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No One Left to Come Looking for You
A darkly comic mystery by the author of Hark and The Ask set in the vibrant music scene of early 1990s New York City.
Manhattan’s East Village, 1993. Dive bars, DIY music venues, shady weirdos, and hard drugs are plentiful. Crime is high but rent is low, luring hopeful, creative kids from sleepy suburbs around the country.
One of these is Jack S., a young New Jersey rock musician. Just a few days before his band’s biggest gig, their lead singer goes missing with Jack’s prized bass, presumably to hock it to feed his junk habit. Jack’s search for his buddy uncovers a sinister entanglement of crimes tied to local real estate barons looking to remake New York City—and who might also be connected to the recent death of Jack’s punk rock mentor. Along the way, Jack encounters a cast of colorful characters, including a bewitching, quick-witted scenester who favors dressing in a nurse’s outfit, a monstrous hired killer with a devotion to both figure skating and edged weapons, a deranged if prophetic postwar novelist, and a tough-talking cop who fancies himself a retro-cool icon of the homicide squad but is harboring a surprising secret.
No One Left to Come Looking for You is a page-turning suspense novel that also serves as a love letter to a bygone era of New York City where young artists could still afford to chase their dreams.
Manhattan’s East Village, 1993. Dive bars, DIY music venues, shady weirdos, and hard drugs are plentiful. Crime is high but rent is low, luring hopeful, creative kids from sleepy suburbs around the country.
One of these is Jack S., a young New Jersey rock musician. Just a few days before his band’s biggest gig, their lead singer goes missing with Jack’s prized bass, presumably to hock it to feed his junk habit. Jack’s search for his buddy uncovers a sinister entanglement of crimes tied to local real estate barons looking to remake New York City—and who might also be connected to the recent death of Jack’s punk rock mentor. Along the way, Jack encounters a cast of colorful characters, including a bewitching, quick-witted scenester who favors dressing in a nurse’s outfit, a monstrous hired killer with a devotion to both figure skating and edged weapons, a deranged if prophetic postwar novelist, and a tough-talking cop who fancies himself a retro-cool icon of the homicide squad but is harboring a surprising secret.
No One Left to Come Looking for You is a page-turning suspense novel that also serves as a love letter to a bygone era of New York City where young artists could still afford to chase their dreams.
210 pages, Hardcover
First published December 6, 2022
223 people are currently reading
12699 people want to read
About the author
Sam Lipsyte
32 books590 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 401 reviews
January 26, 2023
it's hard for a book this short to be way too much. but here we are.
this was goofy and fun and then it was less goofy and fun and then there was a 3 paragraph description of poop and then it was unadulterated suffering for every remaining page.
that's all i have to say.
(thanks to the publisher for the copy)
this was goofy and fun and then it was less goofy and fun and then there was a 3 paragraph description of poop and then it was unadulterated suffering for every remaining page.
that's all i have to say.
(thanks to the publisher for the copy)
December 10, 2022
Reading the description for this one, plus knowing Lipsyte's wacky sense of humor, I approached the novel expecting The Ramones meet Only Murders in the Building.
Turns out, I don't know Jack Shit, the stage name of our much put upon protagonist. He's one busy guy: out looking for his missing roommate, the guy who stole his guitar, AND helping out in a homicide investigation.
I can't tell you much more about the plot as I'm still trying to figure it out myself.
5 stars for the great dialog
4 for the characters and situations
3 for the not-that-intriguing murder mystery
2 for the god-awful title I still can't remember
and, great news - there is absolutely nothing 1 star about this book
Lipsyte's tale of woe and punk rock manages to be quirky, imaginative, and nostalgic - a combination that made me smile.
I mostly enjoyed whatever the heck this was called.
Thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for sharing.
Turns out, I don't know Jack Shit, the stage name of our much put upon protagonist. He's one busy guy: out looking for his missing roommate, the guy who stole his guitar, AND helping out in a homicide investigation.
I can't tell you much more about the plot as I'm still trying to figure it out myself.
5 stars for the great dialog
4 for the characters and situations
3 for the not-that-intriguing murder mystery
2 for the god-awful title I still can't remember
and, great news - there is absolutely nothing 1 star about this book
Lipsyte's tale of woe and punk rock manages to be quirky, imaginative, and nostalgic - a combination that made me smile.
I mostly enjoyed whatever the heck this was called.
Thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for sharing.
April 28, 2024
A 2022 New York Public Library Best Adult book!
Real Rating: 4.5* of five, rounded up
The Publisher Says: A darkly comic mystery by the author of Hark and The Ask set in the vibrant music scene of early 1990s New York City.
Manhattan’s East Village, 1993. Dive bars, DIY music venues, shady weirdos, and hard drugs are plentiful. Crime is high but rent is low, luring hopeful, creative kids from sleepy suburbs around the country.
One of these is Jack S., a young New Jersey rock musician. Just a few days before his band’s biggest gig, their lead singer goes missing with Jack’s prized bass, presumably to hock it to feed his junk habit. Jack’s search for his buddy uncovers a sinister entanglement of crimes tied to local real estate barons looking to remake New York City—and who might also be connected to the recent death of Jack’s punk rock mentor. Along the way, Jack encounters a cast of colorful characters, including a bewitching, quick-witted scenester who favors dressing in a nurse’s outfit, a monstrous hired killer with a devotion to both figure skating and edged weapons, a deranged if prophetic postwar novelist, and a tough-talking cop who fancies himself a retro-cool icon of the homicide squad but is harboring a surprising secret.
No One Left to Come Looking for You is a page-turning suspense novel that also serves as a love letter to a bygone era of New York City where young artists could still afford to chase their dreams.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Coming home to my era of Manhattan living in this story was a pleasure. It has Author Lipsyte's requisite snarky, biting wit. It felt like I was back in the after-hours club post-Save the Robots listening to the coke-fueled motormouthing. Oh my...I've said too much.
But it's true, this is the way it felt, and looked, and even smelled.
What I think makes this a good read, then, is its way of being in harmony with my own memories. It's an evocation of a vanished time and place. So how will it hit someone whose memories aren't like mine?
Right on the funny bone.
The bland face of evil, played for a few yuks...if you're going to work as this book's audience, you'll need to see that as humor. Offensive and crass and humorous.
Otherwise this isn't a story I think you'll get into. And you'll need to want to get into it...the blizzard at the end of the book needs to feel like we felt then, a suspended moment of possibility, a confusing intersection of many corners all hidden behind drifts and shockingly cold winds forcing your face away from the way you started out wanting to go. That moment in the narrator's life was one where there were many ways to go. He went too far away from the one he thought he wanted and it took a blizzard to show him where he had to be.
Author Lipsyte won't be going back to the days of wine and roses, as the old saying has it; he's fifty-four now, and this story just couldn't come from anyone not fifty-four. My viewpoint, ten years ahead of him, was different enough to make this fun trip to a time I loved familiar enough. I wouldn't have seen it from this angle but it was still speaking to me.
Over forty-five? Give this a read today. What else is that gift card for if not to try to time travel?
Real Rating: 4.5* of five, rounded up
The Publisher Says: A darkly comic mystery by the author of Hark and The Ask set in the vibrant music scene of early 1990s New York City.
Manhattan’s East Village, 1993. Dive bars, DIY music venues, shady weirdos, and hard drugs are plentiful. Crime is high but rent is low, luring hopeful, creative kids from sleepy suburbs around the country.
One of these is Jack S., a young New Jersey rock musician. Just a few days before his band’s biggest gig, their lead singer goes missing with Jack’s prized bass, presumably to hock it to feed his junk habit. Jack’s search for his buddy uncovers a sinister entanglement of crimes tied to local real estate barons looking to remake New York City—and who might also be connected to the recent death of Jack’s punk rock mentor. Along the way, Jack encounters a cast of colorful characters, including a bewitching, quick-witted scenester who favors dressing in a nurse’s outfit, a monstrous hired killer with a devotion to both figure skating and edged weapons, a deranged if prophetic postwar novelist, and a tough-talking cop who fancies himself a retro-cool icon of the homicide squad but is harboring a surprising secret.
No One Left to Come Looking for You is a page-turning suspense novel that also serves as a love letter to a bygone era of New York City where young artists could still afford to chase their dreams.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Coming home to my era of Manhattan living in this story was a pleasure. It has Author Lipsyte's requisite snarky, biting wit. It felt like I was back in the after-hours club post-Save the Robots listening to the coke-fueled motormouthing. Oh my...I've said too much.
But it's true, this is the way it felt, and looked, and even smelled.
What I think makes this a good read, then, is its way of being in harmony with my own memories. It's an evocation of a vanished time and place. So how will it hit someone whose memories aren't like mine?
Right on the funny bone.
Later, we go get a drink at the Jew-Hater's bar.
The merry old pogromist, with his lovely shock of alabaster hair and craggy fascist visage, pours us free shots with our beers. Maybe he means to lubricate his audience.
"The Yids, they cut the penis," he says, casual, as though relaying news of an off-season baseball trade. ... "God makes people perfect. The penis, perfect. Why cut it up? Only the Yid thinks of that."
The bland face of evil, played for a few yuks...if you're going to work as this book's audience, you'll need to see that as humor. Offensive and crass and humorous.
Otherwise this isn't a story I think you'll get into. And you'll need to want to get into it...the blizzard at the end of the book needs to feel like we felt then, a suspended moment of possibility, a confusing intersection of many corners all hidden behind drifts and shockingly cold winds forcing your face away from the way you started out wanting to go. That moment in the narrator's life was one where there were many ways to go. He went too far away from the one he thought he wanted and it took a blizzard to show him where he had to be.
Author Lipsyte won't be going back to the days of wine and roses, as the old saying has it; he's fifty-four now, and this story just couldn't come from anyone not fifty-four. My viewpoint, ten years ahead of him, was different enough to make this fun trip to a time I loved familiar enough. I wouldn't have seen it from this angle but it was still speaking to me.
Over forty-five? Give this a read today. What else is that gift card for if not to try to time travel?
February 19, 2023
It looks like Goodreads critical consensus is divided. I liked this a lot, but I'm also kind of the key demographic. As always, Lipsyte's writing made me laugh often. Anyone looking for a true mystery will be disappointed, but if you're looking for funny, smart, zingy writing, it's here in abundance. Not strictly for those familiar with the early 90s NYC music scene, but some familiarity with/affection for it couldn't hurt. Incidentally, in addition to "The Annihilation of ths Soft Left," "Count Fistula" strikes me as one of the best fictional band names of all time.
August 6, 2023
When I look back on the different versions of myself I was at age 15, 20, 25, my risk-taking years, the risks I took look unnerving, exhilarating, and stupid. I don't think my risk-taking was particularly more dangerous than that of other young primates. I did like climbing up the outsides of multi-story buildings, lowering myself out of windows on sheets tied together ("in case I'm ever in prison"), and occasionally cross-dressing and going to punk clubs with friends.
This brief look back is a digressive way of opening my review, but the point is that a huge proportion of us primates seem to want (need?) to take risks—and, of course, we do that at a time when we're not really capable of clearly seeing the risks of those risks. I give thanks regularly that I've never had children, so I don't have to watch then doing the idiotic things I did a) because they're idiotic and b) because, as a matter of fact, not everyone makes it safely to the other side of those risk-taking years. It's a crap-shoot.
No One Left to Come Looking for You, by Sam Lipsyte, features a group of young, mostly just-out-of-college young people living in SoHo in 1993, the year Bill Clinton was inaugurated for his first term as President. They have fall-back options—parents in New Jersey or the midwest most significantly. But what they're doing in New York is trying to live out their dreams of being true punk rockers in what is becoming a post-punk world. They're quite smart (college degrees), but also stupid as all get-out (pumping up the endorphins by throwing themselves heroically into all sorts of risk-taking). In other words, they're typical of a significant proportion of the population of early 90s twenty-somethings.
I'm taking time with this set-up because what stood out for me in this novel wasn't the plot—though there's quite a good one involving a stolen bass, a singer at risk of OD-ing, a gig that may or may not get pulled off, a body guard/thug of Donald Trump's doing some "fixing" that may involve these young people. The plot is just fine. It works well. It keeps things moving. But the real momentum in this novel comes from who the central characters are and the particular point in their lives they are at when we get to observe then, thanks to Lipsyte. The energy, engagement, contradictions and cognitive dissonance that this crew brings with them is so monumental and draws readers' attention so compellingly that the plot is really a sort of very good bonus item.
Depending on who who are—parent/non-parent, young/old, bi-coastal/central, a survivor of the risk-taking years/someone who feels powerless in the face of the risk-taking being chosen by those around them, disciple of punk/mainstream rocker—you will love or hate this book. And any member of any of those pairings could wind up on either side of the like/dislike line. When you're ready to speed up and run a motorcycle over railroad tracks (or whatever your equivalent of that is), this book will give you a good ride without any risks taken except, perhaps, the risk of a reading light falling on your head.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via EdelweissPlus; the opinions are my own.
This brief look back is a digressive way of opening my review, but the point is that a huge proportion of us primates seem to want (need?) to take risks—and, of course, we do that at a time when we're not really capable of clearly seeing the risks of those risks. I give thanks regularly that I've never had children, so I don't have to watch then doing the idiotic things I did a) because they're idiotic and b) because, as a matter of fact, not everyone makes it safely to the other side of those risk-taking years. It's a crap-shoot.
No One Left to Come Looking for You, by Sam Lipsyte, features a group of young, mostly just-out-of-college young people living in SoHo in 1993, the year Bill Clinton was inaugurated for his first term as President. They have fall-back options—parents in New Jersey or the midwest most significantly. But what they're doing in New York is trying to live out their dreams of being true punk rockers in what is becoming a post-punk world. They're quite smart (college degrees), but also stupid as all get-out (pumping up the endorphins by throwing themselves heroically into all sorts of risk-taking). In other words, they're typical of a significant proportion of the population of early 90s twenty-somethings.
I'm taking time with this set-up because what stood out for me in this novel wasn't the plot—though there's quite a good one involving a stolen bass, a singer at risk of OD-ing, a gig that may or may not get pulled off, a body guard/thug of Donald Trump's doing some "fixing" that may involve these young people. The plot is just fine. It works well. It keeps things moving. But the real momentum in this novel comes from who the central characters are and the particular point in their lives they are at when we get to observe then, thanks to Lipsyte. The energy, engagement, contradictions and cognitive dissonance that this crew brings with them is so monumental and draws readers' attention so compellingly that the plot is really a sort of very good bonus item.
Depending on who who are—parent/non-parent, young/old, bi-coastal/central, a survivor of the risk-taking years/someone who feels powerless in the face of the risk-taking being chosen by those around them, disciple of punk/mainstream rocker—you will love or hate this book. And any member of any of those pairings could wind up on either side of the like/dislike line. When you're ready to speed up and run a motorcycle over railroad tracks (or whatever your equivalent of that is), this book will give you a good ride without any risks taken except, perhaps, the risk of a reading light falling on your head.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via EdelweissPlus; the opinions are my own.
July 21, 2022
Much like the other novel I read by the author, this one was appreciated on the intellectual and not emotional level. Lipsyte is a clever and stylish writer, he has a way with words, he knows how to create multilayered characters.
But the thing is I didn’t much care for the plot and didn’t at all care about the characters; and appreciation of narrative skills can only take a reader so far on its own.
Early 90s, New York music scene. One fecally named band is trying to make it but hitting all sorts of obstacles from murder to personality explosions.
It’s one of those fairly stereotypical NY stories of struggling artists and grimy streets, cheap bars, cheap pizza, cheap lifestyles. Sort of like waxing nostalgia for a past that isn’t necessarily worth it.
New York has, for a while now, been a city aggressively hostile to nourishing most life (outside of the very wealthy or very naïve/stupid), but apparently once upon a time it welcomed those who dreamed or artistic self-expression and whatever fame and fortune that might bring.
If you want to read about that time, this is as good of a book as any. Nothing special, though. Nothing really original, either. Seems like a really familiar story.
So there you have it, folks…the novel about The Sh*ts isn’t quite The Sh*t it probably saw itself as, but it’s decent enough, well written, and a very quick read. Thanks Netgalley.
This and more at https://advancetheplot.weebly.com/
But the thing is I didn’t much care for the plot and didn’t at all care about the characters; and appreciation of narrative skills can only take a reader so far on its own.
Early 90s, New York music scene. One fecally named band is trying to make it but hitting all sorts of obstacles from murder to personality explosions.
It’s one of those fairly stereotypical NY stories of struggling artists and grimy streets, cheap bars, cheap pizza, cheap lifestyles. Sort of like waxing nostalgia for a past that isn’t necessarily worth it.
New York has, for a while now, been a city aggressively hostile to nourishing most life (outside of the very wealthy or very naïve/stupid), but apparently once upon a time it welcomed those who dreamed or artistic self-expression and whatever fame and fortune that might bring.
If you want to read about that time, this is as good of a book as any. Nothing special, though. Nothing really original, either. Seems like a really familiar story.
So there you have it, folks…the novel about The Sh*ts isn’t quite The Sh*t it probably saw itself as, but it’s decent enough, well written, and a very quick read. Thanks Netgalley.
This and more at https://advancetheplot.weebly.com/
November 29, 2022
This was my first foray with this author and I'm so sad it didn't work for me. I wasn't feeling the humor, never connected with the MC. I honestly didn't like him much. The ragtag cast of characters he chases around and bumps in to all along the story were colorful but didn't feel developed. Maybe it was the timeframe but I just never caught the rhythm of this story to really enjoy it. I wish I had - I would have loved a funny, suspense filled read.
A huge thank you to the author and publisher for providing an e-ARC via Netgalley. This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.
A huge thank you to the author and publisher for providing an e-ARC via Netgalley. This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.
February 7, 2023
If The Comic Book guy from the Simpsons wrote a book about being in a band, this would be the book.
April 29, 2022
Man alive, I love Sam Lipsyte. This might be his best novel, and the others are great. Among this book's many other charms, it contains one of the only fictional representations of a certain recent president that I found both interesting and warranted. I'm also a sucker for noir, end of history stuff, flailing art students in New York, and long puffed up rants about American decline. These elements combine into an apocalyptic Pynchonian riff on the creeping rise of the forces of control. Which if that doesn't sound fun, it is.
Any book that depicts the Port Authority Bus Terminal wins my affection.
Any book that depicts the Port Authority Bus Terminal wins my affection.
January 15, 2023
What to say about this? It was fun for a while, mostly because this is sentimental. I was a bit of a hanger-on several years before the Alphabet City moment covered in this book. When I was in high school as soon as I got my license my best friend and I lied to our respective parents telling them we were sleeping at the other's house (luckily we had checked out parents) and drove from Detroit to NYC for long weekends. We probably did this a dozen or so times, and it was the moment at which Alphabet City was the center of the universe. We saw Television, Blondie, the Ramones, Bad Brains, The Dictators, Mink deVille and many others at the Mudd Club, CBGB, Max's 2 and many many brokedown lofts and rooftops that became performance spaces for a few hours before emptying and becoming squats once again, like a punk rock Cinderella. What a great time that was, 1978-80. When I finally moved to NYC in 1986 the moment was over for the most part, but I still had cool (if self-important) friends living in Avenue C squats making music, creating performance art and alternative dance pieces, eating ramen, mac & cheese and day old Dunkins and taking baths in the kitchen. The now swanky LES was a toilet, it literally smelled of old urine all the time. But some of the best nights of my life were spent drinking Mickey's bigmouths out of brown paper bags while we danced, finishing out the night with potato borscht at Veselka (I was in law school, living in Brooklyn in an edgy hood, but one that smelled less like piss and where I actually paid rent.) Anyway, I knew a lot of people who were just like the characters in this book, though these characters came six or so years later when Alphabet City was over, a shadow of what it had been. So yeah, that part was fun.
The rest was sort of meh. This is LES noir. Our lead, Jack Shit (FKA Jonathan Liptak) has his bass stolen by his junkie roommate who is also the lead singer of their band, The Shits. Jack goes off in search of and ends up in the middle of a murder mystery, somehow orchestrated by Donald Trump. There were some brilliant passages, but the whole seemed unfinished and somewhat ridiculous (sometimes in a good way, sometimes not). There were fun cameos from "types" of New Yorkers but in the end the book actually made me view my happy years with a jaundiced eye. I think it is safe to say that Lipsyte has read a lot of lesser Pynchon, particularly The Bleeding Edge, and while I love those books, I don't think this added anything. I have no idea whom I would recommend this one to. People like me for whom it evokes a pleasant nostalgia are likely to come out at the end sort of bummed out, and those who did not live through the golden days of NYC punk are likely to find it kind of silly. I will say a 2.5, rounding down because of the aforementioned memory tarnishing effect.
The rest was sort of meh. This is LES noir. Our lead, Jack Shit (FKA Jonathan Liptak) has his bass stolen by his junkie roommate who is also the lead singer of their band, The Shits. Jack goes off in search of and ends up in the middle of a murder mystery, somehow orchestrated by Donald Trump. There were some brilliant passages, but the whole seemed unfinished and somewhat ridiculous (sometimes in a good way, sometimes not). There were fun cameos from "types" of New Yorkers but in the end the book actually made me view my happy years with a jaundiced eye. I think it is safe to say that Lipsyte has read a lot of lesser Pynchon, particularly The Bleeding Edge, and while I love those books, I don't think this added anything. I have no idea whom I would recommend this one to. People like me for whom it evokes a pleasant nostalgia are likely to come out at the end sort of bummed out, and those who did not live through the golden days of NYC punk are likely to find it kind of silly. I will say a 2.5, rounding down because of the aforementioned memory tarnishing effect.
January 29, 2023
wow i did not like this at all
the cover is sick but the inside tries wayyy too hard to be the gg allin of books and, like the man himself, it is crass, uninteresting, and deeply soulless.
the cover is sick but the inside tries wayyy too hard to be the gg allin of books and, like the man himself, it is crass, uninteresting, and deeply soulless.
December 2, 2022
Jack is a young Jersey musician living in Manhattan’s East Village in 1993. His band, The Shits, is days away from their biggest gig when their lead singer goes missing, taking Jack’s bass with him (probably to pay for some smack). Jack’s search for his buddy and his bass takes him across NYC as a wave of crimes hits that seem to point to local real estate barons. He meanders across the city to stop for clever banter with a colorful cast of characters.
This is described as “a page-turning suspense novel” - I gotta say it’s nothing like that. Instead, it’s nostalgia for an NYC that no longer exists with some oddball characters trying to be clever.
While amusing at times, there wasn’t a real plot or emotional investment here. A shitty band could afford to chase their dreams and a smack habit in the 90s and the characters are surface level, only there to add some colorful/witty dialogue. Meh.
For more reviews, visit www.rootsandreads.wordpress.com
This is described as “a page-turning suspense novel” - I gotta say it’s nothing like that. Instead, it’s nostalgia for an NYC that no longer exists with some oddball characters trying to be clever.
While amusing at times, there wasn’t a real plot or emotional investment here. A shitty band could afford to chase their dreams and a smack habit in the 90s and the characters are surface level, only there to add some colorful/witty dialogue. Meh.
For more reviews, visit www.rootsandreads.wordpress.com
September 13, 2023
This was my first read by the author and I always love an NYC setting, especially early 1990’s NYC. This was gritty and fun, and I loved the protagonist’s stage name, Jack Shit, of the rock band The Shits. A few days before their biggest gig, their lead singer goes missing and takes Jack’s bass with him, which sets Jack on a search across Manhattan to find him, taking him into the underbelly and crossing paths with some colorful characters. This was the part I enjoyed, and thought the narrator did a good job of capturing this atmosphere. Overall though it was a lot to get through and I was a bit tired by the end, as was the band, and the fun had worn off.
Thank you to Edelweiss and Simon Audio for the copies to review.
Thank you to Edelweiss and Simon Audio for the copies to review.
January 15, 2024
i think he was close to achieving what he wanted to achieve. maybe if he was a woman idk
December 22, 2022
Well, it’s official. I am an old fuddy-duddy, certainly enough of one to not much enjoy this antic novel set in NYC’s East Village of the early 1990s, where kids from the suburbs congregate to try to recreate the glory days of the 1970s raging punk scene. Jonathan is from Jersey but living in a dive in the Village, part of neo-punk band The Shits. (He’s decided to change his name to Jack so he can call himself Jack Shit. That’s neither here nor there, but it is a running gag throughout, so I thought I’d mention it.) Just days before the band is scheduled to play their biggest gig ever, their lead singer, who has descended into an unshakeable heroin habit, disappears with Jack’s bass guitar, presumably to pawn it for drug money. And thus the quest to rescue their friend and the guitar begins, taking them into a number of hellholes and into encounters with many colourful denizens, including police, homeless people, addled bartenders, striving artists and filmmakers, yada, yada. But most especially a mountainous, murderous goon working for a certain Donald Trump, one of a gang of soulless real estate developers buying up huge chunks of Manhattan and turning it into unrecognizable high-rent districts completely out of reach of young artsy types.
February 21, 2023
I feel like I gained literally nothing from this book, but I also didn’t lose anything either. It was all just so incredibly neutral and bleh. I wouldn’t recommend it, but I didn’t absolutely despise it.
August 24, 2024
Maybe more 3.5, but the writing was interesting, and the plot was sort of cool in a druggie band kind of way. There was an element of mystery in it as well, though I wouldn't classify it as in the mystery genre.
December 13, 2022
Oof... This was awful.
Sam Lipsyte's No One Left to Come Looking for You reads like the sad fan-fic ramblings of a middle-aged punk wannabe reflecting on a New York City he wishes was still around; a New York City everyone who opened their eyes and actually grew up quickly realized was changed for the better (much, much better) by the so-called nefarious forces behind the events taking place in this story. Worst of all, there aren't any interesting characters to root for, here. Our protagonist is an embarrassing loser with delusions of grandeur so pathetic you start to just feel bad for him - I mean, c'mon, he actually goes around insisting on being called "Jack Shit". His love interest is so incredibly cringe-worthy (and her wit anything but quick), and the "cast of colorful characters" met throughout are little more than glorified scum that do nothing but make the reader confused as to why anyone would ever feel nostalgic for this New York. Easily the worst book of 2022. Such a waste of time.
1.5/10
Sam Lipsyte's No One Left to Come Looking for You reads like the sad fan-fic ramblings of a middle-aged punk wannabe reflecting on a New York City he wishes was still around; a New York City everyone who opened their eyes and actually grew up quickly realized was changed for the better (much, much better) by the so-called nefarious forces behind the events taking place in this story. Worst of all, there aren't any interesting characters to root for, here. Our protagonist is an embarrassing loser with delusions of grandeur so pathetic you start to just feel bad for him - I mean, c'mon, he actually goes around insisting on being called "Jack Shit". His love interest is so incredibly cringe-worthy (and her wit anything but quick), and the "cast of colorful characters" met throughout are little more than glorified scum that do nothing but make the reader confused as to why anyone would ever feel nostalgic for this New York. Easily the worst book of 2022. Such a waste of time.
1.5/10
August 22, 2022
A hilarious romp in the NY music scene early-mid 90's. Sam Lipsyte's classic sharp wit and colorful banter keep you wanting more as we follow a young rock hopeful who's bass was stolen by a bandmate.
As Jonathan (Jack) Shit meanders around town he comes across a variety of characters and situations that will make you smirk and possibly laugh out loud. It's fun, it's chaotic and it has long rifts on politics and the decline of America - much like the music of the 90's. If you miss the 90's, are a Sam Lipsyte fan, or just want a rollicking good tale set in New York, No One Left to Come Looking For You is for you!
#simon&Schuster #NoOneLeftToComeLookingForYou #SamLipsyte
As Jonathan (Jack) Shit meanders around town he comes across a variety of characters and situations that will make you smirk and possibly laugh out loud. It's fun, it's chaotic and it has long rifts on politics and the decline of America - much like the music of the 90's. If you miss the 90's, are a Sam Lipsyte fan, or just want a rollicking good tale set in New York, No One Left to Come Looking For You is for you!
#simon&Schuster #NoOneLeftToComeLookingForYou #SamLipsyte
December 15, 2022
Sort of like if Inherent Vice was written about the NYC scuzz rock 90s. Really funny and would make for a good film. Only thing preventing it from five stars is the info dump explaining the mystery at the end of the book. Otherwise, I enjoyed farting around with these losers and weirdos, they reminded me of some of my own.
February 17, 2023
an unbearably cringey gen x fever dream. turn to any page and find one of the most embarrassing lines of prose in recorded human history. a screed about a band called the Shits culminates in “the Shits fear not art.” ok grandpa, let’s get you back to bed.
November 18, 2024
A wild tale of 90’s NYC punk music scene and the mystery of a missing guitar and band member. This is the type of story that takes you on a ride. The writing overwhelmed me at times to keep up. Not my cup of tea, but that’s the beauty of books. I would still recommended it to anyone to checkout.
April 25, 2024
I realize there's a lot of Lipsyte fatigue here on Goodreads and, to a certain extent, I share this community's frustrations for the significant departure Lipsyte made after THE ASK into cozy middle-class fiction. But I'm telling you that NO ONE LEFT TO COME LOOKING FOR YOU is the real deal: Lipsyte back on form! His best novel since HOME LAND! It valiantly captures the gritty spirit of early 1990s New York with witty dialogue and fine atmospheric details. Lipsyte wisely doesn't pursue much of Jack Shit's on-stage antics, leaving us to ponder this misfit's off-stage life. There are generous callouts to the likes of Fassbinder, the great band Suicide, and Nick Tosches. And there's a real sense of Lipsyte being genuinely playful here. He really does love this scene for all of its warts. And he seems to have fully thrown off Deborah Treisman's shackles to give us something that is wonderfully entertaining. In a weird way, Lipsyte has proven himself more of a faithful chronicler of the New York underground than Jonathan Lethem's tired late novels.
August 5, 2024
1.5 Very different than what I was expecting. Not really my type of book, although I can see how some people would like it a lot
January 30, 2023
It's 1993 in the East Village, NYC. Jack Shit from the rock band The Shits loses his bass and his lead singer days before a big gig.The band is barely functional with either of them, but is completely lost without the singer. So begins a romp thru a bygone world, where moving to New York to pursue a dream was expensive but not as crippling as today, and where a certain real estate tycoon was still a local nuisance. And the people who are all just playing bit parts in their own lives are suddenly out of their depth.
For the nostalgia, the fun, and the number of times I laughed out loud, NOTCLFY earns it's 4:stars.
For the nostalgia, the fun, and the number of times I laughed out loud, NOTCLFY earns it's 4:stars.
December 13, 2023
i struggled between 2 and 3 stars. i did not enjoy the plot but the dialogue made me laugh out loud a few times and i love the 90’s East Village setting with the punk music scene.
January 28, 2023
Anyone needing a trip through the early 1990s in the NYC music scene will enjoy this romp of story involving narrator Jack (performance name Jack Sh*t of The Sh*ts) and his quest to locate not only his missing bass, but the band's lead singer. I laughed far too many times to count during Jack's odyssey.
December 23, 2022
i love sam lipsyte and enjoyed it well enough but couldn't shake this feeling i get with music/scene/etc writing. the romanticization feels hokey to me, no matter how authentic (or whatever) the voice. you can nail the details, grievances, the cadences of musicians and how they talk (or whatever). but you're still just writing about some experience of another form of art that people should, if they give enough of a shit, experience themselves. i don't know if the energy of one thing can be transferred to another in this case. the relationship between a music person saying "i was there" and some random (non-music or no) person saying "now i know what it was like to be there" is weird and annoying. but whatever. i feel this way about most music journalism, memoirs, music related movies, etc. that being said, this book could've been weirder but wasn't that annoying, given my likely irrational bias. better than slc punk or lords of chaos probably. maybe like a way less harrowing green room. not as good as artificial light//james greer or great jones street//delillo but in all fairness lipsyte doesn't have those ambitions here. i'll still read anything he writes. i'd add another star for the last several pages.
July 18, 2023
Maybe I was not the intended audience. This was one of the most pointless books I’ve ever read. It had the vibes of Girl Meets World in the sense that every character made everything try to sound deeper than it was. Donald Trump was thrown in there somehow? Business era not president era, though neither era was one I was hoping to encounter by reading murder mystery. Calling it a murder mystery was generous. There was a murder, but the mystery is solved in literally 0.5 seconds.
December 20, 2022
It kind of sucks that you can write the most lazy and grating voice ever and pass it off as ironic - the female characters are horribly written but it's part of the Bit, jokes are run straight into the ground but it's part of the Setting. I genuinely hope Lipsyte's other works aren't in the same tone, because it's incredible how quickly I realized I hated this.
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