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Manifesto
Manifesto accomplishes two things that books like James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces could not – using experimental format to show one man’s raw life. Opening up the blank casing, a very unapologetic page one sports nothing but black text that starts at the top of the page and small numbering printed on every bottom corner. There are no chapters and there is no chronology or even a plot. Words are broken up in lines or paragraphs and it continues as such for two hundred pages exactly without a break; not dumbed down, allowing the chance to experience truly innovative media.
The author himself accomplishes what thousands of writers spend lifetimes trying to depict honestly, some at the expense of their own sanity. He shows the nihilistic and existentialist thoughts suffered by America’s most broken malcontents. This gritty reality may alienate some readers, but for many it tugs at heartstrings and makes us wonder why we pushed our own parallel feelings to the backburner for the sake of fitting into society. It makes us question if we are fooling anyone with those efforts. It makes us really think why, and this book smartly doesn’t assume us incapable of making our own life assessment by offering morals or lessons meant to give us hope. The writing itself is completely bleak (a warning to the vulnerable), and the author basically tells us to find our own reason for living. Unlike most other literature, by the last sentence you are still wondering if he has ever found his.
The author himself accomplishes what thousands of writers spend lifetimes trying to depict honestly, some at the expense of their own sanity. He shows the nihilistic and existentialist thoughts suffered by America’s most broken malcontents. This gritty reality may alienate some readers, but for many it tugs at heartstrings and makes us wonder why we pushed our own parallel feelings to the backburner for the sake of fitting into society. It makes us question if we are fooling anyone with those efforts. It makes us really think why, and this book smartly doesn’t assume us incapable of making our own life assessment by offering morals or lessons meant to give us hope. The writing itself is completely bleak (a warning to the vulnerable), and the author basically tells us to find our own reason for living. Unlike most other literature, by the last sentence you are still wondering if he has ever found his.
- GenresFictionLiterature
200 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1980
23 people are currently reading
240 people want to read
About the author
Anonymous
791k books3,369 followersBooks can be attributed to "Anonymous" for several reasons:
* They are officially published under that name
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Books whose authorship is merely uncertain should be attributed to Unknown.
See also: Anonymous
* They are officially published under that name
* They are traditional stories not attributed to a specific author
* They are religious texts not generally attributed to a specific author
Books whose authorship is merely uncertain should be attributed to Unknown.
See also: Anonymous
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
October 31, 2011
Oh my god how many times can you say that you hate life?
Turns out, a book's worth.
Turns out, a book's worth.
December 24, 2017
"I was the typical American asshole." (142)
Manifesto reminds me of the novel that I wrote when I was twenty-four years old. It is a rambling stream-of-consciousness self-indulgent novel about, yes, an American asshole. One element of this book that is different than the one that I wrote in my own self-indulgent, rambling book is that this character seems to lack a clear awareness of how lucky he really is. He has women in his life he seems to not even be aware of and hardly names. He has a reliable, loving family that seems to put up with his wandering but also keeps him in booze, airplane tickets, and college education. He swims through this life of financed debauchery complaining about everything. This character has everything I didn't have, but the way the book is written makes me hate him rather than empathize him.
The book is primarily written in what feels like endless "I want" statements, at almost a humorous misinterpretation of any number of MFA workshops begging for the character to want something. This unnamed character seems to want everything, completely unprepared for the internal changes needed to grasp self-awareness, humility, patience, and selflessness. Instead, the book is our narrator's verbal masturbation perhaps best illustrated in a portion where he wishes he was in a war because he's bored. Does he develop? Only as far as writing down his complaints and wanting to distribute them to the world.
I don't have much that I enjoyed about the book. I went in without any expectations, only knowing that I had seen it on the shelf of Newbury Comics and passed among the hands of many friends (precisely how I got my copy). I personally think it is a skip for most every reader, except perhaps the misguided early-twenties trust fund dropout set. I can understand why the author wishes to remain anonymous.
Here, I present my abridged version in the event that you'd rather read this instead:
"I hate books. I want things I can't have. I love books. I really hate books and school. I want a relationship but people hate me. I love books. I should read a book. I can just read on college quads if I want rather than attending college. I hate books. I want you to know books are pretentious. I think libraries are awful. I want books to be great. I want to be great but I'm not good at anything. I should buy a typewriter and write a book. I am an asshole. I think the world needs a book about how I hate books and I love books. I hate books. Read my book."
Manifesto reminds me of the novel that I wrote when I was twenty-four years old. It is a rambling stream-of-consciousness self-indulgent novel about, yes, an American asshole. One element of this book that is different than the one that I wrote in my own self-indulgent, rambling book is that this character seems to lack a clear awareness of how lucky he really is. He has women in his life he seems to not even be aware of and hardly names. He has a reliable, loving family that seems to put up with his wandering but also keeps him in booze, airplane tickets, and college education. He swims through this life of financed debauchery complaining about everything. This character has everything I didn't have, but the way the book is written makes me hate him rather than empathize him.
The book is primarily written in what feels like endless "I want" statements, at almost a humorous misinterpretation of any number of MFA workshops begging for the character to want something. This unnamed character seems to want everything, completely unprepared for the internal changes needed to grasp self-awareness, humility, patience, and selflessness. Instead, the book is our narrator's verbal masturbation perhaps best illustrated in a portion where he wishes he was in a war because he's bored. Does he develop? Only as far as writing down his complaints and wanting to distribute them to the world.
I don't have much that I enjoyed about the book. I went in without any expectations, only knowing that I had seen it on the shelf of Newbury Comics and passed among the hands of many friends (precisely how I got my copy). I personally think it is a skip for most every reader, except perhaps the misguided early-twenties trust fund dropout set. I can understand why the author wishes to remain anonymous.
Here, I present my abridged version in the event that you'd rather read this instead:
"I hate books. I want things I can't have. I love books. I really hate books and school. I want a relationship but people hate me. I love books. I should read a book. I can just read on college quads if I want rather than attending college. I hate books. I want you to know books are pretentious. I think libraries are awful. I want books to be great. I want to be great but I'm not good at anything. I should buy a typewriter and write a book. I am an asshole. I think the world needs a book about how I hate books and I love books. I hate books. Read my book."
June 3, 2011
This book is American, anarchistic and important.
February 28, 2008
Get lost in another life.
April 29, 2021
This book has a completely blank white cover and consists of the story only, with no title page, author, or publication info beyond a small, easy-to-miss name, website, and email printed vertically in the margin on the last page. Dedrabbit.com is nothing but a list of independent bookstores; this Goodreads entry seems to be the only source for the actual title. I ended up buying this as a curiosity from Wooden Shoe Books in Philadelphia, which specializes in anarchist and leftist literature.
The word Manifesto implies we're supposed to sympathize with this unnamed protagonist's worldview. Yet this is fundamentally a story of privilege and immaturity, not any kind of protest against oppression and injustice. His alienation derives from a toxic combination of misanthropy, depression, and an inflated ego: "I don't wanna job or education! That's for stupid, fat people!" Not an actual quote from the book, but pretty damn close. He throws the words "stupid" and "fat" around like Holden Caulfield complaining about "phonies." Except this guy is an adult in his twenties, not a teenager. He is straight, white, male, and hails from an affluent background. Not that that makes him immune to mental health issues, of course, but to most of us it's still pretty jarring that he never worries about sexual assault or police brutality during his various escapades with wild parties, public intoxication, hitchhiking, and voluntary homelessness. In the back of his mind he knows he can always return to his parents and go back to college. He crashes with an indulgent grama in suburban California and a rich uncle in Germany.
So why did I give this four stars? Because the title is ultimately ironic. Pretty sad that he constantly bitches about fat people when he himself is a raging alcoholic. He's a spoiled failure and he knows it. He wants to rage against the machine but lacks the initiative to actually engage in any sort of activism, in large part because issues like racism, misogyny, and homophobia at the end of the day don't affect him. In many ways this book aligns what Natalie Wynn talks about in her Men video: "We all know the archetype. He has trouble relating to women, he has no strong friendship group, he's not excited about any long-term goals, and he fills the void with video games and porn." But these aimless, disaffected young white men are not fundamentally bad people, she goes on. "I think all of this originates in a genuine crisis of male identity" that hasn't yet received an updated vision of aspirational manhood. She was talking about the poisonous allure of "manosphere" garbage like incel ideology and MGTOW and thankfully our protagonist is not that type (and also this book was first published in 1980). He whines a lot, but there's a disillusioned Whitman-esque poetry to his rambles on the postmodern American landscape. He has increasing moments of clarity when he realizes this desolutory wandering and substance abuse will only lead to poverty, broken bridges, and early death. He's a lost, pitiful individual, and represents the reality of the romanticized vagabond that many people saw in Chris McCandless (who did in fact die young).
"Existential angst is often a disease of privilege," says Wynn. This makes Manifesto an anti-manifesto. Our anti-hero provides us with a psychological portrait of maladaptation but no way out. Honestly one of the most depressing books I've ever read, and I'm a cosmic horror fan.
The word Manifesto implies we're supposed to sympathize with this unnamed protagonist's worldview. Yet this is fundamentally a story of privilege and immaturity, not any kind of protest against oppression and injustice. His alienation derives from a toxic combination of misanthropy, depression, and an inflated ego: "I don't wanna job or education! That's for stupid, fat people!" Not an actual quote from the book, but pretty damn close. He throws the words "stupid" and "fat" around like Holden Caulfield complaining about "phonies." Except this guy is an adult in his twenties, not a teenager. He is straight, white, male, and hails from an affluent background. Not that that makes him immune to mental health issues, of course, but to most of us it's still pretty jarring that he never worries about sexual assault or police brutality during his various escapades with wild parties, public intoxication, hitchhiking, and voluntary homelessness. In the back of his mind he knows he can always return to his parents and go back to college. He crashes with an indulgent grama in suburban California and a rich uncle in Germany.
So why did I give this four stars? Because the title is ultimately ironic. Pretty sad that he constantly bitches about fat people when he himself is a raging alcoholic. He's a spoiled failure and he knows it. He wants to rage against the machine but lacks the initiative to actually engage in any sort of activism, in large part because issues like racism, misogyny, and homophobia at the end of the day don't affect him. In many ways this book aligns what Natalie Wynn talks about in her Men video: "We all know the archetype. He has trouble relating to women, he has no strong friendship group, he's not excited about any long-term goals, and he fills the void with video games and porn." But these aimless, disaffected young white men are not fundamentally bad people, she goes on. "I think all of this originates in a genuine crisis of male identity" that hasn't yet received an updated vision of aspirational manhood. She was talking about the poisonous allure of "manosphere" garbage like incel ideology and MGTOW and thankfully our protagonist is not that type (and also this book was first published in 1980). He whines a lot, but there's a disillusioned Whitman-esque poetry to his rambles on the postmodern American landscape. He has increasing moments of clarity when he realizes this desolutory wandering and substance abuse will only lead to poverty, broken bridges, and early death. He's a lost, pitiful individual, and represents the reality of the romanticized vagabond that many people saw in Chris McCandless (who did in fact die young).
"Existential angst is often a disease of privilege," says Wynn. This makes Manifesto an anti-manifesto. Our anti-hero provides us with a psychological portrait of maladaptation but no way out. Honestly one of the most depressing books I've ever read, and I'm a cosmic horror fan.
July 14, 2009
This book manages to both mesmerize and bore. It is essentially a catalog: a two-hundred page list of disappointments, confusions, rejections, contradictions, desires, and existential observations. The book moves between what saddens us to what merely annoys and distracts, yet it struggles even so to discover what is good in the world. The considerable power of this book is weakened by its own relentless persistence: cut in half the book, which is more prose poem than novel, would have been a work of strange and pure genius.
February 9, 2011
If I wrote down a post it note for every random thought and action I made and any little thing I'd ever witnessed, and taken all those scraps and put them in a binding in somewhat of a chronological order, it would be this book.
This may be one of those books that is impossible to put down when you are in a slum in your life and feel the common ache, but one you can't make yourself pick up when you are feeling content with life.
It is disorganized and lacks a plot, but it's personal, identifiable, and it is a beautiful mess.
This may be one of those books that is impossible to put down when you are in a slum in your life and feel the common ache, but one you can't make yourself pick up when you are feeling content with life.
It is disorganized and lacks a plot, but it's personal, identifiable, and it is a beautiful mess.
July 17, 2019
I read this every now and then because it’s so different from what I normally like. It grabs me into the pages and I just need to keep reading it. It kind of reminds me of a more adult Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye, which is probably one of my favorite books and I read multiple times a year).
Is it good? Sure. Is it bad? Sure. But it’s definitely an interesting read that gives you an inside perspective on a complete stranger whom you sort of feel connected to while reading.
Is it good? Sure. Is it bad? Sure. But it’s definitely an interesting read that gives you an inside perspective on a complete stranger whom you sort of feel connected to while reading.
abandoned
August 1, 2009just started it, intrigued but not earth-shattering yet. it's like a modern "On The Road" or "Catcher In The Rye". Still waiting to see how it might depart from those antecedents in any real or innovative way.
May 30, 2021
Literally don’t bother...you could buy a sad local a drink and have em reiterate this entire books premise within an hour.
June 3, 2025
I thought this would be bad. I remember very clearly, shopping in an indie bookstore in Portland, ME in 2006 and seeing this blank book for $5.00. My friend and I both bought a copy. We thought it was so cool. No title. No author. A huge fold out manifesto.
I never read it. It sat on my shelf for nearly 20 years. With each passing year, I convinced myself further that whatever was in these pages, I had grown out of. I was surprised to find that not only is the book good, but the presentation is unique, the style fascinating.
This is Catcher in the Rye and On the Road, sure, but it's also Burroughs' cut-up technique with a dash of Bret Easton Ellis' dead-eyed minimalism. This is a book of fragments. Scenes weave in and out, depression, anxiety, drug abuse and alcoholism the only through-lines. At the margins is hope.
The protagonist drifts through life, never satisfied with the status-quo as he perceives it, and tries to live a different way. When I bought this book, I was the age of the protagonist. I believed in the things he did. I was depressed, anxious. I abused drugs and alcohol. Twenty years later, my life is completely different, but what never disappears is that question of "What else is out there?"
You can be put off by the angst and you can find the protagonist unlikeable, but if you have the chronic condition we call wanderlust, there is something in this slim, unmarked volume that's undeniably raw and true. I'm thirty-nine now, but somewhere in me that eighteen-year-old kid is still kicking at the sun. This book speaks to him.
I never read it. It sat on my shelf for nearly 20 years. With each passing year, I convinced myself further that whatever was in these pages, I had grown out of. I was surprised to find that not only is the book good, but the presentation is unique, the style fascinating.
This is Catcher in the Rye and On the Road, sure, but it's also Burroughs' cut-up technique with a dash of Bret Easton Ellis' dead-eyed minimalism. This is a book of fragments. Scenes weave in and out, depression, anxiety, drug abuse and alcoholism the only through-lines. At the margins is hope.
The protagonist drifts through life, never satisfied with the status-quo as he perceives it, and tries to live a different way. When I bought this book, I was the age of the protagonist. I believed in the things he did. I was depressed, anxious. I abused drugs and alcohol. Twenty years later, my life is completely different, but what never disappears is that question of "What else is out there?"
You can be put off by the angst and you can find the protagonist unlikeable, but if you have the chronic condition we call wanderlust, there is something in this slim, unmarked volume that's undeniably raw and true. I'm thirty-nine now, but somewhere in me that eighteen-year-old kid is still kicking at the sun. This book speaks to him.
February 14, 2020
I gave up reading after thirty or so pages. Because it repeats the same basic thoughts every other paragraph.
Because it repeats the same basic thoughts. Over and over again.
It's the kind of project, apparently undertaken by a whole collective otherwise identified as derabbit something-something, that believes it represents the whole of the counterculture, but it ends up reading like an even less coherent version of William S. Burroughs' Naked Lunch. I read Naked Lunch months ago, famous for being one of the pillars of the Beat Generation. But it's not really all that great.
And Manifesto is worse. It'd take an extreme amount of patience to read all two hundred pages of its juvenile (although the author[s] believe it's transcendent) thought process, admittedly coming from a privileged background eventually overtaken with rebellious thoughts. Although you won't catch such an admission within its pages. Okay, maybe somewhere in its pages, but that's not the dominant theme.
The dominant theme is repeated. Ad nauseum. School was a drag. Awesome. Although if you'd maybe learned anything you could produce a coherent thought?
I'm mostly disappointed because I bought this years ago and really hoped that it'd be something interesting. And it is interesting. Just not in a good way.
Because it repeats the same basic thoughts. Over and over again.
It's the kind of project, apparently undertaken by a whole collective otherwise identified as derabbit something-something, that believes it represents the whole of the counterculture, but it ends up reading like an even less coherent version of William S. Burroughs' Naked Lunch. I read Naked Lunch months ago, famous for being one of the pillars of the Beat Generation. But it's not really all that great.
And Manifesto is worse. It'd take an extreme amount of patience to read all two hundred pages of its juvenile (although the author[s] believe it's transcendent) thought process, admittedly coming from a privileged background eventually overtaken with rebellious thoughts. Although you won't catch such an admission within its pages. Okay, maybe somewhere in its pages, but that's not the dominant theme.
The dominant theme is repeated. Ad nauseum. School was a drag. Awesome. Although if you'd maybe learned anything you could produce a coherent thought?
I'm mostly disappointed because I bought this years ago and really hoped that it'd be something interesting. And it is interesting. Just not in a good way.
Read
June 4, 2017I was surprised that this secret book has a reviews page! The front cover, back cover, and spine are all blank. No title, no author, no summary, no anything. I found it sitting by the register at Bluestocking bookstore and I asked the young woman who was working there what it was. “ohh, we call that one the ‘White Boy Manifesto’”. Ok...I guess I had to read it!
The book is a portrait of Ennui. Think the misanthropy of Holden Caulfield x 100. The un-named narrator dropped out of Harvard. He has trouble finding meaning in anything, he abuses drugs and alcohol, he has difficulty connecting with people, he lives as a drifter, he hates school, he hates work, he hates society…and that’s basically it. There are no chapters, there is no plot, no development. The lack of any sort of structure seems to mirror the lack of purpose that the narrator feels. Despite all of this, it is clear that he is intelligent, his observations are perceptive and insightful. There is an emotional toll that is paid by those who are unwilling or unable to accept the cultural narratives of modern society. Is there a place for people like this in the world? Do they contribute anything to our understanding of society and of ourselves?
I really enjoyed this book...my goodness, what does that say about me!?? I guess "White Boy Manifesto" is right!
The book is a portrait of Ennui. Think the misanthropy of Holden Caulfield x 100. The un-named narrator dropped out of Harvard. He has trouble finding meaning in anything, he abuses drugs and alcohol, he has difficulty connecting with people, he lives as a drifter, he hates school, he hates work, he hates society…and that’s basically it. There are no chapters, there is no plot, no development. The lack of any sort of structure seems to mirror the lack of purpose that the narrator feels. Despite all of this, it is clear that he is intelligent, his observations are perceptive and insightful. There is an emotional toll that is paid by those who are unwilling or unable to accept the cultural narratives of modern society. Is there a place for people like this in the world? Do they contribute anything to our understanding of society and of ourselves?
I really enjoyed this book...my goodness, what does that say about me!?? I guess "White Boy Manifesto" is right!
June 4, 2010
This book reminded me of On The Road by Jack Kerouac; a book I picked up in high school that I just couldn't bring myself to finish.
I enjoyed the stream of consciousness writing style because it reminded me of my own thought pattern, and it didn't require focus or concentration to follow. The vivid descriptions of seemingly insignificant items, such as a piece of trash on the side of the road, brought the author's world to life for me. I found his experience and world view completely relate-able, which kind of scared me.
About halfway through I realized this wasn't a story about growing up, coming of age, maturing; it wouldn't offer guidance or valuable lessons I could use to shape my own future. I realized that it didn't even offer hope. Rather, slowly unfolding on the pages were the troubled and scattered thoughts inside the mind of a drug addict; sometimes repetitive, sometimes contradictory to previous thoughts.
This is a story of a privileged kid which lots of potential overwhelmed and crippled by the perceived expectation to succeed. One could only presume that the self destructive path had concluded at some point, which resulted in the book. That in itself gives me a bit of hope.
I enjoyed the stream of consciousness writing style because it reminded me of my own thought pattern, and it didn't require focus or concentration to follow. The vivid descriptions of seemingly insignificant items, such as a piece of trash on the side of the road, brought the author's world to life for me. I found his experience and world view completely relate-able, which kind of scared me.
About halfway through I realized this wasn't a story about growing up, coming of age, maturing; it wouldn't offer guidance or valuable lessons I could use to shape my own future. I realized that it didn't even offer hope. Rather, slowly unfolding on the pages were the troubled and scattered thoughts inside the mind of a drug addict; sometimes repetitive, sometimes contradictory to previous thoughts.
This is a story of a privileged kid which lots of potential overwhelmed and crippled by the perceived expectation to succeed. One could only presume that the self destructive path had concluded at some point, which resulted in the book. That in itself gives me a bit of hope.
January 26, 2022
There is nothing profound in the endless droning of Manifesto. These snippets of the narrator's life often feel half-baked or contradictory or bland. But, you know, there isn't anything else that is so brutal and unartistic in its portrayal of the future. I appreciate that this exists, something so in tune with that terrible adolescent fear that life as an adult is boring, soul-draining, and repetitive -- that we will be unable to make something, to be someone, forced to settle into mediocrity and despair. I say "something," because I take more pleasure in knowing it exists than reading it; you'll find that your eyes glaze over once the novelty wears off, which is why I can't award it a higher rating.
April 7, 2022
agonizingly irritating to sit through. couldn't even finish it. this guy is so annoying.
if i had to spend a day with the author, i would probably kill myself after only five minutes. this guy is INSUFFERABLE.
if i had to spend a day with the author, i would probably kill myself after only five minutes. this guy is INSUFFERABLE.
June 22, 2020
I rate this so highly out of pure raw, organic originality. It should be required reading for all college students IMO. That simple. To speak of it further I would fear would take away the pleasure of the discovery which is yours to unfold. That is yours only. Please make the time. It is a short book.
April 3, 2012
Its a really interesting looking book because the cover is completely white. It is written as if it is the narrators train of thought for the entire book. It's basically a long complaint about life, but it's easy to relate to and insightful.
June 3, 2016
this is such a weird book. As someone struggling with depression, if you have depression I don't suggest you read it because it will pull you under until you are finished. If you don't have depression but what to know what it's like I suggest you do read it. Super monotone.
April 18, 2009
Will you be my friend? Please be my friend.
I am not your friend.
I am not your friend.
November 25, 2014
Necessary.
June 20, 2022
Pros: dark and moody. Honest words. Felt all too real.
Cons: Felt all too real.
Cons: Felt all too real.
October 30, 2024
reading manifesto feels like reading someones journal. it’s sometimes hard to follow, kind of chaotic, messy, disorganized, with moments of clarity, a plot to follow, something that unfolds, and then back to the mess; confusion, things change but they never really do, he repeats himself then contradicts himself; his opinions change, then change again; you observe the world with the author, through his point of vue. his point of vue is the one of a privileged kid, sure. call him ungrateful, immature, an asshole, sure. it’s nonetheless fascinating to be let inside this point of vue in such a vulnerable way. no, his thoughts are not world-changing, ground-breaking, life-altering; but you don’t read this book for that. you read it for the point of vue, the vulnerability, the frustration, the observations, the poetic and creative writing style. it’s bold and unapologetic. opinionated and raw.
May 18, 2025
I gave up reading this within like 15 pages. I was hoping that I would find some substance as I kept reading, but I just kept getting pestered, poked, and prodded with the same thing over and over again. Disappointing.
Read
February 17, 2022Read this quite a few years ago. It's weird and it still fascinates me. Not for everyone.
January 4, 2023
so pretentious and boring and repetitive and boring. and repetitive!
October 26, 2023
Man’s really read Kerouac once and thought he was that guy. You’re not that guy pal. Just a dude complaining for 200 pages because he can’t get laid.
Read
June 18, 2024“I had no breath; my eyelids were closing. I whispered in my mind to my mother.”
June 3, 2025
Oh this guy is DEFINETLY a pretentious reddit mod.
July 8, 2024
If you are feeling lost, read this book.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews