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The Fuck-Up
Arthur Nersesian's underground literary treasure is an unforgettable slice of gritty New York City life.
This is the darkly hilarious odyssey of an anonymous slacker. He's a perennial couch-surfer, an aspiring writer searching for himself in spite of himself, and he's just trying to survive. But life has other things in store for the fuck-up. From being dumped by his girlfriend to getting fired for asking for a raise, from falling into a robbery to posing as a gay man to keep his job at a porno theater, the fuck-up's tragi-comedy is perfectly realized by Arthur Nersesian, who manages to create humor and suspense out of urban desperation. "Read it and howl," says Bruce Benderson (author of User), "and be glad it didn't happen to you."
This is the darkly hilarious odyssey of an anonymous slacker. He's a perennial couch-surfer, an aspiring writer searching for himself in spite of himself, and he's just trying to survive. But life has other things in store for the fuck-up. From being dumped by his girlfriend to getting fired for asking for a raise, from falling into a robbery to posing as a gay man to keep his job at a porno theater, the fuck-up's tragi-comedy is perfectly realized by Arthur Nersesian, who manages to create humor and suspense out of urban desperation. "Read it and howl," says Bruce Benderson (author of User), "and be glad it didn't happen to you."
296 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
221 people are currently reading
13605 people want to read
About the author
Arthur Nersesian
36 books385 followersArthur Nersesian is the author of eight novels, including The Fuck-Up (Akashic, 1997 & MTV Books/Simon & Schuster, 1999), Chinese Takeout (HarperCollins), Manhattan Loverboy (Akashic), Suicide Casanova (Akashic), dogrun (MTV Books/Simon & Schuster), and Unlubricated (HarperCollins). He is also the author of East Village Tetralogy, a collection of four plays. He lives in New York City.
From arthurnersesian.com:
www.arthurnersesian.com/
"Arthur Nersesian is a real New York writer. His novels are a celebration
of marginal characters living in the East Village and trying to survive.
Nersesian's books include The Fuck-Up, The East Village Tetralogy, and now just published by a small press based in New York, Manhattan Loverboy. Nersesian has been a fixture in the writing scene for many years. He was an editor for The Portable Lower East Side, which was an important magazine during the 1980s and early 90s.
When The Fuck-Up came out in 1997, MTV Books picked it up and reprinted it in a new edition for hipsters everywhere. Soon Nersesian was no longer known only to a cabal of young bohemians on Avenue A. His work has been championed by The Village Voice and Time Out."
From arthurnersesian.com:
www.arthurnersesian.com/
"Arthur Nersesian is a real New York writer. His novels are a celebration
of marginal characters living in the East Village and trying to survive.
Nersesian's books include The Fuck-Up, The East Village Tetralogy, and now just published by a small press based in New York, Manhattan Loverboy. Nersesian has been a fixture in the writing scene for many years. He was an editor for The Portable Lower East Side, which was an important magazine during the 1980s and early 90s.
When The Fuck-Up came out in 1997, MTV Books picked it up and reprinted it in a new edition for hipsters everywhere. Soon Nersesian was no longer known only to a cabal of young bohemians on Avenue A. His work has been championed by The Village Voice and Time Out."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 572 reviews
February 22, 2025
Enjoyable but forgettable. Funny, but it also has a dark side. I think of those MTV generation slackers from the early to mid 90s - although this is set during the 1980s - and get all nostalgic, fuzzy and warm, because I used to be one. A book that would make more sense reading with Mountain Dew and vodka shots and left-over pizza at 3am rather than mid-afternoon with a tea or coffee. For fans of downward spirals, hangovers and The Big Apple - which becomes just as much a character as the narrator himself. A narrator who pretends to be homosexual just to get a dead-end job working at a gay porno theater.
The cover is clever as THE F is on the back with half a U and CK-UP on the front of this version. (Apprently back in the early 90s booksellers, as not to offend customers, ripped the covers off). There is even a message inside the cover that states any purchased book without a cover is unauthorized, and reported to the publisher as unsold and destroyed, and that no payment to the author and publisher was received for the sale of a stripped book.
I'd hardly call it an underground classic, but I can see why it would build up a cult following over the years.
December 12, 2024
I got kicked out of the public library for laughing out loud at this book, which may be a better story than the book itself. I happened to read this book at a time in my life where I could relate to the main character, so I ended up enjoying the book immensely. Still, the librarian seemed to take offense that not only was I laughing at a book aloud, but the book had a curse word in the title. Fuck her, I thought it was funny.
March 25, 2008
Having read “Story of the Eye”, “A History of Orgies”, and “Crash” within the last month, I was determined to give up reading and write a story of my own, inspired by the filthy aforementioned tales, which I tentatively titled “Whores On All Fours”. The idea was to chronicle my own licentious tales of bizarre and incredible sexual triumphs, but when discovering I only had two pages worth of material (with one encounter being recollected thrice within) I quickly abandoned this doomed attempt. I got back to my roots, searching for a staggering juggernaut of literary greatness which speaks volumes of the human conditions and righteously encompasses the moral and social struggles of man in these declining modern days: in a perverse and illogical act of flagellation to this burgeoning quest for something of substance, I choose something called “The Fuck-Up” as my representative for the enlightening products of our culture. Folly.
I believe that “The Fuck-Up” was meant to be funny, in that ‘this is so absurdly banal and ridiculous’ kind of way, something which I don’t find funny (I think I giggled twice, but while hungover). I’d probably even say that when I do write something it comes across in the same wimpering vein, without the subtle graces of professionalism and talent. This doesn’t bother me so much, having accepted my lot as a simple beast. My own regrettable shortcomings aside, everything down to the alluringly minimalistic cover, the MTV stamp on the spine and the mere title of “The Fuck-Up” screams ‘I need to be held and admired for my quirky traits, yet shunned and reprimanded for my wanton display of individualistic integrity’; surely, the engrossing comedy of our clever times. I’d like to make it clear I’m also not reading this book solely for the moronic glee garnered from typing “The Fuck-Up” repeatedly, as a matter of fact I try to make sure that I spell fuck as ‘f*ck’ when writing reviews for some inexplicable reason, if only to show my desire to conform to some social standards which may or may not be part of the GoodReads Terms Of Service which I never read, so I guess I can at least try to meet them halfway should this confrontational word butt heads with their whims.
Well, let me deliver some good news; should you be a fan of Auggie Burroughs, David “Chopped Liver” Sedaris, or Chucky P, this uninspired drivel is right up your alley. You can safely discard your previously-relevant bible in the nearest fire, as a true messiah has risen from the hard streets of New Yawk to impart a tangible, sensible, and vastly-improved set of laws for living (or at least grudgingly eking out a shamelessly solipsistic and revolting fraud posing as a redeeming existence).
The rest of us wonder what the point is. It’s convenient for author Arthur Nersesian that in these troubled times, you don’t need a point to get your gibberish to the masses; the concept of having a solid plot or even a good idea is almost unfathomable, it takes too much time to drum that sh!t up, and actually committing it to paper nigh impossible. Well, let it be known that the author’s name is actually now a dis and distraction that I drop on people (talk about being a f*cking geek), but it truly is fun, Ner-ses-ian, Ner-ses-ian (just as they are aiming for that last bullseye in a heated darts game). Especially if you kind of hiss that second ‘s’, which comes naturally to you lispers out there, nobody is hitting sh!t with you mad-dogging them with that malarkey. Should anyone question what the hell a Nersesian is, bullsh!t them, tell them that the Nersesians perished pitifully begging for clemency and weeping like b!tches to a Macedonian onslaught in the days when men were merciless and the weak were punished. While they consider the probable fate of the women and sheep of the recently conquered, finish your game up in the stunned silence.
That crap above is basically as significant as any event within “The Fuck-Up”; disheartening indeed.
Our disaffected and undisciplined narrator of the book stumbles along meekly, blindly navigating the modern-day meat-grinder; his dismal and meaningless life is thrown for a loop when both his girlfriend and pseudo-mistress (he never lays the wood to her) ditch him just as he loses his embarrassing post at a second-run Theater. Unfettered, he ends up sleeping on the couch of an elder, wizened philosopher-poet/friend who affords our hero a glimpse of a life sold-short, a man who has cashed in on his dreams and been pulverized by constant rejection of his offerings to assert his statement, while seeking employment and a chance to allow his own talents to garner their due recognition. Through his craftiness and intrepid skills of double-talking-jive and persuasion he rectifies his unemployment, homelessness, and lack of female companionship while posing as a homosexual to continue working as a night manager of a gay movie theater. The proclivity for homosexuality in this piddling genre is almost disquieting; who the hell cares, not shocking, congratulations on f*cking dudes! However, our narrator is “The Fuck-Up”, and since he’s a decent but luckless fellow, each of these corrective events slowly landslides into an abysmal quagmire of sh!t. Great, just what we need, more obstacles in the insurmountable path of life for this p*ssy to cry about.
There is one scene within, however, that does ring true, but for all the wrong reasons for the author. While shacking up with a well-to-do older woman, she offers our troubled friend her Mercedes in exchange to communicate a little rough-love to her son, who is almost his own age. Frustrated by the thick-headed stupidity and flagrantly punk-ass attitude of the kid, the narrator sinks to the barbaric level of kicking the kid’s ass to emphasize the importance that the miscreant conform to his humiliating requirements. If this type of reasonable punishment was still tolerated in the rearing of our young and keeping people in line on the streets, I guarantee not only would a bright new day be around the corner, but we wouldn’t have people publishing this half-assed and weak cheetah-sh!t.
I believe that “The Fuck-Up” was meant to be funny, in that ‘this is so absurdly banal and ridiculous’ kind of way, something which I don’t find funny (I think I giggled twice, but while hungover). I’d probably even say that when I do write something it comes across in the same wimpering vein, without the subtle graces of professionalism and talent. This doesn’t bother me so much, having accepted my lot as a simple beast. My own regrettable shortcomings aside, everything down to the alluringly minimalistic cover, the MTV stamp on the spine and the mere title of “The Fuck-Up” screams ‘I need to be held and admired for my quirky traits, yet shunned and reprimanded for my wanton display of individualistic integrity’; surely, the engrossing comedy of our clever times. I’d like to make it clear I’m also not reading this book solely for the moronic glee garnered from typing “The Fuck-Up” repeatedly, as a matter of fact I try to make sure that I spell fuck as ‘f*ck’ when writing reviews for some inexplicable reason, if only to show my desire to conform to some social standards which may or may not be part of the GoodReads Terms Of Service which I never read, so I guess I can at least try to meet them halfway should this confrontational word butt heads with their whims.
Well, let me deliver some good news; should you be a fan of Auggie Burroughs, David “Chopped Liver” Sedaris, or Chucky P, this uninspired drivel is right up your alley. You can safely discard your previously-relevant bible in the nearest fire, as a true messiah has risen from the hard streets of New Yawk to impart a tangible, sensible, and vastly-improved set of laws for living (or at least grudgingly eking out a shamelessly solipsistic and revolting fraud posing as a redeeming existence).
The rest of us wonder what the point is. It’s convenient for author Arthur Nersesian that in these troubled times, you don’t need a point to get your gibberish to the masses; the concept of having a solid plot or even a good idea is almost unfathomable, it takes too much time to drum that sh!t up, and actually committing it to paper nigh impossible. Well, let it be known that the author’s name is actually now a dis and distraction that I drop on people (talk about being a f*cking geek), but it truly is fun, Ner-ses-ian, Ner-ses-ian (just as they are aiming for that last bullseye in a heated darts game). Especially if you kind of hiss that second ‘s’, which comes naturally to you lispers out there, nobody is hitting sh!t with you mad-dogging them with that malarkey. Should anyone question what the hell a Nersesian is, bullsh!t them, tell them that the Nersesians perished pitifully begging for clemency and weeping like b!tches to a Macedonian onslaught in the days when men were merciless and the weak were punished. While they consider the probable fate of the women and sheep of the recently conquered, finish your game up in the stunned silence.
That crap above is basically as significant as any event within “The Fuck-Up”; disheartening indeed.
Our disaffected and undisciplined narrator of the book stumbles along meekly, blindly navigating the modern-day meat-grinder; his dismal and meaningless life is thrown for a loop when both his girlfriend and pseudo-mistress (he never lays the wood to her) ditch him just as he loses his embarrassing post at a second-run Theater. Unfettered, he ends up sleeping on the couch of an elder, wizened philosopher-poet/friend who affords our hero a glimpse of a life sold-short, a man who has cashed in on his dreams and been pulverized by constant rejection of his offerings to assert his statement, while seeking employment and a chance to allow his own talents to garner their due recognition. Through his craftiness and intrepid skills of double-talking-jive and persuasion he rectifies his unemployment, homelessness, and lack of female companionship while posing as a homosexual to continue working as a night manager of a gay movie theater. The proclivity for homosexuality in this piddling genre is almost disquieting; who the hell cares, not shocking, congratulations on f*cking dudes! However, our narrator is “The Fuck-Up”, and since he’s a decent but luckless fellow, each of these corrective events slowly landslides into an abysmal quagmire of sh!t. Great, just what we need, more obstacles in the insurmountable path of life for this p*ssy to cry about.
There is one scene within, however, that does ring true, but for all the wrong reasons for the author. While shacking up with a well-to-do older woman, she offers our troubled friend her Mercedes in exchange to communicate a little rough-love to her son, who is almost his own age. Frustrated by the thick-headed stupidity and flagrantly punk-ass attitude of the kid, the narrator sinks to the barbaric level of kicking the kid’s ass to emphasize the importance that the miscreant conform to his humiliating requirements. If this type of reasonable punishment was still tolerated in the rearing of our young and keeping people in line on the streets, I guarantee not only would a bright new day be around the corner, but we wouldn’t have people publishing this half-assed and weak cheetah-sh!t.
October 7, 2015
I knew someone who had a first-edition copy of this book, and when I asked him about it, he said it wasn't any good. I took him at his word. Even so, for years I wondered why Johnny Temple had republished the book at Akashic. Finally, I decided to read the bloody thing.
Well, it reads fast, and it's funny, though not laugh-out-loud funny, not for me at least, and it brought back memories, since I lived on the Lower East Side of NYC in the early eighties, as the unnamed narrator keeps referring to the time in which the bulk of the action takes place. (At one point I calculated that the book must be set in early 1984, only to decide it must be later, since there's a remark about Bernhard Goetz, who only became famous at the end of 1984. The chronology is generally scrambled throughout the book, to take a literal-minded approach.) It's picaresque, which is why some Goodreaders complain about the lack of a narrative, and there's a lot of deus ex machina, as when the narrator, fired from a movie-theater job, happens to overhear talk of another movie-theater job a few days later, or -- another example -- the narrator's clunky hookup with a rich woman, whom he met during a holdup and who learns that her boyfriend has been cheating on her, so that she can become conveniently available and, among other things, loan the narrator her car. But I forgive all that. I fail to finish an awful lot of books, particularly novels, and this one kept me reading while I was suffering with a bad cold.
Oh, and "the fuck-up" of the title isn't just the narrator; it's also, vaguely, something in his past that's led to his downward spiral, as well as his misjudgment of the only person in the book who ultimately comes through for him. He is an arty type, after all, and so prone to misjudging ordinary folk.
Well, it reads fast, and it's funny, though not laugh-out-loud funny, not for me at least, and it brought back memories, since I lived on the Lower East Side of NYC in the early eighties, as the unnamed narrator keeps referring to the time in which the bulk of the action takes place. (At one point I calculated that the book must be set in early 1984, only to decide it must be later, since there's a remark about Bernhard Goetz, who only became famous at the end of 1984. The chronology is generally scrambled throughout the book, to take a literal-minded approach.) It's picaresque, which is why some Goodreaders complain about the lack of a narrative, and there's a lot of deus ex machina, as when the narrator, fired from a movie-theater job, happens to overhear talk of another movie-theater job a few days later, or -- another example -- the narrator's clunky hookup with a rich woman, whom he met during a holdup and who learns that her boyfriend has been cheating on her, so that she can become conveniently available and, among other things, loan the narrator her car. But I forgive all that. I fail to finish an awful lot of books, particularly novels, and this one kept me reading while I was suffering with a bad cold.
Oh, and "the fuck-up" of the title isn't just the narrator; it's also, vaguely, something in his past that's led to his downward spiral, as well as his misjudgment of the only person in the book who ultimately comes through for him. He is an arty type, after all, and so prone to misjudging ordinary folk.
May 23, 2009
I would highly reccomend this book to anyone with balls enough to explore a world completely unlike his own. This book follows one 20 something's unambitious but not exactly apathetic foray through his NYC life. He fails at relationships, keeping a job, keeping a roof over his head and via all three and a suicide learns the only lesson there is to learn from life, namely, how to learn contentment even when things aren't awesome.
Excellent, real, gritty prose. A shorter more approachable "Infinite Jest" (from the 20 pages I've read of that novel).
Excellent, real, gritty prose. A shorter more approachable "Infinite Jest" (from the 20 pages I've read of that novel).
July 14, 2016
For me, this book, the feelings that it conjured, and my overall thoughts about it, can be summed up in a single quote, "As the components of your life are stripped away, after all of the a,bit ions and hopes vaporize, you reach self-reflective starkness--the repetitious plucking of a single overwound string."
A dark, comedic journey that left me feeling as though I wasn't alone in the world. And for that, I am thankful.
4 out of 5 stars.
A dark, comedic journey that left me feeling as though I wasn't alone in the world. And for that, I am thankful.
4 out of 5 stars.
March 6, 2009
I'm going through a relationship crisis right now, and for some twisted reason I felt that reading and carrying this book around would be like a little act of rebellion - would let me "own" my own fucked-up-edness. I'm glad I did, because, even though I've only read the first chapter, it made me laugh, which I thought would be impossible right now. It evokes a time and a kind of place I remember. The first chapter takes place often in a dingy second-run movie house; I frequented those a lot during that time, when I was in college. Nersesian has a clarity and flair that makes for easy reading. It's been compared to Catcher in the Rye (what hasn't?), but here the description seems apt. Reading with great interest...
OK, well now the action is centering around a gay porn theatre, not a place I would have been in the 80's, and the characters and tone are becoming a bit more like Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces," which is not a total plus to me, but it is funny and breezy and laced with morbidly fascinating grotesqueries.
So, OK, it ends on don't judge a book by its cover, more or less, which was sweet but a bit forced maybe. About three-quarters of the way in I was looking to revise up to five stars but then the latter parts seemed rushed and the fall into degradation was somehow not wholly convincing --- and yet, virtually everyone lives from paycheck to paycheck, one bad luck moment away from the gutter, so I can't wholly fault the book/story/author. I just felt he was in better command of things when he had a 70-30 balance of funny and tragic, as it were.
A very rewarding and fun read, though. I loved it.
OK, well now the action is centering around a gay porn theatre, not a place I would have been in the 80's, and the characters and tone are becoming a bit more like Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces," which is not a total plus to me, but it is funny and breezy and laced with morbidly fascinating grotesqueries.
So, OK, it ends on don't judge a book by its cover, more or less, which was sweet but a bit forced maybe. About three-quarters of the way in I was looking to revise up to five stars but then the latter parts seemed rushed and the fall into degradation was somehow not wholly convincing --- and yet, virtually everyone lives from paycheck to paycheck, one bad luck moment away from the gutter, so I can't wholly fault the book/story/author. I just felt he was in better command of things when he had a 70-30 balance of funny and tragic, as it were.
A very rewarding and fun read, though. I loved it.
July 28, 2008
To pick up a book and realize that you're currently living in that situation doesn't make the book more interesting. In fact it's like looking into a crystal ball of failure and of lost hope. Granted I'm not as fucked up as the main character, but I'm sure as hell not that far removed from his life. Unfortunately his life/my life is an exact replica of me being 24, except I live in a bigger city now. BUt alas those are my own issues, not goodreads...
Even though I finished reading the book almost 12 hours ago I cannot recall the characters name or what silly situations that he got himself in. Nothing was memorable and the writing was somewhat dull and contemporary. All I can recall is that he goes through a lot of random crap and doesnt learn a lesson but is somehow redeemed at the end. Yay for main character!
Unless you have worked at a movie theater/currently work at a movie theater I don't recommend this. Only an usher can truely appreciate how shitty life can be.
Even though I finished reading the book almost 12 hours ago I cannot recall the characters name or what silly situations that he got himself in. Nothing was memorable and the writing was somewhat dull and contemporary. All I can recall is that he goes through a lot of random crap and doesnt learn a lesson but is somehow redeemed at the end. Yay for main character!
Unless you have worked at a movie theater/currently work at a movie theater I don't recommend this. Only an usher can truely appreciate how shitty life can be.
March 2, 2018
The book starts off hilarious. The scenarios the narrator gets himself into are so ridiculous (getting dumped by both his girlfriend and the woman he's trying to sleep with, losing his job, pretending to be gay to get a job at a porno theatre) you can't help but laugh. But somewhere around halfway through the book, it gets dark. And then really sad. Despite being a perennial fuck up, you're rooting so hard for this guy and just want him to get it together. I don't know if Nersesian intended for there to be a moral, but what I got from it is that every person who comes into your life comes in there for a reason, even if you hate their damn guts.
June 11, 2010
I read this in one sitting and didn’t get bored, only stopped to go to the bathroom and make a snack, which is saying an awful lot for me, especially lately. It was funny, moving, sad, interesting, weird, heartbreaking, and sweet. The main character isn’t perfect by any stretch and does some fucked-up things (obviously, hence the title), but it’s hard not to root for him, especially in the end when he’s such a fucking ridiculous mess.
July 28, 2013
Sort of an interesting look at how someone fairly stable could wind up homeless. I liked it at the start, but I found it on the whole to be horribly erratic, with some smallish moments gone over in intense detail and much more important sections just completely glossed over. Also the ending was just ridiculously not believable; it felt like he just woke up one morning and said, "Hmm, I'm tired of writing this book, soooo guess I'll just end it here." Very disappointing.
November 16, 2012
I liked the first three quarters of this book a lot. It was kind of like a punk/new wave Candide set in early 80s New York. It also reminded me a lot of Walker Percy's novel The Moviegoer, which I enjoyed. The narrator, for whom the novel is clearly named, makes a series of bad decisions which invariably yield temporary benefits before leaving him worse off than before. The fun is knowing that every one of his naive and dishonest schemes will fail. I guess it's sort of dramatic irony, but the reader can't help but wonder why the narrator can't see the pattern that keeps repeating itself.
For a fuck-up, the narrator is surprisingly philosophical and literate. And he does experience temporary ups which are pretty good: buying nice suits with embezzled money, living in the posh apartment of a famous avant garde film director, hooking up with various women, scheming to get published in an East Village literary magazine. In his memorable narrative voice, these stories are fun to read.
Abruptly though, the book shifts dramatically. At this point, the narrator fucks up big. He's alone, wanted by the law, badly injured and homeless. It's fitting and certainly foreshadowed, but it's no longer very much fun. It's also such a change in tone that it's almost too disconcerting. Finally, after this degradation comes an infuriatingly sudden and unsatisfying end. Taking issue with plot is less serious than taking issue with style, but in this case the problem lies with both. It's an ending that makes no sense in the story and it's written as annoying afterthought, lazy and phoned in.
For a reader who can put up with such an unbelievable anticlimax, there's still plenty to enjoy in this book. Recommended for wannabe hipsters, beat literature aficionados, punks and people who want to open a novel with THE FUCK-UP printed across it in public places (glad I didn't read this on a Kindle but instead in mass market copy form at a resort on the Red Sea).
For a fuck-up, the narrator is surprisingly philosophical and literate. And he does experience temporary ups which are pretty good: buying nice suits with embezzled money, living in the posh apartment of a famous avant garde film director, hooking up with various women, scheming to get published in an East Village literary magazine. In his memorable narrative voice, these stories are fun to read.
Abruptly though, the book shifts dramatically. At this point, the narrator fucks up big. He's alone, wanted by the law, badly injured and homeless. It's fitting and certainly foreshadowed, but it's no longer very much fun. It's also such a change in tone that it's almost too disconcerting. Finally, after this degradation comes an infuriatingly sudden and unsatisfying end. Taking issue with plot is less serious than taking issue with style, but in this case the problem lies with both. It's an ending that makes no sense in the story and it's written as annoying afterthought, lazy and phoned in.
For a reader who can put up with such an unbelievable anticlimax, there's still plenty to enjoy in this book. Recommended for wannabe hipsters, beat literature aficionados, punks and people who want to open a novel with THE FUCK-UP printed across it in public places (glad I didn't read this on a Kindle but instead in mass market copy form at a resort on the Red Sea).
March 7, 2010
"You know you've been in a place too long when every other locale serves as a reference for some sad recollection."
"I was moving away from myself; silly ideas and images moved their way across the desert of my mind. I no longer had control; all I could do was watch them and react; sometimes I'd laugh, sometimes I'd cry. The great caravan of thoughts passed more and more rarely until soon there was just the great desert: tabula rasa."
Funny! --But somehow also deeply profound.
This little bugger is a tragic-comedy about a no-name slacker who pretends to be gay in order to secure his job at a porno theater in New York. He's dumped by the woman he loves. He writes atrocious poetry. At some point his best friend dies.
He's just an eff-up. But it's okay: you can laugh.
"I was moving away from myself; silly ideas and images moved their way across the desert of my mind. I no longer had control; all I could do was watch them and react; sometimes I'd laugh, sometimes I'd cry. The great caravan of thoughts passed more and more rarely until soon there was just the great desert: tabula rasa."
Funny! --But somehow also deeply profound.
This little bugger is a tragic-comedy about a no-name slacker who pretends to be gay in order to secure his job at a porno theater in New York. He's dumped by the woman he loves. He writes atrocious poetry. At some point his best friend dies.
He's just an eff-up. But it's okay: you can laugh.
August 8, 2021
I've read quite a few books about male "fuck-ups" this year, so it seems to be a genre I've been enjoying. This one takes a lot of unpredictable twists, and made me both pity and hate the protagonist; and also remind me of some people I've met in real life. It has that kind of aimlessness of the slacker generation, but this owes to it's unpredictability. Also fairly funny in places, and the narrator's voice becomes very distinct and hearable.
January 7, 2009
crap. no continuity. the guy didn't even know what he was talking about. even mildly homophobic and offensive, and not in a good way.
god. i should have known better... i mean MTV books? oops.
god. i should have known better... i mean MTV books? oops.
January 11, 2009
eh. he's a fuck up. he fuck's up. he tries t not fuck up, fails, and fucks up again.
Read
November 5, 2024I’ll likely finish this one day, it’s not terrible, just getting tiresome.
July 21, 2009
Oh man! I remember finding this on the shelf in the St. Augustine Barnes & Noble when I was twenty and being like Whoah that says FUCK right on the cover, and buying it and reading it and liking it kind of pretty okay but NOW I live in New York and I see Arthur Nersesian all over the place and the other day he came by and was like "Hey someone just gave me a copy of my book, want it?" and signed it all nice and so I went home and read it yesterday and oh man! Isn't that a sweet little story? Twenty-year old Hannah spies book due to a cuss and then ten years later gets to be all friendly-town with said book's author. *I* think it is a sweet story. And I liked the book better this time, too. Huzzah!
July 8, 2011
A modern day masterpiece. Classic literature with late 20th century flair. Never a dull moment. Flawless storytelling. A non-stop adventure full of a few ups and a lot of downs. The uneasy yet often fulfilling life of a homeless romantic is on display here and I had a hard time putting the book down. It left me completely satisfied, but also wanting more, which of course means it was the perfect length. Highly recommended for fans of top shelf writing and never giving up.
January 20, 2020
Excellent- thoroughly unpredictable all throughout. I enjoy guessing what will happen next in books and Im not ashamed to admit that I guessed incorrectly every time here. Really impressed with this one. Love a story that comes full circle. Shows with clarity how important mental health is. Reveals the darker side of humanity, and for some the darkness sucks you in and you’re dead and for others there’s another chance. Poetic justice? Not here.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 22, 2009
Nersesian does a great job of keeping the reader concerned even though the main character isn't particularly likeable. Really, he's kind of a schmuck. Still, I was concerned about what was going to happen to him. And so many things do. Wildly improbably, the events are still believable. Vividly described as well. The result is a very entertaining novel.
July 19, 2013
Set mostly in lower Manhattan in the 1980's, this is Nersesian's first published book and is very atmospheric, moving & personal. The plots and anti-social situations make the book a fevered read. Also recommend "Chinese Take Out" which is mostly set in the East Village and by the same author.
October 7, 2024
hilarious. holden caulfield if he was the main character in my year of rest and relaxation but 10x grosser.
July 24, 2018
This novel is about a young man in New York city as his life slowly unravels. Some of his bad luck is outside of his control but some is a result of the poor choices he makes and the paths he chooses to take. As we see the story through his eyes we also get to hear his reasoning for all his actions. He reasons very well, which helps the reader to stay on his side (just about) even when he's acting pretty badly. There is a comedic charm in the way he takes his deceptions to the extreme, for example when he's pretending to be gay so he can get a job and find a place to live.
For me, the point where charming renegade finally becomes something more sinister is the scene where he goes to admonish a woman's son for her. It's presaged by one of the funniest comedic scenes in the novel, which revolves around a misunderstanding between him and woman. The following scene is incredibly uncomfortable reading and extremely cringy as he tries to justify the unjustifiable.
His resourcefulness is admirable, he thinks up a number of clever scams and farces, but they always seem to lead him deeper and deeper into the lie until his position becomes untenable.
Despite his internal narrative helping the reader empathise he's not really a very nice character but he only comes across as flawed rather than terrible. I think this is because there is something real about him, he's just trying to get by until his fortunes eventually improve and this includes the need to make some desperate choices.
Most of the main characters seem to be quite duplicitous - The prudish cinema girl who becomes overly sexualised for another man; the fraudulent gay cinema manager who likes stereotypical American pastimes; the strong business woman who turns out to be very needy. The message here, as with so much of this novel, is that nothing is certain, there are no certainties.
The writing is cleverer than it first appears, the forshadowing when he ejects a tramp from the cinema being a prime example. I think a second reading might show up more examples such as that and for me that would push it up from four to five stars.
This isn't an uplifting story as the ending is fairly uninspiring and yet after everything he goes through there is a sense of relief. Mere contentment is the narrator's reward, rather than a happy-ever-after ending. This is actually very similar to where he was at the beginning of the novel where his downfall began. His journey has taken him much lower than he could have imagined and so when he ends up in a similar situation to the one he started in he has a much better appreciation for it.
So, to summarise, an interesting and thoughtful story that offers more than the lazy narrative style might suggest.
For me, the point where charming renegade finally becomes something more sinister is the scene where he goes to admonish a woman's son for her. It's presaged by one of the funniest comedic scenes in the novel, which revolves around a misunderstanding between him and woman. The following scene is incredibly uncomfortable reading and extremely cringy as he tries to justify the unjustifiable.
His resourcefulness is admirable, he thinks up a number of clever scams and farces, but they always seem to lead him deeper and deeper into the lie until his position becomes untenable.
Despite his internal narrative helping the reader empathise he's not really a very nice character but he only comes across as flawed rather than terrible. I think this is because there is something real about him, he's just trying to get by until his fortunes eventually improve and this includes the need to make some desperate choices.
Most of the main characters seem to be quite duplicitous - The prudish cinema girl who becomes overly sexualised for another man; the fraudulent gay cinema manager who likes stereotypical American pastimes; the strong business woman who turns out to be very needy. The message here, as with so much of this novel, is that nothing is certain, there are no certainties.
The writing is cleverer than it first appears, the forshadowing when he ejects a tramp from the cinema being a prime example. I think a second reading might show up more examples such as that and for me that would push it up from four to five stars.
This isn't an uplifting story as the ending is fairly uninspiring and yet after everything he goes through there is a sense of relief. Mere contentment is the narrator's reward, rather than a happy-ever-after ending. This is actually very similar to where he was at the beginning of the novel where his downfall began. His journey has taken him much lower than he could have imagined and so when he ends up in a similar situation to the one he started in he has a much better appreciation for it.
So, to summarise, an interesting and thoughtful story that offers more than the lazy narrative style might suggest.
October 21, 2014
It's a book that should be revisited (if it was ever visited). My friends that want to be writers all live in New York, and this is a book about what happens when you go to New York to be a writer. While a lot of the events fit snuggly within the dream of big city life and Bukowski-from the gutter failure-cum-success, it's a a believable story of failure. It is also the story of a generation without opportunity to realize lofty dreams created by a lavish adolescence. Published in the early-90s, it is, ultimately, a good book for now people, with just enough nostalgic details--pay phones, no cycling, Brooklyn of days past--to give it the potential to become a sourcebook for new writers with similar vision.
September 5, 2007
The book with the greatest verismilitude to my life that I've read. Kind of makes me wonder how unique my experience in life is. Of course their is less sadness and debt in this book than in my life. I'm not sure if that makes my life any the more unique. In short, this is the type of book that makes you laugh where you should cry. Unabashedly inappropriate and all the more enjoyable because of it.
August 18, 2007
Unimpressive. Although the story is engrossing, Nersesian's prose style is forced--it seems to me as though he were trying too hard to produce a hybrid of Trainspotting and The Catcher in the Rye.
May 14, 2023
This felt like a dark parallel to Catcher in the Rye. There's an absurdity to some of the slapstick situations throughout the novel, while also following a narrative that makes the protagonist relatable enough to stay interesting.
I'm not sure it hits a bullseye on every attempt at poignant commentary, but it definitely doesn't feel overdone. The story beats were interesting. It may meander a bit, but I tend to appreciate that in a book. Definitely well-done.
I'm not sure it hits a bullseye on every attempt at poignant commentary, but it definitely doesn't feel overdone. The story beats were interesting. It may meander a bit, but I tend to appreciate that in a book. Definitely well-done.
February 24, 2026
Une lecture très "dans son jus" mais qui reflète assez bien l'idée qu'on se fait du New-York un peu crasseux des années 80. Le personnage principal est antipathique au possible sans que l'on sache bien si c'est une volonté de l'auteur ou non, et le livre n'a pas vraiment de fin ... Au final je ne sais même pas dire si j'ai aimé ou non ? Disons que c'était la plongée temporaire dans la tête d'un personnage un peu pathétique. Qui dit auteur masculin baby-boomer dit également misogynie ordinaire, remarques graveleuses et ; Il faut le savoir en démarrant la lecture et être prêt à prendre du recul.
January 20, 2026
I thought I would love this book but in the end I did not love this book and what can we do with such things but continue to live our lives.
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