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Balls
A New York story, a dark comedy, Balls tells of the thirty-year-old Henry Schiller, a songwriter and lounge-player, in love with a woman far younger and more musically gifted than himself, one with her eye on other men and the rise of her own career, whose crisis deepens when he discovers he has testicular cancer.
261 pages, Hardcover
First published August 6, 2012
1 person is currently reading
266 people want to read
About the author
Julian Tepper
9 books27 followersJulian Tepper is the author of four novels, Cooler Heads, Between the Records, Balls, and Ark. His writing has appeared in The Paris Review, Playboy, The Brooklyn Rail, Zyzzyva, The Daily Beast, The Brooklyn Rail, Tablet Magazine, and elsewhere. His essay, "Locking Down with the Family You've Just Eviscerated in a Novel" was a "Notable Essay of 2022" in Best American Essays 2022. He was born and raised on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
May 11, 2024
Very much a New York novel, Balls: A Novel is beautifully written, compelling, and full of humor. Henry Schiller's voice is not one to be soon forgotten.
Looking forward to reading Ark...
Looking forward to reading Ark...
February 16, 2018
No one loves neurotic Jews and dark comedies more than me. They just need to be more likable and comedic than what are found in this book.
February 19, 2022
I enjoyed this book. The protagonist, Henry, was likable and interesting, albeit unreliable... I tend to like books with unreliable narrators. The form was unique and playful with a bix of prose and verse. I read it in one night 🌙
September 30, 2012
Disclaimer: Although Julian Tepper is an acquaintance and aware I've read his book, he has not seen this review in advance of its addition here.
Henry Schiller, lounge singer, songwriter, is the last Schiller in New York City. That is not only a statement of fact, but also one of existential importance, as we learn at the book's opening that Schiller is terribly ill, likely with testicular cancer.
As the man contemplates the possibility of his own demise, he watches the City he loves come down, brick-by-brick, block-by-block, metaphor-by-metaphor, around him. This inevitability has inspired him to compose what he believes will be his great work, a song titled "Castrated New York."
Henry is also heart sick--in love with a young woman, Paula Mills, a violin virtuoso. She is not only the bright-to-bursting counterpart to Henry's increasingly shrunken and sullen self, but also a challenge to what little remains of his self respect.
Unfortunately for Henry, Paula's affection for him is less compelling than her considerable, and achievable, ambitions. It's important to note here that Henry, at 30 years old, has reached an age when one, regardless of former promise, stands at the edge of a cliff. Henry faces full-fledged manhood with only one notable success and that was no singular sensation. In a sense, Henry has been facing death long before his diagnosis--the living death of obscurity. Henry's struggle is not only to survive but also to create a work that will outlive him. It is the tension between these two concepts of life that sets the book in motion.
This book is also an ironic elegy. It marks the end of a particular Jewish Presence in the City. At the end of the 19th and into the early 20th Century, the descent of the WASP artistic class was manifested in various nervous illnesses, often diagnosed as neurasthenia. A similar, if ironic, twist on that condition, one best represented in the persona created by Woody Allen, marked the ascent of the Post-Second World War Jewish neurotic. Henry may not only be the last Schiller in New York, he may also be the last lovable neurotic Jew.
The book, compact and a little hurried, not unlike the pace of the City, follows Henry's fears, real and imagined. As his physical health deteriorates, so does his mental health. As the man's neuroses grow in intensity, he becomes increasingly unbalanced. There are a few passages that suggest a loss of reality--events and meetings that may be real but just as likely are hallucinations. During those periods when he is struggling to maintain his balance, Henry turns his predicament into a ditty. These lyric-like bits and fragments are not unlike those muttered, sung or hummed by some of the most wretched beings one encounters in a subway car or while walking through a park.
In addition to being a writer, Mr. Tepper is also a musician and songwriter. Knowing this, I wonder if he isn't giving his readers an insight into the domestic origins of songs, and both the pleasure and frustrations inherent in turning impressions and emotions into song and song into art.
In the case of Henry Schiller, testicles, breasts, talent, genius, money, love and death, in sum, everything, everything seen, felt or heard, exists solely as material. In the end, the song, whether a hit or a miss, is the thing. Although, as Schiller continues to remind us, the hit is everything.
Henry Schiller, lounge singer, songwriter, is the last Schiller in New York City. That is not only a statement of fact, but also one of existential importance, as we learn at the book's opening that Schiller is terribly ill, likely with testicular cancer.
As the man contemplates the possibility of his own demise, he watches the City he loves come down, brick-by-brick, block-by-block, metaphor-by-metaphor, around him. This inevitability has inspired him to compose what he believes will be his great work, a song titled "Castrated New York."
Henry is also heart sick--in love with a young woman, Paula Mills, a violin virtuoso. She is not only the bright-to-bursting counterpart to Henry's increasingly shrunken and sullen self, but also a challenge to what little remains of his self respect.
Unfortunately for Henry, Paula's affection for him is less compelling than her considerable, and achievable, ambitions. It's important to note here that Henry, at 30 years old, has reached an age when one, regardless of former promise, stands at the edge of a cliff. Henry faces full-fledged manhood with only one notable success and that was no singular sensation. In a sense, Henry has been facing death long before his diagnosis--the living death of obscurity. Henry's struggle is not only to survive but also to create a work that will outlive him. It is the tension between these two concepts of life that sets the book in motion.
This book is also an ironic elegy. It marks the end of a particular Jewish Presence in the City. At the end of the 19th and into the early 20th Century, the descent of the WASP artistic class was manifested in various nervous illnesses, often diagnosed as neurasthenia. A similar, if ironic, twist on that condition, one best represented in the persona created by Woody Allen, marked the ascent of the Post-Second World War Jewish neurotic. Henry may not only be the last Schiller in New York, he may also be the last lovable neurotic Jew.
The book, compact and a little hurried, not unlike the pace of the City, follows Henry's fears, real and imagined. As his physical health deteriorates, so does his mental health. As the man's neuroses grow in intensity, he becomes increasingly unbalanced. There are a few passages that suggest a loss of reality--events and meetings that may be real but just as likely are hallucinations. During those periods when he is struggling to maintain his balance, Henry turns his predicament into a ditty. These lyric-like bits and fragments are not unlike those muttered, sung or hummed by some of the most wretched beings one encounters in a subway car or while walking through a park.
In addition to being a writer, Mr. Tepper is also a musician and songwriter. Knowing this, I wonder if he isn't giving his readers an insight into the domestic origins of songs, and both the pleasure and frustrations inherent in turning impressions and emotions into song and song into art.
In the case of Henry Schiller, testicles, breasts, talent, genius, money, love and death, in sum, everything, everything seen, felt or heard, exists solely as material. In the end, the song, whether a hit or a miss, is the thing. Although, as Schiller continues to remind us, the hit is everything.
September 8, 2016
The majority of the NYC story transpires during a one week period during which Henry, a struggling songwriter, discovers he has a suspicious testicular mass. Henry is one of those obsessively self-analytic personalities, who revels in illogical reasoning and is always on the cusp of making bad decisions. Why, go to the doctor, it's probably nothing and the medics are just going to scare you and drain your pocketbook? Why go for the surgery now, it can wait a few weeks? Henry has a girlfriend, a classical musician, who is clearly more into her art than him. The misfit of the couple is quite obvious. He is eight years older and how they came to be is not well explained. It is however, clear that she is a prodigy, who is about to graduate and jettison him in favor of fame and fortune. Overall, there are no really empathetic characters of any consequence in the story. All the characters seem to me as empty caricatures (Dad, Stepmom, the lecherous violin master etc.) or delusional fools. Henry regularly says things to people that are far beyond reason and thus generates little sympathy. He argues with his doctor and accuses him of exaggerating the risk in order to make money. Henry is so alone that has to enlist a friendly bartender to bring him home after his hospital stay. There are also a couple strange tangents stories about drunks and hecklers. I often found myself having to put it down for a bit when Henry was just about to do something idiotic.
Although well written, I found the story a dreary look at some sad people. If you enjoy dark character studies of somewhat delusional people, you might like this. I was not my cup of tea.
Although well written, I found the story a dreary look at some sad people. If you enjoy dark character studies of somewhat delusional people, you might like this. I was not my cup of tea.
October 2, 2012
Though I'm perfectly willing to admit that my extreme devotion to seeing this novel become a major bestseller and well-loved work of literature may have a lot to do with a personal taste level (I connect with the subject matter, musical references, and above all some well-loved places of NYC mentioned throughout the novel) I think that everyone can find something to love in this novel. Tepper's debut does not disappoint, in fact, it's more of a welcome relief. A lot of new writers are afraid to poke fun of themselves, their work is weighed down by exhaustive literary references to prove just how much they've read. This novel isn't like that at all: it's entirely engaging, never pretentious, and in a word, un-putdownable. Of all the famous and heralded "staple authors" who have, somehow, all chosen Fall 2012 to publish new books, nothing I've read from them so far has excited me half as much as this new voice.
It's a book destined to be loved particularly by New Yorkers, who are given the opportunity to swell with recognition every other page, and musicians and writers alike, who can certainly identify and empathize with Henry. Tepper covers so much here, but the book is just so goddamn enjoyable that you don't even realize what he's doing until it's all over. And you'll be done with this book in a day, so no excuses that "you don't have time."
This is not only my favorite fall book of 2012, it's one of my new favorite books. I recommend it to anyone and everyone with half a soul, a partially functioning brain, and at least one testicle.
It's a book destined to be loved particularly by New Yorkers, who are given the opportunity to swell with recognition every other page, and musicians and writers alike, who can certainly identify and empathize with Henry. Tepper covers so much here, but the book is just so goddamn enjoyable that you don't even realize what he's doing until it's all over. And you'll be done with this book in a day, so no excuses that "you don't have time."
This is not only my favorite fall book of 2012, it's one of my new favorite books. I recommend it to anyone and everyone with half a soul, a partially functioning brain, and at least one testicle.
May 12, 2013
This is an old school New York novel and anyone who is a fan of Philip Roth will certainly see the influences in Tepper's prose. For the non New Yorker, get ready for a fun ride into the city and the neurosis that comes with being an artist in the city of manifest dreams. For the New Yorker, the story comforts like a favorite pair of warm slippers. And if you're a Jewish New Yorker, your relatives may even pop into your head as you read. The only character that put me off was Paula, Henry's girlfriend. Was she so self absorbed, and were they so NON sexual that she did not notice the tumor on Henry's balls? Forgive me, but it is the name of the book! In any case, an engaging NYC tale, and I look forward to more from Tepper over the course of his career.
June 25, 2016
I received this book through a First Reads giveaway.
There are good concepts here that weave together in an interesting way--the romanticized chase after success, the insult life can pay a young person by dealing him a critical illness, the New York-as-its-own-character model. I had routine frustrations with the story's organization, though. For much of the book, the real-time action is fairly sparse; a lot of the content is devoted to tangential memories of auxiliary characters who either appear periodically or even just randomly occur to protagonist (more anti-hero) Henry. The effect is less that of an innovative story structure and more that of a novella that was stretched into a full novel through the choppy insertion of anecdotes that are not necessarily additive.
There are good concepts here that weave together in an interesting way--the romanticized chase after success, the insult life can pay a young person by dealing him a critical illness, the New York-as-its-own-character model. I had routine frustrations with the story's organization, though. For much of the book, the real-time action is fairly sparse; a lot of the content is devoted to tangential memories of auxiliary characters who either appear periodically or even just randomly occur to protagonist (more anti-hero) Henry. The effect is less that of an innovative story structure and more that of a novella that was stretched into a full novel through the choppy insertion of anecdotes that are not necessarily additive.
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November 21, 2012From Flavorpill: Julian Tepper’s writing is youthful, evocative, and unassuming. There is something deeply American in its DNA: a nostalgia, a grace, a simplicity…and yet, an ambition. Reading his debut novel, I thought often of F. Scott Fitzgerald, which sounds absurdly overblown, but I’m actually serious.
July 31, 2012
I usually don't write reviews of books my company publishes, but this book is absolutely amazing. I read it for a copy edit and had to remind myself that I was supposed to be checking for spelling and grammar errors. One of those books that comes along rarely. I can't wait to see what Julian does next, and I hope I get to be a part of it.
June 11, 2016
In my opinion, Julian Tepper is a good author but this book would be a man's book. This was a Goodreads giveaway to be reviewed but as a woman I wouldn't buy it. Parts are interesting and I know women should know about testicle cancer. It just not to my taste. I'm sure Julian's next book will be successful.
March 17, 2013
You can see Philip Roth influences, and throw a little JD Salinger in too. Good read.
August 5, 2013
This perfectly New York book was a great re-introduction to my favorite city in the world.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews