lay the book on the floor, open to the middle. It’s a lovely volume, green leather covers, engraved endpapers. I remove my shoes and step into it up to my ankles, knees, hips, chest, until only my head is showing and the pages spread around me and the words bob up and down and bump into my neck, and the punctuation sticks to my chin and cheeks so I look like I need a shave.
If you go to Beach’s website, you can listen to several recordings by Jeff Bridges, Ian McShane, and Dave Alvin. I loved hearing Bridges’ gruff voice give life to the words on the page.
I easily finished 420 Characters in one sitting. It’s only 176 pages, and it keeps you reading.
Let’s not forget Beach’s talent as an illustrator. The book is full of his original artwork. My advice is to buy the hardcover edition because those images are amazing in color!
Is flash fiction the future? I hope not. It’s different, yes, but it should never replace the novel.
October 19, 2015
A collection of 169 short stories, none longer than 420 characters. Some seem shorter but I'm not counting anything. I found some stories took my breath away, others left me wanting more. The book also has surreal collages created by the author. Not my thing at all, I always feel like someone's trying too hard.
A few of my favorites:
Today I'm Jimi Hendrix but I don't own a guitar so I set fire to a kitchen chair instead. The crowd roars. My wife refuses to be the drummer, just clucks and stirs the soup. "Have some bisque, Hendrix," she says, hands me a bowl then sits down at the table. I have to stand, 'cause I burned my ax, man. So cool, so cool.
"ARE YOU MY MOMMY?" said the little blue egg. No dear. You are a plastic trinket full of sweets," said the brown hen. "My baby is over there," and she pointed to a pink marshmallow chick being torn apart and devoured by a toddler. The hen screamed and woke up, her pillow wet with sweat, the sheets twisted around her legs. "Christ, I hate that dream." She reaches for a smoke.
They are closing the mine in two weeks, they say. Six days a week bumping down in the gondola, pecking out the rocks and hauling them back up, doing it again the next day for twenty-seven years, one cave-in, three thin raises, and a failed strike. Where am I going to go every day, what am I going to do with all that sunshine?
I got this from the library but would love to own it.
A few of my favorites:
Today I'm Jimi Hendrix but I don't own a guitar so I set fire to a kitchen chair instead. The crowd roars. My wife refuses to be the drummer, just clucks and stirs the soup. "Have some bisque, Hendrix," she says, hands me a bowl then sits down at the table. I have to stand, 'cause I burned my ax, man. So cool, so cool.
"ARE YOU MY MOMMY?" said the little blue egg. No dear. You are a plastic trinket full of sweets," said the brown hen. "My baby is over there," and she pointed to a pink marshmallow chick being torn apart and devoured by a toddler. The hen screamed and woke up, her pillow wet with sweat, the sheets twisted around her legs. "Christ, I hate that dream." She reaches for a smoke.
They are closing the mine in two weeks, they say. Six days a week bumping down in the gondola, pecking out the rocks and hauling them back up, doing it again the next day for twenty-seven years, one cave-in, three thin raises, and a failed strike. Where am I going to go every day, what am I going to do with all that sunshine?
I got this from the library but would love to own it.
May 23, 2012
I love the concept of this—teeny tiny short stories, originally written as Facebook posts. I'm very jealous that I didn't come up with that idea myself. But I'm glad someone did (& apparently there are others). Some of these were brilliant, some were fun, and some lost me. But all in all a quick laugh & a page turner. With artwork.
October 27, 2011
This is pretty far out there, but in a very good way. Lou Beach is an artist whose work has been featured in many publications as well as on several album covers. He's a surrealist in art, and now in writing--this is his first book of prose. It started (and continues--I just 'friended' him to get his daily stories) as Facebook status's, which are limited to 420 characters (including punctuation and spaces). He makes that little bit of space seem like a vast canvas, creating sometimes lyric, sometimes macabre, sometimes hilarious, and sometimes heartbreaking scenarios. He takes you other worlds, other times, and places both physical and emotional that I have no clue about. But I couldn't stop reading them. These stories are both playful and intellectual, with a twist of just plain weird--I think you too will be wishing for more once the last page turns.
January 1, 2012
Since by the time I've gotten home to write this review it's 2012 clearly this is the last book of 2011 which sadly leaves me 24 pages from 49,000 but I suppose that's life.
why don't I like this book? well I wanted to like this book. it's just there are so many great microstories books and this isn't one of them. This is like someone is writing them without understanding the concept of a story. I mean they don't actually beg to be written. I mean a good microstory either feels like it encompasses a story or that it begs a story these do neither, they kind of feel like meaningless strings of words. They also feel weirdly dated like you are reading a paragraph of a jane autsen novel. I actually didn't want to finish the book which is so depressing. I just wasn't onboard okay...
why don't I like this book? well I wanted to like this book. it's just there are so many great microstories books and this isn't one of them. This is like someone is writing them without understanding the concept of a story. I mean they don't actually beg to be written. I mean a good microstory either feels like it encompasses a story or that it begs a story these do neither, they kind of feel like meaningless strings of words. They also feel weirdly dated like you are reading a paragraph of a jane autsen novel. I actually didn't want to finish the book which is so depressing. I just wasn't onboard okay...
Read
March 4, 2012ZERO STARS, that's right Zero. This is the worst piece of shit I've encountered in a Long time. These were his updates to a 'social networking' site. They were bizarre, horrible, random and senseless. Not even remotely interesting, no redeeming value at all. Oh, and his "art"? His illustrations? Not my cup of tea either. pffffffft!!!
October 17, 2012
I was conflicted about giving this 5 stars for pretty lame reasons. I finally had to say to hell with it--it's pretty much an unmitigated delight from beginning to end and a beautiful art object to boot.
January 19, 2019
Danny and I stand outside the church, fidget in our muted plaid sport coats. Maybe not muted enough. An old guy in a tuxedo walks up to Danny and hands him some car keys. “What’s this?” says Danny. “Aren’t you the parking valet?” says the guy. “No, I’m the best man.” The guy walks away and we see him later inside. He’s the father of the bride. “Oh, it’s going to be a fun reception,” Danny says, taking out the flask.
Lou Beach is a well known artist (but recent discovery to me) who has done many illustrations for clients such as Wired, The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s, The Los Angeles Times and the New York Times (where he was a regular contributor to the Book Review). The bio on his website starts with the following paragraph: "I was born on a mountaintop in Tennessee, killed me a bear when I was only three. No, wait..I was born in Germany of Polish parents, came to the US when I was only four, spent my youth in Rochester, New York, riding my bike, building snow forts, throwing chestnuts at the kid down the street. I was a fair student, no great shakes, disappointing several teachers by not realizing my “full potential.”
Right away, you know you're dealing with a highly creative individual who doesn't take himself too seriously, especially given the kinds of illustrations which animate his site (see below). I discovered Beach when I was looking up reviews for [The Stockholm Octavo] by Karen Engelmann, offered as a Kindle daily deal one day and landed on the NYT review page featuring one of his gorgeous illustrations (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/09/boo...). Looking up his blog, I found out he'd published this book, which is a collection of short stories exactly 420 characters long, including punctuation, which he had initially published as his Facebook status updates when the site only allowed that specific amount of text. The kindle edition includes some illustrations and several audio selection read by Dave Alvin, Ian McShane, and Jeff Bridges. As can be expected from this sort of project, the results are a mixed bag. There are some sublime moments, some ho-hum moments, and some head-scratching moments of... 'WTF?' but undeniably, the man had fun with the form and a reader is bound to find something that appeals. A few examples that worked for me:
The servants seem peculiar lately. The kitchen help, the housekeeper, and the gardener move about in a shuffle, mumbling, glazed. When I confront them they appear startled, as if just awakened. Only Claude, the chauffeur, retains his old demeanour, sneering or scowling, smoking a Gauloise as he leans against the Packard, wiping a long black fender with my cashmere sweater.
***
A bird lives on my head, nests in my hair, pecks at my scalp. A finch, I believe. When I go out in public I cover it with a hat, so it’s away from prying eyes and cats who would climb my body to catch it. Sometimes on the bus I notice others wearing hats, and if there are seeds or an errant feather on their shoulders, I nod and smile and preen.
***
I lay the book on the floor, open to the middle. It’s a lovely volume, green leather covers, engraved endpapers. I remove my shoes and step into it up to my ankles, knees, hips, chest, until only my head is showing and the pages spread around me and the words bob up and down and bump into my neck, and the punctuation sticks to my chin and cheeks so I look like I need a shave.
***
And my favourite:
“Are you my mommy?” said the little blue egg. “No, dear. You are a plastic trinket full of sweets,” said the brown hen. “My baby is over there," and she pointed to a pink marshmallow chick being torn apart and devoured by a toddler. The hen screamed and woke up, her pillow wet with sweat, the sheets twisted around her legs. “Christ, I hate that dream.” She reached for a smoke.
More stories, which weren't included in the book can be found on his site: http://www.loubeach.com/stories/
—February 2014
June 14, 2020
I was expecting more from this. I was expecting views in through windows that left me feeling like I had just read a tiny and complete moment. There were some, but mostly it was like reading random paragraphs out of books that left me with no sense of what was happening or reading intro paragraphs that left me wishing I knew what the story was. I also liked most of the art, but am honestly unsure of how it ties in at all.
December 19, 2011
There's a professor of creative writing at the school where I got my master's degree who is kind of obsessed with flash fiction. I wasn't a creative writing student, so I never had any classes with him, but I heard tell. His argument was that this sort of quickie writing help get the juices flowing, helps you get ideas out on paper so they can be developed later. Maybe there's some truth to that, but I always kind of felt the products of these exercises were largely pretty pathetic. I know that sounds harsh, but the point is kind of to produce something uncultivated and that's usually what you get.
So Lou Beach put together this collection of "stories," which originated as a series of Facebook posts that were limited to 420 characters each. There's no connection between any of them, they're just brief descriptions of a moment in time. If you've ever been a borderline emo teenager with a blog, say, in the glory days of Xanga or Livejournal, you've probably seen borderline emo teenager versions of these things. I'm not going to lie - fourteen year old me wrote tons of this shit. I didn't have the chops to write a full-blown short story with characters and plots and things, but I had the skills needed to write what I thought was a lovely collection of descriptions of moments. It's kind of the easy way out.
It may have started out kind of gimmicky, but Beach somehow manages to make it feel like the exact opposite of a gimmick. There's something profound and beautiful about his writing, how he manages to capture emotional weight with literally no excess. I don't know how much editing or cultivating went into these, but Jonathan Lethem says it best in his front cover blurb: "Holy shit! These are great!"
So Lou Beach put together this collection of "stories," which originated as a series of Facebook posts that were limited to 420 characters each. There's no connection between any of them, they're just brief descriptions of a moment in time. If you've ever been a borderline emo teenager with a blog, say, in the glory days of Xanga or Livejournal, you've probably seen borderline emo teenager versions of these things. I'm not going to lie - fourteen year old me wrote tons of this shit. I didn't have the chops to write a full-blown short story with characters and plots and things, but I had the skills needed to write what I thought was a lovely collection of descriptions of moments. It's kind of the easy way out.
It may have started out kind of gimmicky, but Beach somehow manages to make it feel like the exact opposite of a gimmick. There's something profound and beautiful about his writing, how he manages to capture emotional weight with literally no excess. I don't know how much editing or cultivating went into these, but Jonathan Lethem says it best in his front cover blurb: "Holy shit! These are great!"
October 21, 2012
I had mixed feelings about this one. It is obviously gimmicky - and some of the 'stories' are obviously weak with not enough space for exposition of the ideas explored.
On the other hand, some told me more about the characters than some full length novels have done. Here is my favorite one:
'HER FEROCITY left him indisposed to fight back and finally to even listen. She squinted, eyed him like a pot of boiling water watches a raw egg. She filled the salt shaker. "What is the matter, Jerome?"
This one was pretty good too:
"ANN O’DYNE, nurse, had healing hands, wee mitts sprung from the cuffs of her crisp white tunic. Her voice was gold, a brook in a meadow. It washed away fear and anger, discomfort and pain. She was the pride of the ward, the whole hospital, the surgeon’s pal, the patient’s savior. At home, her feet hurt, she drank, slept with a butcher, called talk radio programs, ranted about illegal immigrants and the Jew-run media."
On the net, you could do worse with an hour or two of available time.
On the other hand, some told me more about the characters than some full length novels have done. Here is my favorite one:
'HER FEROCITY left him indisposed to fight back and finally to even listen. She squinted, eyed him like a pot of boiling water watches a raw egg. She filled the salt shaker. "What is the matter, Jerome?"
This one was pretty good too:
"ANN O’DYNE, nurse, had healing hands, wee mitts sprung from the cuffs of her crisp white tunic. Her voice was gold, a brook in a meadow. It washed away fear and anger, discomfort and pain. She was the pride of the ward, the whole hospital, the surgeon’s pal, the patient’s savior. At home, her feet hurt, she drank, slept with a butcher, called talk radio programs, ranted about illegal immigrants and the Jew-run media."
On the net, you could do worse with an hour or two of available time.
July 8, 2017
This book was born from a series of Facebook statuses by it's author - each a story complete in and of itself, contained inside 420 characters or less. The stories vary, from realistic to bizarre and dreamlike, but are uniformly interesting and captivating - quite the impressive feat.
I found a good many of them, however, to be . . . unapologetically male, and not in a good way - drifting into vaguely and not-so-vaguely misogynistic on numerous occasions. Although the writer is undeniably both talented and skilled, the work thus left a bad taste in my mouth, a lingering sense not of the art but of the artist, as someone I would not want to know: an impression of a "bro" pushing into middle age, somehow never quite maturing.
If goodreads asked us to generate a rating based upon the quality of the work, this book would receive 5 stars. Instead, however, I am asked to rate the book by how much *I liked it, and it thus receives a three.
I found a good many of them, however, to be . . . unapologetically male, and not in a good way - drifting into vaguely and not-so-vaguely misogynistic on numerous occasions. Although the writer is undeniably both talented and skilled, the work thus left a bad taste in my mouth, a lingering sense not of the art but of the artist, as someone I would not want to know: an impression of a "bro" pushing into middle age, somehow never quite maturing.
If goodreads asked us to generate a rating based upon the quality of the work, this book would receive 5 stars. Instead, however, I am asked to rate the book by how much *I liked it, and it thus receives a three.
January 8, 2012
This is a book of microstories, each 420 characters or less. Many of them are excellent and some quite dark. Here's an example:
The train pulls into Jawbone at 1:07. I'm on the platform waiting for you but the only passengers off the car are three old farmers. I stand there for a while, look around, hoping you'll appear out of the heat. The engine chugs off into the dust and I retreat to the Red Dog, drink until I'm numb, then stumble past the livery barn to lie down on the tracks. I put my ear to the rail, close my eyes and listen for you.
The book as an object is a lovely red hard back with gold lettering and a band of a dust jacket. Surrealist illustrations by the author adorn the cover and can be found throughout the text. I wish more new hardbacks were presented so nicely.
The train pulls into Jawbone at 1:07. I'm on the platform waiting for you but the only passengers off the car are three old farmers. I stand there for a while, look around, hoping you'll appear out of the heat. The engine chugs off into the dust and I retreat to the Red Dog, drink until I'm numb, then stumble past the livery barn to lie down on the tracks. I put my ear to the rail, close my eyes and listen for you.
The book as an object is a lovely red hard back with gold lettering and a band of a dust jacket. Surrealist illustrations by the author adorn the cover and can be found throughout the text. I wish more new hardbacks were presented so nicely.
January 14, 2012
420 Characters is kind of a book of short stories, but really more like a book of prose. Lou Beach has been experimenting with short stories via Facebook status update, whereas, you only have 420 characters to write with. The result is a bunch of teaser stories. Many hint at something very ominous or perhaps some past history and it is enough to want more of the story. It reminds me a great deal of On A Winter’s Night a Traveler even though there is more of the story that is fleshed out, each chapter leaves you hanging, wondering what will happen next. It’s a great inspiration book for writers and a great example of an exciting opening. It’s good to read these slowly to absorb each story just like a book of poetry. A fun read.
September 1, 2016
I picked this up by chance in City Lights and was instantly delighted. Lou Beach is an amusing illustrator (those included here remind me of John Tenniel's antic illustrations for the Alice stories) – but the pleasure in this book is its rapid-fire tales. These are hit and miss, naturally, yet I enjoy them as much for the short form as for the stories, which at their best remind me of Charles Simic's prose poems in The World Doesn't End.
Lots of reminding in this review, but never mind.
Lots of reminding in this review, but never mind.
February 23, 2013
Some stories are thought provoking, some scary, some lyrical and others mystical, all are highly creative.
If only I had this book years ago when I sat through a creative writing course listening to the prof. tell the class to write a story about the fly, the fly, the fly on the wall.
I could have used Lou Beach as a reference regarding how the heck to compose an elusive thought and make it shine. (
If only I had this book years ago when I sat through a creative writing course listening to the prof. tell the class to write a story about the fly, the fly, the fly on the wall.
I could have used Lou Beach as a reference regarding how the heck to compose an elusive thought and make it shine. (
August 10, 2015
I loved the concept of mega-short stories and there were some great ones. Often not many words are needed to transport you to a place where you feel comfortable and familiar. Expected more punchlines, though.
July 10, 2016
I enjoyed this book way more in the beginning half than the end; as it became increasingly redundant in both tempo and tale - there were less and less surprises, and the monotony in the staccato voice of the author was a bit much to take.
December 21, 2013
What the fuck did I just read?
August 29, 2017
Four years ago I found a copy of 420 Characters in an alley on my college campus. I placed it among my other books, and some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend, legend became myth, and for two and half thousand years the Ring passed out of all knowledge.
Er, well, maybe it wasn't the "one ring," but it was forgotten for a fair bit of time, but I finally dusted it off and gave it a read.
And how amazing was it? Not amazing.
And how terrible was it? Not terrible.
Lou Beach set out with a unique challenge in mind - a collection of fiction limited to 420 characters, including letters, spaces, and punctuation. In a way, it feels much more akin to a book of poetry than fiction, and it had the possibility to contain those kinds of resonant verses. However, it doesn't. The stories just don't do anything special and by the end they'd all melted into the same banal puddle. 420 Characters read like the product of a creative writing class, something that provided good practice for the writer, but ultimately something that didn't need to be put in front of an audience.
It was like a bowl of tapioca pudding. I'll take it if it's free, but you won't find me ordering it off the menu.
Sample
Er, well, maybe it wasn't the "one ring," but it was forgotten for a fair bit of time, but I finally dusted it off and gave it a read.
And how amazing was it? Not amazing.
And how terrible was it? Not terrible.
Lou Beach set out with a unique challenge in mind - a collection of fiction limited to 420 characters, including letters, spaces, and punctuation. In a way, it feels much more akin to a book of poetry than fiction, and it had the possibility to contain those kinds of resonant verses. However, it doesn't. The stories just don't do anything special and by the end they'd all melted into the same banal puddle. 420 Characters read like the product of a creative writing class, something that provided good practice for the writer, but ultimately something that didn't need to be put in front of an audience.
It was like a bowl of tapioca pudding. I'll take it if it's free, but you won't find me ordering it off the menu.
Sample
I had never used a chain saw. When I plunged
it into the neck of the tree it stuck, and I pulled hard,
fell backwards. The saw sliced off part of my scalp,
deli style, on the way down, the sputtered, scuttled
away like a mad crab. I passed out, woke later to a
low growl. Lucky was lapping at a pool of blood
next to my head. I was glad to see him, his yellow
eyes.
December 29, 2019
Though I've always found flash fiction gimmicky, there's something about the oblique and hallucinatory quality of these paragraph-length stories that really stuck with me. Similar to Calvino's Invisible Cities, each page generates its own world and is a wonder of economy and imagination.
"He waited all his life for a splashy catharsis, irrefutable evidence that a profound change had transformed him. It took him many years to realize that he had been altered each day by the sun's rising and the moon's movement, by the unfurling of his daughter's tiny hand to grasp his thumb, by the cat on his chest, by the glass of water his wife brought him before bedtime, by the questions his son asked." (Pg. 143)
"He waited all his life for a splashy catharsis, irrefutable evidence that a profound change had transformed him. It took him many years to realize that he had been altered each day by the sun's rising and the moon's movement, by the unfurling of his daughter's tiny hand to grasp his thumb, by the cat on his chest, by the glass of water his wife brought him before bedtime, by the questions his son asked." (Pg. 143)
August 9, 2019
An innovative project, but only a few of these truly stand alone as finished short stories. At his best, Beach does a great job of using minute details to carry the story through to its conclusion. Unfortunately, most of these seem like sparks – initial ideas – for stories that could be much longer. The drawings are cool, though! Very bizarre collages that seem to grow and develop the longer you look at them.
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