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The Fun Parts
A boy eats his way to self-discovery, while another must battle the reality-brandishing monster preying on his fantasy realm. Elsewhere, an aerobics instructor—the daughter of a Holocaust survivor—makes the most shocking leap imaginable to save her soul. These are just a few of the characters you'll encounter in Sam Lipsyte's richly imagined world.
Featuring a grizzled and possibly deranged male doula, a doomsday hustler who must face the multi-universal truth of "the real-ass jumbo," and a tawdry glimpse of a high school shot-putting circuit in northern New Jersey, circa 1986, Lipsyte's short stories combine the tragicomic brilliance of his beloved novels with the compressed vitality of Venus Drive. The Fun Parts is Lipsyte at his very best—a far-ranging exploration of new voices and vistas from "the most consistently funny fiction writer working today" (Time).
Featuring a grizzled and possibly deranged male doula, a doomsday hustler who must face the multi-universal truth of "the real-ass jumbo," and a tawdry glimpse of a high school shot-putting circuit in northern New Jersey, circa 1986, Lipsyte's short stories combine the tragicomic brilliance of his beloved novels with the compressed vitality of Venus Drive. The Fun Parts is Lipsyte at his very best—a far-ranging exploration of new voices and vistas from "the most consistently funny fiction writer working today" (Time).
224 pages, Hardcover
First published March 5, 2013
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2433 people want to read
About the author
Sam Lipsyte
32 books591 followersSam Lipsyte was born in 1968. He is the author of the story collection Venus Drive (named one of the top twenty-five book of its year by the Village Voice Supplement) and the novels The Subject of Steve and Home Land, winner of the Believer Book Award. Lipsyte teaches at Columbia Universitys School of The Arts and is a 2008 Guggenheim Fellow. He lives in Manhattan.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 232 reviews
February 20, 2013
I’m testing a theory that where you fall on the Lipsyte-ometer can be determined by what this passage does to the reading parts of your brain -- specifically the last sentence:
“Ypsilanti was easy to leave. I wasn’t from there. I’d just landed there. The Michigan Eviscerations had begun in Manhattan. Martha was a junior at NYU, heiress to a fuel-injection fortune. I was a cheeky barista who kept penciling my phone number on her latte’s heat sleeve. Cheeky and, I should add, quite hairy. Martha finally dialed the smudged figures on the corrugated cuff, cavorted in my belly fur.”
I’ll share mine: I read it once and made a cockeyed wince-face. I read it again and fell right into the crevice between “too clever” and “HA!” This chunk comes early in one of the many whoa-wait-what short stories in Sam Lipsyte’s collection “The Fun Parts.” In this one a barista has lucked into the kind of marriage where he has the financial freedom to pick a hobby and devote his life to it. (He chooses meat smoking). When his wife falls for another man, he takes up a casual fling with her mother until he is called back to New York City to spend time with a terminally ill friend who isn’t actually terminally ill but wants to finish something that started at a party decades ago.
Regardless, this isn’t the first time that I’ve face-flopped into this crevice and it’s not the first time that Lipsyte has pitched me into it. This is what it was like to read his novel “The Ask”: Love it. Love it. Love it. Oh Gah, you kill me, Sam. Love it. Love it, but getting tired of this much merrymaking. Yawning. There are clarinets going berserk in my head. OH GOD MAKE IT END! In the end I loved it more than it exhausted me and I gave it a favorable review.
Let me kill the suspense before I even build it: He does the same thing with short stories. He doesn’t complete the same trajectory within each story (that would be a nightmare times 13), but the collection does build to an absurd frenzy and by the end you might want to bounce-pass the book out of your line of vision. But, again, he knows how to tip the scale in the favor of favorable.
There are times when I read short stories and think: Geez, Molly. If I wanted to know this story, I’d follow a car home from the grocery store, sneak into the house through the attached garage and affix spy equipment to the most vanilla of dream journals. Other times I think: I don’t know, Miranda. You want me to believe this character is teaching dry land swimming lessons in her living room? I’d rather take my chances with a talking cat.
Somewhere in between there are short stories by writers who know that limits are self-imposed. If you want to make a world where something wonky happens and the earth’s rotation takes just a wee bit longer every day, do it. Lipsyte is one of these writers, minus the sci/fi premise.
He doesn’t write nice stories that you read in front of the hearth every Christmas. He doesn’t write characters that remind you of your uncle. He doesn’t write scenes that take an obvious route from Point A to B. In fact, B isn’t even on the map. At his most conventional, Lipsyte writes about a poet who moonlights at a nursery school and is beloved by the young daughter of a rich elderly man. “The Climber Room” ends with whatever is on the B-side of Romance.
“The Dungeon Master” considers the RPG scene and the rumored sociopath controlling the neighborhood game. In “Deniers,” a cardio ballet teacher’s ailing father is a Holocaust survivor and the man in hot pants pursuit of her is a reformed white supremacist. In “The Wisdom of the Doulas,” a male doula is the last-ditch doula for a couple. He’s unconventional, but he’ll clear that clogged milk duct regardless of if the mister is speed dialing 911. “The Worm in Philly” recounts a junky’s big idea to write a children’s book about an old, inspirational boxer. In “Ode to Oldcorn,” high school shot putters learn the legacy of the greatest putter of all time.
The coolest construct is in “The Republic of Empathy,” which leans absurd, but also has some interesting perspective shifts that make for something almost theatrical.
You get the feeling that Lipsyte is always having fun when he writes. By the time he pushes aside his keyboard, he’s got a lampshade on his head or something. It’s admittedly very fun to watch someone have so much fun, but it also gets to be a bit much. I wonder if he’d be better in smaller doses. A story a day for two weeks or something.
“Ypsilanti was easy to leave. I wasn’t from there. I’d just landed there. The Michigan Eviscerations had begun in Manhattan. Martha was a junior at NYU, heiress to a fuel-injection fortune. I was a cheeky barista who kept penciling my phone number on her latte’s heat sleeve. Cheeky and, I should add, quite hairy. Martha finally dialed the smudged figures on the corrugated cuff, cavorted in my belly fur.”
I’ll share mine: I read it once and made a cockeyed wince-face. I read it again and fell right into the crevice between “too clever” and “HA!” This chunk comes early in one of the many whoa-wait-what short stories in Sam Lipsyte’s collection “The Fun Parts.” In this one a barista has lucked into the kind of marriage where he has the financial freedom to pick a hobby and devote his life to it. (He chooses meat smoking). When his wife falls for another man, he takes up a casual fling with her mother until he is called back to New York City to spend time with a terminally ill friend who isn’t actually terminally ill but wants to finish something that started at a party decades ago.
Regardless, this isn’t the first time that I’ve face-flopped into this crevice and it’s not the first time that Lipsyte has pitched me into it. This is what it was like to read his novel “The Ask”: Love it. Love it. Love it. Oh Gah, you kill me, Sam. Love it. Love it, but getting tired of this much merrymaking. Yawning. There are clarinets going berserk in my head. OH GOD MAKE IT END! In the end I loved it more than it exhausted me and I gave it a favorable review.
Let me kill the suspense before I even build it: He does the same thing with short stories. He doesn’t complete the same trajectory within each story (that would be a nightmare times 13), but the collection does build to an absurd frenzy and by the end you might want to bounce-pass the book out of your line of vision. But, again, he knows how to tip the scale in the favor of favorable.
There are times when I read short stories and think: Geez, Molly. If I wanted to know this story, I’d follow a car home from the grocery store, sneak into the house through the attached garage and affix spy equipment to the most vanilla of dream journals. Other times I think: I don’t know, Miranda. You want me to believe this character is teaching dry land swimming lessons in her living room? I’d rather take my chances with a talking cat.
Somewhere in between there are short stories by writers who know that limits are self-imposed. If you want to make a world where something wonky happens and the earth’s rotation takes just a wee bit longer every day, do it. Lipsyte is one of these writers, minus the sci/fi premise.
He doesn’t write nice stories that you read in front of the hearth every Christmas. He doesn’t write characters that remind you of your uncle. He doesn’t write scenes that take an obvious route from Point A to B. In fact, B isn’t even on the map. At his most conventional, Lipsyte writes about a poet who moonlights at a nursery school and is beloved by the young daughter of a rich elderly man. “The Climber Room” ends with whatever is on the B-side of Romance.
“The Dungeon Master” considers the RPG scene and the rumored sociopath controlling the neighborhood game. In “Deniers,” a cardio ballet teacher’s ailing father is a Holocaust survivor and the man in hot pants pursuit of her is a reformed white supremacist. In “The Wisdom of the Doulas,” a male doula is the last-ditch doula for a couple. He’s unconventional, but he’ll clear that clogged milk duct regardless of if the mister is speed dialing 911. “The Worm in Philly” recounts a junky’s big idea to write a children’s book about an old, inspirational boxer. In “Ode to Oldcorn,” high school shot putters learn the legacy of the greatest putter of all time.
The coolest construct is in “The Republic of Empathy,” which leans absurd, but also has some interesting perspective shifts that make for something almost theatrical.
You get the feeling that Lipsyte is always having fun when he writes. By the time he pushes aside his keyboard, he’s got a lampshade on his head or something. It’s admittedly very fun to watch someone have so much fun, but it also gets to be a bit much. I wonder if he’d be better in smaller doses. A story a day for two weeks or something.
April 21, 2013
I liked but didn't love The Fun Parts. But I was close. Three and a half-stars, I think, because of Lipsyte's talent with turning out subtle, funny phrases at a heady rate. None of the stories bored me, and a few neared transcendence (esp. the first one, with a young woman getting older, perhaps pining for the safety of a rich man with a son at the school where she's a teaching assistant, and the one with the male doula (doulo?) who starts to lose his mind. The dungeons and dragons story was great as well. I enjoyed The Fun Parts enough to order Lipsyte's Ask as soon as I finished, and I sense he'll occupy a spot on the virtual/cognitive shelf somewhere near Douglas Coupland and maybe the shiny, highly workshopped writers who strive to appear offhand and whimsical. That's not a bad goal. I'll probably forget some/all of these stories within a few years, so future RA, when you read this, you liked The Fun Parts. Trust me.
February 22, 2013
I find it strange that whenever I read story collections that include pieces originally published in the New Yorker, I can usually tell. I found the NYer stories in The Fun Parts are actually the least fun of the bunch. And I feel the same way with George Saunders NYer stories most of the time too. What is it? Do the editors there suck something out of their stories before sending them to print?
Well, that being said, the REST of the new Lipsyte collection is 5-star action up the ying yang! "Snacks," "Nate's Pain Is Now," "This Appointment Occurs In the Past," and the rest are pretty spectacular laugh-out-loud stories with awesome dialogue and the ability to hurl killer sentences--I mean, for his past three novels, Lipsyte has just gotten better and better with the language. If Gary Lutz (the master of sentences) ever wrote novels, they might read (glow, throb) like Lipsyte's last novel, The Ask.
But back to The Fun Parts.
Lipsyte is a wonderfully sardonic American writer and most of these stories are further proof of his greatness.
Well, that being said, the REST of the new Lipsyte collection is 5-star action up the ying yang! "Snacks," "Nate's Pain Is Now," "This Appointment Occurs In the Past," and the rest are pretty spectacular laugh-out-loud stories with awesome dialogue and the ability to hurl killer sentences--I mean, for his past three novels, Lipsyte has just gotten better and better with the language. If Gary Lutz (the master of sentences) ever wrote novels, they might read (glow, throb) like Lipsyte's last novel, The Ask.
But back to The Fun Parts.
Lipsyte is a wonderfully sardonic American writer and most of these stories are further proof of his greatness.
December 26, 2012
Sam Lipsyte has an ability to make me laugh uncomfortably, the way you would do after having a shared awkward experience where someone loses it in front of you. The characters in his short stories are always out of place, trying to cope with reality, failing, and the author is not afraid to push their scenarios to the most outrageous conclusion.
My favorites - The Climber Room (for the ending), The Wisdom of the Doulas (is the male doula "doulo" crazy, or is the world?).
Also - don't have kids. We forget, when we are grown up, how serious life was in our teens and pre-teens. Lipsyte hasn't forgotten, and it is terrifying.
My favorites - The Climber Room (for the ending), The Wisdom of the Doulas (is the male doula "doulo" crazy, or is the world?).
Also - don't have kids. We forget, when we are grown up, how serious life was in our teens and pre-teens. Lipsyte hasn't forgotten, and it is terrifying.
February 21, 2013
This is a generous three stars. Do I think Sam Lipsyte is a good writer? I do. Do I think this collection is representative of his full capabilities? I absolutely don't. For the most part in The Fun Parts, Sam takes people with problems (self-image or socially stemming ones, work-related gripes, or oftentimes all of these) and throws a wrench into their works. Fine so far.
It's mostly with his stylistic choices I take issue. Sam can spin an okay yarn in sense that he always grounds us on literal terms in the world he's creating, but the way these people speak to each other can come off as pretty forced. There's a veneer of language he applies to his characters that calls attention to itself in a winking, overly nudgey way that's becoming tired at this distant point on the pop-writing timeline. There's a story in the collection where a woman is going to meet up with a guy she had a crush on years earlier. Somewhere, the word "totes" (as in totally) is thrown in, with Sam explaining that totes=totally and I just had to cringe. Seems nit-picky, but examples in kind abound.
I stand by the story "The Republic of Empathy" as a solid piece of great fiction. It was featured in the summer 2012 New Yorker sci-fi special, and it was one of the best stories in that edition. The prose is funny and clever without too much of that winky garbage (i.e. the characters were "true," and I didn't visualize Sam sitting off to the side shouting, "Ya see that! BOOM, I just wrote that, bitches!"). It's a sometimes sweet, sometimes funny, sometimes terrifying portrait of future-Earth that does a great job of grounding its personal relationships.
I've read The Ask and some of Sam's other short fiction to enjoyable ends. I think he can do better than 3/4 of the stuff in The Fun Parts.
It's mostly with his stylistic choices I take issue. Sam can spin an okay yarn in sense that he always grounds us on literal terms in the world he's creating, but the way these people speak to each other can come off as pretty forced. There's a veneer of language he applies to his characters that calls attention to itself in a winking, overly nudgey way that's becoming tired at this distant point on the pop-writing timeline. There's a story in the collection where a woman is going to meet up with a guy she had a crush on years earlier. Somewhere, the word "totes" (as in totally) is thrown in, with Sam explaining that totes=totally and I just had to cringe. Seems nit-picky, but examples in kind abound.
I stand by the story "The Republic of Empathy" as a solid piece of great fiction. It was featured in the summer 2012 New Yorker sci-fi special, and it was one of the best stories in that edition. The prose is funny and clever without too much of that winky garbage (i.e. the characters were "true," and I didn't visualize Sam sitting off to the side shouting, "Ya see that! BOOM, I just wrote that, bitches!"). It's a sometimes sweet, sometimes funny, sometimes terrifying portrait of future-Earth that does a great job of grounding its personal relationships.
I've read The Ask and some of Sam's other short fiction to enjoyable ends. I think he can do better than 3/4 of the stuff in The Fun Parts.
April 26, 2013
billed at hilarious, struck me rather as hysterical and cynical. perhaps it's a nyc thing? good stories though, with lots of rich detail and character and plot packed into 10 or so pages. here is a tiny bit from opening of "the republic of empathy"
"....................
But Peg really wanted another baby, said we owed Philip a bother or sister. That seemed like a pretty huge debt. What do you do for the second child? Have a third?
'Peg," I said. But I had no follow-up. Or was it follow-through?
Peg sat at the kitchen table scribbling in the workbook she'd gotten from Arno, her German tutor. The handwriting didn't look like hers, though I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her handwriting.
'This is a dealbreaker,' Peg said.
'The deal being our marriage?'
'Please don't leave me,' she said.
'Who said I wanted to leave?'
'If you refuse to have another baby, that's the same as leaving me.'
'This is emotional blackmail'.
'The emotional aspect is implicit. You could just say blackmail.'
'But why Peg?'
'This morning I smelled the top of Philip's head. That sweet baby scent is gone. Now it just smells like the top of any dumbshit's head.'
................"
"....................
But Peg really wanted another baby, said we owed Philip a bother or sister. That seemed like a pretty huge debt. What do you do for the second child? Have a third?
'Peg," I said. But I had no follow-up. Or was it follow-through?
Peg sat at the kitchen table scribbling in the workbook she'd gotten from Arno, her German tutor. The handwriting didn't look like hers, though I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her handwriting.
'This is a dealbreaker,' Peg said.
'The deal being our marriage?'
'Please don't leave me,' she said.
'Who said I wanted to leave?'
'If you refuse to have another baby, that's the same as leaving me.'
'This is emotional blackmail'.
'The emotional aspect is implicit. You could just say blackmail.'
'But why Peg?'
'This morning I smelled the top of Philip's head. That sweet baby scent is gone. Now it just smells like the top of any dumbshit's head.'
................"
November 7, 2025
pg. 101: "...[W]e earn our fee on the second day... Yesterday the Gottwalds were the stunned and grateful progenitors of a mewling miracle. Today [they] are the smug bastards they've probably always been. and the Gottwald baby, well, he, might be only two days old, but I can already predict he's going to be a miserable little turd."
December 30, 2018
Lipsyte packs a self-consciously decadent picnic basket to bolster us self-consciously decaying asylum-seekers from the late grate war on litter-a-tour. It's sweet sustenance, but all the same, everybody knows shit fuck, and every smile barely dissembles its bitter grimace. The Fun Parts is not so funny it can't be taken seriously; however, if a joke in the house of the hangman conquers by surprise, a clown on the gallows makes everyone want to die.
Black humor hits close to home, as a coping mechanism, a bad habit, a sorrow tickling the marrow. Are we humored by or with or despite the blackness? I didn't make up the impervious contradictions of comedy and The Intolerable Situation, and Lipsyte isn't going to resolve them in a baker's dozen of droll bagatelles. But it is a perplexing joy to work through these dismal delights again and again, willfully, briefly ignoring a conundrum akin to what I first heard spewed from some of the same radical punks Lipsyte apparently once tarried with: "Is he using his band to sell revolution, or using revolution to sell his band?!" One retort comes in the outstanding story, "Nate's Pain is Now": "You really need this guy to tell you capitalism poisons our bodies and corrupts our souls? Are you that dim you can't figure it out for yourselves?" The cretinous temptation to demand from artists answers and solutions we have always-already failed to find ourselves must be resisted. I appreciate the form in which Lipsyte gives body to these harrowing, alluring, mercurial dilemmas. Reading The Fun Parts is definitely one of the fun parts.
What makes me uneasy is the on-the-nose, unrelenting effort to be funny: why are you trying so hard to make me like you so much? Cuz you're just a genuinely jolly good fellow? Cuz you need to sell books? Cuz you deploy humor as a smokescreen to conceal your contempt of pretty much everybody? The ambiguities are actually fruitful and I admit I'm being rather captious. There is bountiful humor in, say, Beckett, who never once tries to be funny. There's no possible balance between laughter and despair, no bullshit yin-yang reciprocity/recipe. They inhere and are insoluble. Two premier modes of fucking this up are treacle and Schadenfreude: "it's always darkest before dawn" faux-gritty pick-me-ups, or a cartoonish funhouse of failure, especially one's own. Both of them, the sweet and the sour, set my teeth on edge. The problem isn't just Lipsyste's, it's everyone's, and I look forward to hearing Sam play it again: he hits plenty of the right notes.
Black humor hits close to home, as a coping mechanism, a bad habit, a sorrow tickling the marrow. Are we humored by or with or despite the blackness? I didn't make up the impervious contradictions of comedy and The Intolerable Situation, and Lipsyte isn't going to resolve them in a baker's dozen of droll bagatelles. But it is a perplexing joy to work through these dismal delights again and again, willfully, briefly ignoring a conundrum akin to what I first heard spewed from some of the same radical punks Lipsyte apparently once tarried with: "Is he using his band to sell revolution, or using revolution to sell his band?!" One retort comes in the outstanding story, "Nate's Pain is Now": "You really need this guy to tell you capitalism poisons our bodies and corrupts our souls? Are you that dim you can't figure it out for yourselves?" The cretinous temptation to demand from artists answers and solutions we have always-already failed to find ourselves must be resisted. I appreciate the form in which Lipsyte gives body to these harrowing, alluring, mercurial dilemmas. Reading The Fun Parts is definitely one of the fun parts.
What makes me uneasy is the on-the-nose, unrelenting effort to be funny: why are you trying so hard to make me like you so much? Cuz you're just a genuinely jolly good fellow? Cuz you need to sell books? Cuz you deploy humor as a smokescreen to conceal your contempt of pretty much everybody? The ambiguities are actually fruitful and I admit I'm being rather captious. There is bountiful humor in, say, Beckett, who never once tries to be funny. There's no possible balance between laughter and despair, no bullshit yin-yang reciprocity/recipe. They inhere and are insoluble. Two premier modes of fucking this up are treacle and Schadenfreude: "it's always darkest before dawn" faux-gritty pick-me-ups, or a cartoonish funhouse of failure, especially one's own. Both of them, the sweet and the sour, set my teeth on edge. The problem isn't just Lipsyste's, it's everyone's, and I look forward to hearing Sam play it again: he hits plenty of the right notes.
February 1, 2018
Had I read this collection of short stories in high school, I would have convinced myself that I liked it. I would have felt like, as an avid reader and 'intellectual person', I was supposed to like it. I would have talked about it with my friends at school, all of us pretending to have gained some sort of Deeper Understanding from its sardonic, abstract perspective. But I am now an adult, and I can confidently say (with only minimal damage to my pride) that I did not quite ~get~ this book.
Yes, it was well written. But more often than not, at the end of each tale, I was left waiting for the moment of epiphany that I felt the story building up to. That being said, author Sam Lipsyte does have an uncanny knack for making you laugh when you least expect to. I also very much appreciated the consistently tragicomic tone each story had, and the references to previous and upcoming stories that he peppered throughout. I sympathized with his tragically feckless narrators, complete with sordid pasts and ennui. At times I marveled at his use of language, dictionary on my nightstand ready to look up the many words I had not been encountered before. All in all, I did thoroughly enjoy some of the stories. But there were some that just flew right over my head. To be fair, I think this is more personal preference than anything; these stories were just very hit and miss for me. Here is my personal ranking of them, from best to worst:
1. The Wisdom of The Doulas- the story of an unconventional, and possibly psychotic, male doulo
On his career as a doula: "It's true I just sort of fell into this work while stalking my ex-girlfriend, but once I came under the tutelage of Fanny Hitchens, former doula to the stars, I knew I had found my calling."
2. The Worm in Philly- a drug addict has aspirations to write a children's book
On unsuccessfully pawning his roommate's guitar: "life is funny, because as I shoved the guitar back into Gary's closet, I kicked over a rotted duck boot and a wad of bills rolled out. It was as though Gary secretly wanted me to hijack his property and try to pawn it or else just steal money from him outright."
3. The Real-Ass Jumbo- a doomsday-sayer searching for truth and making money along the way
On the world ending in a few years: "Was that time enough? For Gunderson, it was time enough for another book, some lecture tours, a cable deal."
4. Nate's Pain is Now- a(nother) drug addict capitalizes on his pain, only to discover the fickleness of his audience
On being replaced by a newer, younger pundit: "'He's poking my wife,' I said. [...] 'I don't poke her,' said Nate. 'He doesn't,' said Diana. 'I only need to hear his voice to come.'"
5. The Dungeon Master- a teenage boy encounters a monster, in fantasy and reality
On feelings: "It must be the dumbest thing he's ever said. No hard feelings? What could be harder than feelings?"
6. Deniers- the daughter of a Holocaust survivor crosses paths with a man with a questionable past
On having sex with him: "'Are you even attracted to me?' 'Not in a healthy sense,' Cal said. 'I mean, I definitely went out of my way to find the cutest girl at the JCC.'"
7. This Appointment Occurs in the Past- a man has an eye-opening reunion with a former college buddy
On his malfunctioning phone: "Every time I tried to add to my schedule, these words would flash on the calendar display: 'This appointment occurs in the past.' I grew to rely on the feature. It granted me texture; a sense of rich history."
8. Snacks- a young boy navigates life and an over-eating problem
On masturbation: "Somebody on TV said sex could make you skinny. I knew I'd have to go it alone."
9. Ode to Oldcorn- a high school shot-putter meets his hero
On his shot-putting rival: "I do know the world is divided, or even just sub-divided, between those who have met their Bucky Schmidt and those who have their Bucky coming. I've met my Bucky Schmidt and so I'm never disappointed by the way of things. I don't want and want. Good money, good times, I'm happy for what I get. You don't worry so much about it all when you know there is somebody out there who can take everything away like some terrible god."
10. The Climber Room- a childless 30 something has her first experience with baby fever
A cashier on uneccessary self-sacrifice: "'You didn't die for my sins, lady. So don't go building a cross for yourself. We need the wood.'"
11. Peasley- a 127 year old World War I veteran reflects on his life and his mistakes
On his home in England: "Pale light trickled through the parlor's leaded windows in that trickling manner of English light as pictured by a person who would not know."
12. Expressive- a day in the life of an asshole who doesn't appear to have any redeeming qualities
On getting caught by the girlfriend of the woman he was sleeping with: "I give Roanoke one more look before I leave her to the business of ducking creamers, ramekins. I call it 'Remember, the World is Not Broken, Even If Your Crockery Is.'"
13. The Republic of Empathy- a story told from many perspectives, including that of a sentient drone(?)
A husband on his wife trying to convince him to have another baby: "'This is emotional blackmail.' 'The emotional aspect is implicit. You could jus say blackmail.' 'But why, Peg?' 'This morning I smelled the top of Philip's head. That sweet baby scent is gone. Now it just smells like the top of any dumbshit's head.'"
To conclude, this author's style is not my cup of tea, but if you have enjoyed Lipsyte (or authors like him) in the past, I say check this book out! It was a quick read, and definitely kept me interested.
-+-+-+-
Book 2/100
Yes, it was well written. But more often than not, at the end of each tale, I was left waiting for the moment of epiphany that I felt the story building up to. That being said, author Sam Lipsyte does have an uncanny knack for making you laugh when you least expect to. I also very much appreciated the consistently tragicomic tone each story had, and the references to previous and upcoming stories that he peppered throughout. I sympathized with his tragically feckless narrators, complete with sordid pasts and ennui. At times I marveled at his use of language, dictionary on my nightstand ready to look up the many words I had not been encountered before. All in all, I did thoroughly enjoy some of the stories. But there were some that just flew right over my head. To be fair, I think this is more personal preference than anything; these stories were just very hit and miss for me. Here is my personal ranking of them, from best to worst:
1. The Wisdom of The Doulas- the story of an unconventional, and possibly psychotic, male doulo
On his career as a doula: "It's true I just sort of fell into this work while stalking my ex-girlfriend, but once I came under the tutelage of Fanny Hitchens, former doula to the stars, I knew I had found my calling."
2. The Worm in Philly- a drug addict has aspirations to write a children's book
On unsuccessfully pawning his roommate's guitar: "life is funny, because as I shoved the guitar back into Gary's closet, I kicked over a rotted duck boot and a wad of bills rolled out. It was as though Gary secretly wanted me to hijack his property and try to pawn it or else just steal money from him outright."
3. The Real-Ass Jumbo- a doomsday-sayer searching for truth and making money along the way
On the world ending in a few years: "Was that time enough? For Gunderson, it was time enough for another book, some lecture tours, a cable deal."
4. Nate's Pain is Now- a(nother) drug addict capitalizes on his pain, only to discover the fickleness of his audience
On being replaced by a newer, younger pundit: "'He's poking my wife,' I said. [...] 'I don't poke her,' said Nate. 'He doesn't,' said Diana. 'I only need to hear his voice to come.'"
5. The Dungeon Master- a teenage boy encounters a monster, in fantasy and reality
On feelings: "It must be the dumbest thing he's ever said. No hard feelings? What could be harder than feelings?"
6. Deniers- the daughter of a Holocaust survivor crosses paths with a man with a questionable past
On having sex with him: "'Are you even attracted to me?' 'Not in a healthy sense,' Cal said. 'I mean, I definitely went out of my way to find the cutest girl at the JCC.'"
7. This Appointment Occurs in the Past- a man has an eye-opening reunion with a former college buddy
On his malfunctioning phone: "Every time I tried to add to my schedule, these words would flash on the calendar display: 'This appointment occurs in the past.' I grew to rely on the feature. It granted me texture; a sense of rich history."
8. Snacks- a young boy navigates life and an over-eating problem
On masturbation: "Somebody on TV said sex could make you skinny. I knew I'd have to go it alone."
9. Ode to Oldcorn- a high school shot-putter meets his hero
On his shot-putting rival: "I do know the world is divided, or even just sub-divided, between those who have met their Bucky Schmidt and those who have their Bucky coming. I've met my Bucky Schmidt and so I'm never disappointed by the way of things. I don't want and want. Good money, good times, I'm happy for what I get. You don't worry so much about it all when you know there is somebody out there who can take everything away like some terrible god."
10. The Climber Room- a childless 30 something has her first experience with baby fever
A cashier on uneccessary self-sacrifice: "'You didn't die for my sins, lady. So don't go building a cross for yourself. We need the wood.'"
11. Peasley- a 127 year old World War I veteran reflects on his life and his mistakes
On his home in England: "Pale light trickled through the parlor's leaded windows in that trickling manner of English light as pictured by a person who would not know."
12. Expressive- a day in the life of an asshole who doesn't appear to have any redeeming qualities
On getting caught by the girlfriend of the woman he was sleeping with: "I give Roanoke one more look before I leave her to the business of ducking creamers, ramekins. I call it 'Remember, the World is Not Broken, Even If Your Crockery Is.'"
13. The Republic of Empathy- a story told from many perspectives, including that of a sentient drone(?)
A husband on his wife trying to convince him to have another baby: "'This is emotional blackmail.' 'The emotional aspect is implicit. You could jus say blackmail.' 'But why, Peg?' 'This morning I smelled the top of Philip's head. That sweet baby scent is gone. Now it just smells like the top of any dumbshit's head.'"
To conclude, this author's style is not my cup of tea, but if you have enjoyed Lipsyte (or authors like him) in the past, I say check this book out! It was a quick read, and definitely kept me interested.
-+-+-+-
Book 2/100
June 17, 2015
With respect to the New Critics, Sam Lipsyte is best understood as a product of two formative influences: an Ivy League background (he attended Brown and currently teaches at Columbia) and a major, drug-fueled starving-artist period in the '90s Brooklyn punk scene, as a part of the band Dungbeetle. His stories are full of brilliant one-liners and elegant descriptions, but at the broader level, they fail to cohere, often switching tack abruptly. Is he getting bored by his subject material? Is there a point, a take-out, from any individual story? Sometimes I felt as if there was talent here going to waste, or else that there was some broader junkie fever-dream that tied together the loose ends. The earlier stories in the book are easier to follow, though they also end on hollow, nihilistic notes. On the whole, Lipsyte is perhaps a Donald Antrim manqué - but much, much funnier, and probably a good deal more fun to hang out with.
August 13, 2018
Lipsyte's deservedly celebrated for his humor, and this is one of the funniest books of the last five years. And not "smirk while you think 'funny'" kind of funny, but "surprise laugh that renders one immediately embarrassed" funny.
Less discussed is the high-wire approach to voice. Lipsyte's narrators use language to shield themselves from self-knowledge, often finding refuge in an elevated sarcasm not unlike Matthew Klam's damaged men. The more in denial, the more elevated the language. What's implied is a desire to connect, to truly understand someone and for them to truly understand you.. if only we can get past our defenses (and maybe mature a little, no matter the age).
Lipsyte's smart and generous enough to tell us this kind of connection is possible--most brilliantly illustrated in "This Appointment Occurs in the Past," a story of sneaky greatness. He's one of the few comic writers to short circuit our own defenses and grab hold of the beating heart within.
Less discussed is the high-wire approach to voice. Lipsyte's narrators use language to shield themselves from self-knowledge, often finding refuge in an elevated sarcasm not unlike Matthew Klam's damaged men. The more in denial, the more elevated the language. What's implied is a desire to connect, to truly understand someone and for them to truly understand you.. if only we can get past our defenses (and maybe mature a little, no matter the age).
Lipsyte's smart and generous enough to tell us this kind of connection is possible--most brilliantly illustrated in "This Appointment Occurs in the Past," a story of sneaky greatness. He's one of the few comic writers to short circuit our own defenses and grab hold of the beating heart within.
September 24, 2014
Sam Lipsyte is great a post 9/11 Yankee Barry Hannah with an eye for mordern life like Don DeLillo. Very fine stuff here. Top shelf.
January 19, 2022
Ah, I am in my happy place. I adore writers who are wry and clever, and who respect the reader enough to let them interpret concepts for themselves. These characters tend to be extremely crass, but they're almost all allegorical, so you can just relax and ride the wave. Some of the stories will probably offend your sensibilities, but then you read "The Republic of Empathy" and think " This story deserves a spot in my pantheon of best short stories ever." The collection is not totally even, but the best ones are blisteringly good.
The writing is so smart, it worries me that not everyone will pick up on all the allusions the author makes. I'm sure I missed some of them, too. I was trying to think of who this author reminds me of, and (other than a more scathing and satirical version of David Sedaris) I couldn't come up with anyone, until I saw that the author thanked Ben Marcus in the Acknowledgements. That's it! Sam Lipsyte is a very funny version of Ben Marcus. THE FUN PARTS has the cleverness and intuitive nature of THE AGE OF WIRE AND STRING* but from a bawdy, wrecked, personal viewpoint. Marcus is structure, and Lipsyte is the comically large hammer which breaks the structure to smithereens, yet still retains enough form for commentary.
*if you completely understood THE AGE OF WIRE AND STRING, I want to follow ALL of your reviews, because that book twisted my neurons.
The writing is so smart, it worries me that not everyone will pick up on all the allusions the author makes. I'm sure I missed some of them, too. I was trying to think of who this author reminds me of, and (other than a more scathing and satirical version of David Sedaris) I couldn't come up with anyone, until I saw that the author thanked Ben Marcus in the Acknowledgements. That's it! Sam Lipsyte is a very funny version of Ben Marcus. THE FUN PARTS has the cleverness and intuitive nature of THE AGE OF WIRE AND STRING* but from a bawdy, wrecked, personal viewpoint. Marcus is structure, and Lipsyte is the comically large hammer which breaks the structure to smithereens, yet still retains enough form for commentary.
*if you completely understood THE AGE OF WIRE AND STRING, I want to follow ALL of your reviews, because that book twisted my neurons.
June 10, 2014
Crude, debauched, and 110% outrageous. Every character is bloody rotten to the core.
Phrases I now want to use:
"stinky sweet snapper hole" and "teen poot"
A snippet:
"But life gets really murky sometimes."
"It's true, honey. Like a fish tank nobody cleans. Just fish shit and dead fish. But that's how you know it's life."
Not a book I would suggest to my parents, or any old(er) sensitive folks.
Phrases I now want to use:
"stinky sweet snapper hole" and "teen poot"
A snippet:
"But life gets really murky sometimes."
"It's true, honey. Like a fish tank nobody cleans. Just fish shit and dead fish. But that's how you know it's life."
Not a book I would suggest to my parents, or any old(er) sensitive folks.
December 10, 2014
questi racconti hanno una copertina magnifica. Peccato che per il resto io li abbia trovati incomprensibili. E' come se, sotto ognuna delle storie strampalate, ci fosse uan sublime e profonda morale che ci permette di capire meglio l'ipocrisia borghese dei nostri tempi.. ma devo essere stupida, e mi sfugge.
Lasciati a metà.
Lasciati a metà.
March 13, 2013
Sometimes great, sometimes just too clever. With short story collections, I'm used to finding one story a hit and the next one not so much. Here, the first part of a story would dazzle me, and then the rest would disappoint. Some brilliant dialogue, though. A 3.5 star for me.
April 1, 2013
Sam Lipsyte is the funniest, most lyrical prose writer alive today. That said, he's clearly rushed this one out to benefit his growing family. Well, Sam, congrats on the kid. For the next book, please try harder.
June 6, 2024
The first few stories were good but didn't care for the second half. They're all pretty raunchy. Sometimes it fits the stories- other times it felt written that way just for the sake raunchiness and not the story.
March 18, 2013
http://www.dallasnews.com/entertainme...
Book review: ‘The Fun Parts,’ by Sam Lipsyte
By JENNY SHANK Special Contributor
Published: 16 March 2013 11:26 AM
The warm reception for Sam Lipsyte’s most recent novels, Homeland and The Ask, enhanced his reputation for savage and profane satire. But if you’re the sort of reader who craves endearing characters along with wild scenarios and funny dialogue, Lipsyte’s stories might be the place to start.
The 13 stories in The Fun Parts delve into the lives of high school shot putters, teenage role-playing game enthusiasts and a male doula, or “doulo,” as he prefers to be called, a guy with “yellow teeth and ratty (vintage) buckskin jacket who wanted to make a positive and tremendous impact on [the] birth experience.”
Lipsyte is known for doughy, chronic-loser male protagonists, but in two of the strongest stories, he writes with sensitivity about women, without dulling his sharp humor. In “The Climber Room,” Tovah Gold is single and pining for a child as she ekes out a living at an upscale preschool called Sweet Apple in recession-era New York. She finds the parents more difficult to manage than the kids, particularly one father, Randy Gautier, whose name she aptly mishears as “Randy Goat.” Tovah was a poet before the pressures of making a living set in, and she learns that Randy, who made his millions in Silicon Valley, funds a poetry journal. When he offers her “a call girl’s fee” for a night of baby-sitting, her fantasies collide with unexpected realities.
Tovah returns as a minor character in “Deniers,” which takes place when she’s in her 20s and has just published a poetry chapbook. The story focuses on her friend Mandy, who teaches cardio ballet at the JCC while Tovah teaches memoir writing. Mandy is a recovering addict managing a thorny relationship with her father, a Holocaust survivor, who lives in a nursing home. She starts dating a guy named Cal, who reveals he’s seeking atonement for the time he spent in prison as a swastika-tattooed white supremacist. “Deniers” is sad and funny, outlandish yet plausible, and winds up with a wallop.
“The Republic of Empathy” is a nervy exercise in perspective-switching that begins as a story of domestic realism about William, a man who disagrees with his wife’s desire to have a second child. At work, William mulls the situation with Gregory, “a thoughtful, retired gay cop,” while they witness a rooftop brawl that sends one man plummeting to his death. The perspective then switches to Danny, Gregory’s son, a jaded wisecracker who says: “I sound like the narrator of a mediocre young adult novel from the eighties. Which is, in fact, what I am.”
The perspective passes like a baton from the men in the rooftop brawl to a wealthy retired banker to a surreal transcript of drone pilots targeting William in his backyard. It’s as though Lipsyte, who teaches creative writing at Columbia, tried to break as many story-writing rules as possible and prove it could still cohere.
“Nate’s Pain Is Now” satirizes recent faked memoir scandals — a James Frey-like recovered junkie finds his literary influence usurped by a JT LeRoy-like homeless gay hustler.
“Old to Oldcorn” is the sweet and funny story of high school shot putters devoted to studying the technique of Oldcorn, an Olympic shot put hero. “We were the fattest, strongest boys in our school,” Lipsyte writes. “We had nothing to do, nowhere to be. There’s not a lot of call for our type until the weather gets cold.” “Oldcorn” rises to hilarious absurdity, but along the way delivers a whiff of genuine, poignant high school sports rah-rah.
A few stories in The Fun Parts offer linguistic pyrotechnics, slash-and-burn comedy, and a return of Lipsyte’s fat, middle-aged loser, liberal-arts-degreed protagonists, like Milo Burke in The Ask and Lewis Miner in Homeland — but they’re the weakest in the bunch. Lipsyte has grown beyond his old shtick, and has become a writer who can empathize with the best of them.
Jenny Shank’s first novel, The Ringer, won the High Plains Book Award.
Book review: ‘The Fun Parts,’ by Sam Lipsyte
By JENNY SHANK Special Contributor
Published: 16 March 2013 11:26 AM
The warm reception for Sam Lipsyte’s most recent novels, Homeland and The Ask, enhanced his reputation for savage and profane satire. But if you’re the sort of reader who craves endearing characters along with wild scenarios and funny dialogue, Lipsyte’s stories might be the place to start.
The 13 stories in The Fun Parts delve into the lives of high school shot putters, teenage role-playing game enthusiasts and a male doula, or “doulo,” as he prefers to be called, a guy with “yellow teeth and ratty (vintage) buckskin jacket who wanted to make a positive and tremendous impact on [the] birth experience.”
Lipsyte is known for doughy, chronic-loser male protagonists, but in two of the strongest stories, he writes with sensitivity about women, without dulling his sharp humor. In “The Climber Room,” Tovah Gold is single and pining for a child as she ekes out a living at an upscale preschool called Sweet Apple in recession-era New York. She finds the parents more difficult to manage than the kids, particularly one father, Randy Gautier, whose name she aptly mishears as “Randy Goat.” Tovah was a poet before the pressures of making a living set in, and she learns that Randy, who made his millions in Silicon Valley, funds a poetry journal. When he offers her “a call girl’s fee” for a night of baby-sitting, her fantasies collide with unexpected realities.
Tovah returns as a minor character in “Deniers,” which takes place when she’s in her 20s and has just published a poetry chapbook. The story focuses on her friend Mandy, who teaches cardio ballet at the JCC while Tovah teaches memoir writing. Mandy is a recovering addict managing a thorny relationship with her father, a Holocaust survivor, who lives in a nursing home. She starts dating a guy named Cal, who reveals he’s seeking atonement for the time he spent in prison as a swastika-tattooed white supremacist. “Deniers” is sad and funny, outlandish yet plausible, and winds up with a wallop.
“The Republic of Empathy” is a nervy exercise in perspective-switching that begins as a story of domestic realism about William, a man who disagrees with his wife’s desire to have a second child. At work, William mulls the situation with Gregory, “a thoughtful, retired gay cop,” while they witness a rooftop brawl that sends one man plummeting to his death. The perspective then switches to Danny, Gregory’s son, a jaded wisecracker who says: “I sound like the narrator of a mediocre young adult novel from the eighties. Which is, in fact, what I am.”
The perspective passes like a baton from the men in the rooftop brawl to a wealthy retired banker to a surreal transcript of drone pilots targeting William in his backyard. It’s as though Lipsyte, who teaches creative writing at Columbia, tried to break as many story-writing rules as possible and prove it could still cohere.
“Nate’s Pain Is Now” satirizes recent faked memoir scandals — a James Frey-like recovered junkie finds his literary influence usurped by a JT LeRoy-like homeless gay hustler.
“Old to Oldcorn” is the sweet and funny story of high school shot putters devoted to studying the technique of Oldcorn, an Olympic shot put hero. “We were the fattest, strongest boys in our school,” Lipsyte writes. “We had nothing to do, nowhere to be. There’s not a lot of call for our type until the weather gets cold.” “Oldcorn” rises to hilarious absurdity, but along the way delivers a whiff of genuine, poignant high school sports rah-rah.
A few stories in The Fun Parts offer linguistic pyrotechnics, slash-and-burn comedy, and a return of Lipsyte’s fat, middle-aged loser, liberal-arts-degreed protagonists, like Milo Burke in The Ask and Lewis Miner in Homeland — but they’re the weakest in the bunch. Lipsyte has grown beyond his old shtick, and has become a writer who can empathize with the best of them.
Jenny Shank’s first novel, The Ringer, won the High Plains Book Award.
June 27, 2013
I read some of the other reader reviews with dismay, but to each his/her own and all that, I guess. I was not familiar with Mr. Lipsyte's work, having only read the leadoff story--"The Climber Room"--in the New Yorker. I recalled enjoying that story when I read it, but not being motivated enough to look up the author and seek out other works--although I tend to read the New Yorker before bed in the evening, and by the time I get to the fiction, after reading very long, very detailed articles, I am often gassed, so that is not an indictment of Mr. Lipsyte's prowess.
In fact, when I re-read "The Climber Room" here, I was amazed by its nuance and insightfulness and cruel, cruel humor. The entire story leads up to the main character delivering a heartfelt, souful "this is the meaning of my life thus far" declaration in a long paragraph, and then the next paragraph is perhaps the most cruel evisceration of that previous paragraph that could be possible. Perfect execution. Now, I guess I just have figured out how this sort of thing might not be for everyone.
These stories are spectacular. The wonderful phrasing, the unsparing eye for that key detail, everything is spot on here. These are real, grown up stories, full of bite and humor and sadness. They remind me quite a bit of early T.C. Boyle stories, I could easily see Mr. Lipsyte as the author of Boyle's "Heart of a Champion". Both of the authors share a sensibility of that unsparing cruelty ("cruelty" insofar as no one is exempt from their merciless eye, and the protagonist is just as likely to have a lazy, shit her pants and die badly as to be beautiful, beaming and triumph in the end) which makes the stories even that more bracing to read.
Highly, highly recommended.
In fact, when I re-read "The Climber Room" here, I was amazed by its nuance and insightfulness and cruel, cruel humor. The entire story leads up to the main character delivering a heartfelt, souful "this is the meaning of my life thus far" declaration in a long paragraph, and then the next paragraph is perhaps the most cruel evisceration of that previous paragraph that could be possible. Perfect execution. Now, I guess I just have figured out how this sort of thing might not be for everyone.
These stories are spectacular. The wonderful phrasing, the unsparing eye for that key detail, everything is spot on here. These are real, grown up stories, full of bite and humor and sadness. They remind me quite a bit of early T.C. Boyle stories, I could easily see Mr. Lipsyte as the author of Boyle's "Heart of a Champion". Both of the authors share a sensibility of that unsparing cruelty ("cruelty" insofar as no one is exempt from their merciless eye, and the protagonist is just as likely to have a lazy, shit her pants and die badly as to be beautiful, beaming and triumph in the end) which makes the stories even that more bracing to read.
Highly, highly recommended.
June 17, 2015
http://www.themaineedge.com/buzz/gazi...
Sam Lipsyte’s newest book “The Fun Parts” is that rare collection that carries the art of short fiction forward into full bloom. It’s a baker’s dozen worth of postcards from the edge; each of the 13 stories is a glimpse at the people existing on the fringe. The characters populating Lipsyte’s literary landscape aren’t the sort that the reader is meant to love – or even to like, to be truthful – but they are brought to life with sharply-honed cleverness and furious glee.
There’s a hint of Wallace here, a whiff of Vonnegut there, hints of existentialism and nihilism sprinkled throughout – Lipsyte’s deftness with a turn of phrase blends harmoniously with biting wit and keen social observation to create microcosmic visions of sad, lonely lives. Within these extremes, the reader will be confronted with the quirks, concerns and even courage of Davids who will never defeat their Goliaths. And despite the inherent unlikeability of these underdogs, we are still forced to concede that in many ways, their journeys are our journeys – and that in practical terms, every life’s journey has the same ending.
“The Fun Parts” is a 13-course meal of delicious and devastating satire served up piping hot; each tale has its own unique taste, but the real pleasure is in the exquisitely combined flavors. It is a brilliantly-conceived, brilliantly-written collection from a uniquely talented writer.
Sam Lipsyte’s newest book “The Fun Parts” is that rare collection that carries the art of short fiction forward into full bloom. It’s a baker’s dozen worth of postcards from the edge; each of the 13 stories is a glimpse at the people existing on the fringe. The characters populating Lipsyte’s literary landscape aren’t the sort that the reader is meant to love – or even to like, to be truthful – but they are brought to life with sharply-honed cleverness and furious glee.
There’s a hint of Wallace here, a whiff of Vonnegut there, hints of existentialism and nihilism sprinkled throughout – Lipsyte’s deftness with a turn of phrase blends harmoniously with biting wit and keen social observation to create microcosmic visions of sad, lonely lives. Within these extremes, the reader will be confronted with the quirks, concerns and even courage of Davids who will never defeat their Goliaths. And despite the inherent unlikeability of these underdogs, we are still forced to concede that in many ways, their journeys are our journeys – and that in practical terms, every life’s journey has the same ending.
“The Fun Parts” is a 13-course meal of delicious and devastating satire served up piping hot; each tale has its own unique taste, but the real pleasure is in the exquisitely combined flavors. It is a brilliantly-conceived, brilliantly-written collection from a uniquely talented writer.
June 12, 2014
I've never been to Brooklyn.
I have seen Brooklyn from across the East River several times on visits to The City that never lasted longer than two days, walking along the riverfront, posing for touristy photos with the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.
But I've never been to Brooklyn. I don't claim to be a history or even garden-variety sophisticate in any manner other than some of the [ages of books that fly past my eyeballs.
This is just to say that I didn't get the humor in this book. I could see it from afar--and I stood amazed at the dexterity with which Lipsyte crafted his sentences, and I could see the tropes he was sending up in his plots. But the depth was missing. It's like a painter whose skill you find impressive, but whose work you wouldn't hang up in your living room--or walk-in closet, for that matter. I picked it up, I put it down for months, I finally finished it after 15 months.
I'm sure that it's my fault. There's hope, right? Someday I'll make it to Brooklyn.
I have seen Brooklyn from across the East River several times on visits to The City that never lasted longer than two days, walking along the riverfront, posing for touristy photos with the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.
But I've never been to Brooklyn. I don't claim to be a history or even garden-variety sophisticate in any manner other than some of the [ages of books that fly past my eyeballs.
This is just to say that I didn't get the humor in this book. I could see it from afar--and I stood amazed at the dexterity with which Lipsyte crafted his sentences, and I could see the tropes he was sending up in his plots. But the depth was missing. It's like a painter whose skill you find impressive, but whose work you wouldn't hang up in your living room--or walk-in closet, for that matter. I picked it up, I put it down for months, I finally finished it after 15 months.
I'm sure that it's my fault. There's hope, right? Someday I'll make it to Brooklyn.
March 18, 2013
I tried to explain how 'The Wisdom of the Doulas' spirals out of control to a co-worker. I couldn't. I kept giggling. When I think back to any line I can think back to I start to smirk like a dumbass. I was telling my parents about 'The Fun Parts' and couldn't come up with very good synonyms for "dark comedy" so I stuck with "it's just crazy." Such a bleak, yet hilarious and batshit nuts world Lipsyte writes. Way great.
June 26, 2013
Fan-f***cking- tastic. So enjoyed these short stories by a writer I've always deeply admired and flat-out envied. Nice to see what it looks like when he's just noodling around. Not a sentence wasted-- the discipline is as striking as the humor. Saved it for vacation this week and so happy I did. Bravo.
March 31, 2013
Reading one story at a time. They read like they've been written by Louis CK. Sharp, funny, disquieting, true. Overdue at the library. Decided to Read some of the stories a second time before returning the book.
December 22, 2017
A tight, wry collection shot through with just the right amount of bitterness and guilt. Like so many great short stories, they console by revealing how none of us are doing quite as well as we'd like.
September 1, 2015
Humorous but not terribly funny. The humor is derived from the exploits of off-balance people who have no clue they aren't well. I have a feeling I will think back on these stories and time will skew their impact.
January 31, 2017
In Sam Lipsyte's second collection of stories, the language and ideas are as irrepressibly singular as in his first collection, Venus Drive, but the characters here come into better focus, creating narratives that are at once more accessible and profound.
May 16, 2018
Lipsyte is a wordsmith of the highest order.
February 18, 2020
I found half of these stories kinda skippable/forgettable/not my thing... but the half that hit me are perfect. Some of the funniest, tightest, just fave stories ever.
I’m actually not a big re-reader, but picked this up for one story and couldn’t really put it down. The stories that especially stood out—"The Climber Room," "The Dungeon Master," "Deniers," "The Wisdom of the Doulas," "The Worm in Philly"—I think I liked them even more on this read than when I first read them in mags or second read them in this book when it came out.
I’m actually not a big re-reader, but picked this up for one story and couldn’t really put it down. The stories that especially stood out—"The Climber Room," "The Dungeon Master," "Deniers," "The Wisdom of the Doulas," "The Worm in Philly"—I think I liked them even more on this read than when I first read them in mags or second read them in this book when it came out.
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