Dear Goodreads followers,
You may rightly be shocked at first glance that I have read to the end such a book as this. It indeed goes against some of my aesthetic preferences: its diction is dreadfully low and vulgar (as is some of the humor), and it is a fiction in which only one character is very interesting. At some points I couldn't help but read in my head with the voice of my most vulgar-mouthed acquaintances. I am reminded of a book that came up in my Philosophy of Education class which, among other distinctions, brought my attention to the difference between literature that is poisonous to the soul or merely trash. I am not decided (when am I?) on which of these categories best describes The Hack, but first I would like to explain a bit how I came to be aware of this book in the first place. It's author is one whose work I have been following for about seven years. His blogs were witty and thought-stirring. At the time he appeared to me as one associating himself with Christianity, introducing me to Kierkegaard, but over time his work pitched farther towards the unorthodox, and it may have influenced me in that direction, too. I wonder if reading Mikheyev has only been to my detriment.
I feel I must give, if not a defense, at least an explanation of why I still read Mikheyev, and then more specifically why I kept reading the book. Back when I first was reading Moses, he was very generous with replying to my comments at length. Reading his work is more about a relationship with him, whom I do not know in person. Moses likes attention, and I like giving it to him. The glory of being one of his top readers is more easily attained than with other more deserving writers, but MM rewards me well for it. In the Hack I thought I could sense some themes and ideas from his previous work, and being used to some of his notions/shenanigans I was looking forward to seeing them in his making.
Now to the book itself. There were certainly poisonous passages whose images and words I do not Want in my head, but other places were genuinely funny, which is the one of the purposes of the book. Sometimes the narrator says "you may want to sit down to read this", which prevented me from falling over laughing. The writing feels conversational most of the time, which is a skill. The references to other writers are a plus, even if inorganic (would Max really read X?). Really, it's Moses who has read X. His favorites inevitably show up. Despite whatever he tells you, Moses is more like Max than Jack, but maybe that's because Moses only writes what he knows, and Max is the narrator. At least once, Max, who is 33, as compared with Jesus of Nazareth, but to me he's more a John the Baptizer figure. One thing morally to be admired throughout the story is Max's hatred of cancer, which I wish I shared. His hatred of cancer may be a love of what it takes away disguised in grumpiness. And perhaps in this book there is a love hidden behind the ugly, overused words and bawdy scenes, peeping up from time to time. The love of a son? I am not claiming that all these sentences are true or reflect my opinion, you can try to figure that out on your own if you want to. I have to go to bed!