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Wakefield
Picture Wakefield: He's divorced, lives alone in a comfortable, book-filled apartment in a sophisticated city. A motivational speaker, his talks leave audiences dispirited and anxious. But for this peculiar talent, he's nicely paid by corporate America, and he's in demand. Then one day the Devil shows up, walks right into Wakefield's tasteful living room, and says, "Time's up."
Just as literary Fausts have done for centuries, Wakefield makes a bargain with Satan, who as it turns out, is having his own existential crisis due to bureaucratic headaches and younger upstart demons in the afterworld. The Devil gives Wakefield a year to find an authentic life—or else it's curtains. So Wakefield travels across the country meeting New Age gurus, billionaire techno-geeks, global pioneers, gambling addicts and models who look like heroin addicts, venture capitalists, art collectors, rainforest protectors, and S and M strippers.
Just as literary Fausts have done for centuries, Wakefield makes a bargain with Satan, who as it turns out, is having his own existential crisis due to bureaucratic headaches and younger upstart demons in the afterworld. The Devil gives Wakefield a year to find an authentic life—or else it's curtains. So Wakefield travels across the country meeting New Age gurus, billionaire techno-geeks, global pioneers, gambling addicts and models who look like heroin addicts, venture capitalists, art collectors, rainforest protectors, and S and M strippers.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2004
11 people are currently reading
197 people want to read
About the author
Andrei Codrescu
161 books151 followersAndrei Codrescu is a poet, novelist, essayist, and NPR commentator. His many books include Whatever Gets You through the Night, The Postmodern Dada Guide, and The Poetry Lesson. He was Mac Curdy Distinguished Professor of English at Louisiana State University from 1984 until his retirement in 2009.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 38 reviews
May 22, 2021
After a long period when lit kept giving us Faustian protagonists whose inner demons always had the best of them, this time, the contemporary world succeeds in overwhelming the Devil himself. I thoroughly enjoyed the wit, the irony and the burlesque.
September 1, 2025
Rec. by: The Devil I didn't know: Chapman Street Books in Ely, MN
Rec. for: Libertines and eremites—both experts in the art of temptation
Wakefield may not even have a first name (at least, if Codrescu ever mentioned one I missed it), but he does have reasons to live, he's sure of it, and it's no spoiler to reveal that Wakefield does make a deal with this Devil for another year of life, in return for—no, not Wakefield's soul, even if he has one. After all, the Devil is "drowning in souls." (p.5) Instead, Wakefield will have to bring the Dark One a souvenir from every place he goes, some thing or another that Wakefield thinks the Devil will appreciate.
A "spiritual scavenger hunt" (p.6), if you will.
And with that we, along with Wakefield, are thrust back in to his rather active life. Wakefield lives in New Orleans—although Codrescu avoids naming cities throughout Wakefield, it's pretty easy to tell what he means by "the old quarter of an indulgent port city known for its vigorous nightlife" (p.11) or, later on, Wakefield's "slapdash, tolerant, corrupt semitropical city" (p.103). His best friend in town is another barfly (Wakefield drinks a lot of booze), an émigré Russian cabbie named Ivan Zamyatin. And while I'm sure Codrescu poured a lot of himself into Wakefield, I think it's really Zamyatin's cheerfully lecherous and philosophical persona that's primarily meant to stand in for the author's own.
Wakefield does have a pretty good gig going. After building an audience as a travel writer (for magazines like National Cartographic), he's pivoted successfully to giving lectures as a rather unconventional motivational speaker.
New Orleans is of course a popular town for conventions... and the bar Wakefield and Zamyatin frequent is in the path of many such tourists.
The above passage, despite its beauty, also illustrates a significant issue with Wakefield: all of the women in this book are objectified. However vividly portrayed, Wakefield's women exist entirely in relationship to (their) men. Wakefield is a randy goat, after all, an admirer of the great god Pan, who is his own Devil's ancestor (or ancestral persona, anyway)—but that does not excuse him. In Codrescu's novel, women do have agency, but that power is almost entirely sexual; apart from a few wives or daughters (whose existence is only mentioned when it affects Wakefield or his male counterparts), these women decide that they want to sleep with Wakefield, or Zamyatin, and are disappointed when (as seldom happens) for some reason they can't.
But I'm a guy myself, I'm afraid, and so I kept reading regardless...
Maybe Codrescu's split himself between Wakefield and Zamyatin. Unlike Zamyatin, for example, Wakefield "is still very interested in the former Communist world" (p.57). And also like Codrescu, whose own memorably unapologetic observation about the Rapture (which I heard when it was broadcast) actually forced NPR to apologize for him later on, Wakefield's attitude towards gods (and devils, mostly) is mainly one of indifference...
And, more than two decades later, I think it's important to note that Codrescu saw clearly another thing which, even today, millions ignore—remember this was back in 2004:
I'm just gonna leave this one here for y'all to ponder:
I did like Codrescu's willingness to literalize metaphors, a rhetorical technique that I am sure has a more concise term, as in this example:
What goes around comes around... all you have to do is change one word in this observation to make it a prescient take on current U.S. politics:
And you don't even have to change any words in this one.
*
One Hallowe'en, decades ago, I had the privilege of attending a haunted house put on by a small but professional theatre troupe in Los Angeles—my wife and I were invited by a coworker. After the usual succession of chainsaws and jump scares, we were thrust abruptly onto a stage, in front of an audience of zombies, and ordered to perform or die. Reader, I could not think of a thing to say or do... we would have died, our brains consumed, had our guide not thrust us back offstage after an agonizing thirty seconds or so—the most frightening haunted-house experience of my life. So I read this passage with a distinct shock of recognition:
Although Andrei Codrescu has published whole volumes of poetry (some of which I've reviewed here, in fact), he does not indulge his poetic side much in this particular volume... but here's one place where he lets that side shine—this is an excerpt from one of Wakefield's extemporaneous speeches:
Later on, Wakefield is in another unnamed town in the Pacific Northwest, one that must be Seattle, during the WTO protests there in 1999. My wife was in attendance there too, though she never broke any windows...
*
I ran across Wakefield in a magical place, a dusty and fragrant bookstore called Chapman Street Books, in the tiny northern Minnesota town of Ely—a business so old-school that it doesn't even have a website. What Chapman Street does have is books—thousands of 'em—that you can browse through to your heart's content, whenever they're open. (Their "Store Hours" sign reserves Sunday for "Resting," Monday for "Errands" and Tuesday for "Recuperating"... we came back on a Wednesday.) Again, this is an unsolicited endorsement—but if you're ever in the town of Ely (which is better-known as a gateway to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, or BWCA), and you're at all bookish, I can highly recommend that you check this place out!
*
After having read Wakefield, I can see why it seems to have sunk seemingly without a trace. The novel ends inconclusively, and during it Codrescu does go on, frequently waxing philosophical and repeatedly injecting his own opinions about art and money and sex and politics into the minds and mouths of all his characters—not just his surname-only protagonist. It can be a lot to take, especially as Wakefield delivers speeches which are, he is proud to claim, wholly extemporaneous, off-the-cuff ramblings that only Codrescu's considerable skill can bring to an only somewhat-coherent conclusion.
Now, I enjoyed all that chaos, myself, and seem to have found quite a lot to say about it—but I wouldn't be upset if your own mileage were to vary...
Rec. for: Libertines and eremites—both experts in the art of temptation
One day the Devil shows up. "I've come to take you."Now, I don't know about you, but I immediately thought of Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita when I read that opening. And I was not wrong to do so; Andrei Codrescu himself brings up Bulgakov's classic novel explicitly, right away, on page 5 of his 2004 novel Wakefield.
"I'm not ready," says Wakefield.
"Why not? You don't have any reason to live."
Wakefield is scandalized. "Are you crazy? What kind of a thing is that to say to a man in the prime of life?"
—Prologue, p.1
Wakefield may not even have a first name (at least, if Codrescu ever mentioned one I missed it), but he does have reasons to live, he's sure of it, and it's no spoiler to reveal that Wakefield does make a deal with this Devil for another year of life, in return for—no, not Wakefield's soul, even if he has one. After all, the Devil is "drowning in souls." (p.5) Instead, Wakefield will have to bring the Dark One a souvenir from every place he goes, some thing or another that Wakefield thinks the Devil will appreciate.
A "spiritual scavenger hunt" (p.6), if you will.
And with that we, along with Wakefield, are thrust back in to his rather active life. Wakefield lives in New Orleans—although Codrescu avoids naming cities throughout Wakefield, it's pretty easy to tell what he means by "the old quarter of an indulgent port city known for its vigorous nightlife" (p.11) or, later on, Wakefield's "slapdash, tolerant, corrupt semitropical city" (p.103). His best friend in town is another barfly (Wakefield drinks a lot of booze), an émigré Russian cabbie named Ivan Zamyatin. And while I'm sure Codrescu poured a lot of himself into Wakefield, I think it's really Zamyatin's cheerfully lecherous and philosophical persona that's primarily meant to stand in for the author's own.
"We Russians are sick of the devil, he did enough for us already. I come here to get away from devils. You a rich American, not too ugly, you have money to eat out, go to a show, anything you want. What you need the devil for, or God, or any of that stuff?"
—Zamyatin, p.11
Wakefield does have a pretty good gig going. After building an audience as a travel writer (for magazines like National Cartographic), he's pivoted successfully to giving lectures as a rather unconventional motivational speaker.
The lecture business pays well: employers shell out a fortune to "motivate" workers, with the result that most employees are over-motivated and radiate so much positive energy that their companies are forced to grow to provide new (sometimes fictitious) outlets to contain this boundless enthusiasm. Some shrewd CEOs quietly seek out realists, even pessimists, to temper the aggressive good cheer. Wakefield's brand of motivation uniquely fits this latter need, and his schedule has become very busy.One senses a bit of sarcasm in the above...
—p.12
New Orleans is of course a popular town for conventions... and the bar Wakefield and Zamyatin frequent is in the path of many such tourists.
The dentists' wives, warmed by the martinis, are glowing, casting a golden light that gleams off the barfly's nose ring, Zamyatin's bald head, the gin bottle in the bartendress's hand as it hovers over a martini glass. Wakefield struggles not to feel optimistic. Optimism could wreck his career.
—p.17
The above passage, despite its beauty, also illustrates a significant issue with Wakefield: all of the women in this book are objectified. However vividly portrayed, Wakefield's women exist entirely in relationship to (their) men. Wakefield is a randy goat, after all, an admirer of the great god Pan, who is his own Devil's ancestor (or ancestral persona, anyway)—but that does not excuse him. In Codrescu's novel, women do have agency, but that power is almost entirely sexual; apart from a few wives or daughters (whose existence is only mentioned when it affects Wakefield or his male counterparts), these women decide that they want to sleep with Wakefield, or Zamyatin, and are disappointed when (as seldom happens) for some reason they can't.
But I'm a guy myself, I'm afraid, and so I kept reading regardless...
"{...} There are millions of normals out there, all of them 'authentic.' I don't even deal with them, we've got cleaning crews for their kind, they scoop them up by the millions.... There's even been some discussion about cutting down costs by giving them all a virus at the same time, instead of individual heart attacks.... Those cost money!"I will admit that I had not considered this possible explanation for COVID-19...
—The Devil, p.40
Maybe Codrescu's split himself between Wakefield and Zamyatin. Unlike Zamyatin, for example, Wakefield "is still very interested in the former Communist world" (p.57). And also like Codrescu, whose own memorably unapologetic observation about the Rapture (which I heard when it was broadcast) actually forced NPR to apologize for him later on, Wakefield's attitude towards gods (and devils, mostly) is mainly one of indifference...
He hadn't thought about God in a long time. It's like a former employer or an ex-wife, you rarely give them a thought if you can help it. Personally, he's always had the utmost respect for God, for not interfering. Admirable detachment. God is sleeping, let Him rest in peace.
—p.67
And, more than two decades later, I think it's important to note that Codrescu saw clearly another thing which, even today, millions ignore—remember this was back in 2004:
In addition to that understandable terror of waking up and having hair like Donald Trump's, having too much money can make a person feel guilty.If only more of our millionaires felt guilty about their money—not to mention their hair!
—p.78
I'm just gonna leave this one here for y'all to ponder:
Authenticity may not even be possible unless it's deliberately constructed.Whoa...
—p.101
I did like Codrescu's willingness to literalize metaphors, a rhetorical technique that I am sure has a more concise term, as in this example:
{...} a sculpture of Pan welded from scraps of the shredded Iron Curtain.
—p.115
What goes around comes around... all you have to do is change one word in this observation to make it a prescient take on current U.S. politics:
Cement represents the qualities the regime desired to foster: hardness and intransigence, in contrast to the undesirable qualities of flexibility and sensitivity, which were bourgeois. Hardness and Intransigence, together with their little brother, Vigilance, formed a masculine trinity, and the hard, intransigent, vigilant worker was our mascot. In the sexually repressed and conservative communist ethic, this hard worker implied also a proud, erect condition.
—p.119. (emphasis in original)
And you don't even have to change any words in this one.
God may no longer be around, but the minions acting in His name are massing at all the exit points of liberty, blocking the escapes to imaginary worlds, to fantasy, to reverie, to wilderness, to play, even to one's flesh, and even to death, can you believe it.
—p.129
*
One Hallowe'en, decades ago, I had the privilege of attending a haunted house put on by a small but professional theatre troupe in Los Angeles—my wife and I were invited by a coworker. After the usual succession of chainsaws and jump scares, we were thrust abruptly onto a stage, in front of an audience of zombies, and ordered to perform or die. Reader, I could not think of a thing to say or do... we would have died, our brains consumed, had our guide not thrust us back offstage after an agonizing thirty seconds or so—the most frightening haunted-house experience of my life. So I read this passage with a distinct shock of recognition:
What if one day he's on stage facing the expectations of a hungry mob, and his inspiration snaps?
—Wakefield, p.137
Although Andrei Codrescu has published whole volumes of poetry (some of which I've reviewed here, in fact), he does not indulge his poetic side much in this particular volume... but here's one place where he lets that side shine—this is an excerpt from one of Wakefield's extemporaneous speeches:
and there they lived for hours safe inside each other
and that was the architecture of adolescence
which builds shelters of mystery for the unfolding
of its own mysteries
and that—to be perfectly honest—is the only
architecture I care for
and that—if you are honest—
is the only architecture you care for
that shelter-building adolescence pursuing only its love
away from governments police borders and pride of ownership.
—pp.147-148
Later on, Wakefield is in another unnamed town in the Pacific Northwest, one that must be Seattle, during the WTO protests there in 1999. My wife was in attendance there too, though she never broke any windows...
*
I ran across Wakefield in a magical place, a dusty and fragrant bookstore called Chapman Street Books, in the tiny northern Minnesota town of Ely—a business so old-school that it doesn't even have a website. What Chapman Street does have is books—thousands of 'em—that you can browse through to your heart's content, whenever they're open. (Their "Store Hours" sign reserves Sunday for "Resting," Monday for "Errands" and Tuesday for "Recuperating"... we came back on a Wednesday.) Again, this is an unsolicited endorsement—but if you're ever in the town of Ely (which is better-known as a gateway to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, or BWCA), and you're at all bookish, I can highly recommend that you check this place out!
*
After having read Wakefield, I can see why it seems to have sunk seemingly without a trace. The novel ends inconclusively, and during it Codrescu does go on, frequently waxing philosophical and repeatedly injecting his own opinions about art and money and sex and politics into the minds and mouths of all his characters—not just his surname-only protagonist. It can be a lot to take, especially as Wakefield delivers speeches which are, he is proud to claim, wholly extemporaneous, off-the-cuff ramblings that only Codrescu's considerable skill can bring to an only somewhat-coherent conclusion.
Now, I enjoyed all that chaos, myself, and seem to have found quite a lot to say about it—but I wouldn't be upset if your own mileage were to vary...
Read
January 25, 2025Recently when I DNF a book, I just decide to drop it and never look back. That won't be the case with Wakefield because I went in to this hoping to be blown away and looking to enjoy it. I plan on continuing with this novel at some point. Will it be five months or five years from now? Who knows, but I do plan on giving this novel a shot because I feel like I wasn't in the right mind set or place to fully enjoy it. So for now, I'll leave this novel on my Kindle untouched.
Thank you Netgalley & Open Road Media for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you Netgalley & Open Road Media for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.
May 17, 2018
It's openly acknowledged that the main character in this novel, owes a certain homage to Hawthorne's "Wakefield" (a short story in which a husband disappears from domesticity for 20 years by simply moving a street over and observing what happens; I read Hawthorne's story after finishing the novel). In Codrescu's version, Wakefield is a kind of performance artist of the 21st century--essentially, he's a "de-motivational speaker" hired by large corporations to speak to workers and unsettle them a bit (make them question their success and what next steps they should take). The Devil comes to visit him with the intent of punching his card, but they come to a compromise--if Wakefield can somehow find some sort of "authentic" life, the Devil will postpone his demise. Honestly, the plot is a bit irrelevant in this story, because the Devil is dealing with his own existential crisis (being a demon during late-stage capitalism is no walk in the park). The book ends up being a kind of comedic philosophical inquiry as Wakefield sort of stumbles through life speaking extemporaneously in a way that is equal parts truth and bullshit. Codrescu's writing makes this an entertaining and insightful, if meandering, series of musings.
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THE MORE APTLY RENAMED: WORDS I LOOKED UP AFTER READING THIS BOOK
kilims | dewlaps | lamia | baldacin | kachina | omphalos | avgolemono | deracinated | babalao | parvenus
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THE MORE APTLY RENAMED: WORDS I LOOKED UP AFTER READING THIS BOOK
kilims | dewlaps | lamia | baldacin | kachina | omphalos | avgolemono | deracinated | babalao | parvenus
June 16, 2021
If the snobbish male gaze were a book, this would be it.
August 29, 2015
Wakefield is absurdist, dark humor written by award-winning poet and playwright Andre Codrescu. Thank you to Net Galley and to Open Road Integrated Media for permitting me to access a DRC. The title, originally published in 2004, will be available for purchase digitally September 8.
Wakefield is an anti-motivational speaker. He’s in great demand. People grow weary of the cheerful chipmunk types that show up with a big grin and a you-can-do-it attitude, and so corporations are seeking balance by also providing a guy that tells them it’s all a waste of time. As a natural cynic, Wakefield assumes, when the devil comes to call and tells him his time is up, that he ought to be able to strike a Faustian bargain. But oh what a surprise—the devil doesn’t want his soul. “You’re assuming, dear sir, that you have one…”
The devil wants one thing only: proof that Wakefield has found a “true life”. This broad brush stroke gives the author all sorts of leeway. At times, Wakefield’s search is savagely funny. There are some literary references that I thought were terrific; quirky philosophy; and, true to his poetic nature, some kick-ass figurative language.
The main problem is that the plot doesn’t really have a structure to hold onto. “True life” is too general, and so Wakefield wanders, both geographically, in his relationships, and in his own thoughts. The author is obviously a very intelligent man, but he’s relied too much on innate cleverness and not enough on the structural requirements of a novel. Even the most unconventional literature needs to be able to hold its audience, or it won’t be successful.
I confess I took issue with the author’s characterization of Marxism as a kind of religion; then as well, one might think that someone that spends his life considering matters philosophical would recognize that Marxism and Stalinism are not necessarily identical.
But this isn’t the reason for my rating. The three stars reflect a story that has moments of great strength, even ones that made me laugh out loud, but its inconsistency and lack of a problem that builds, peaks, and is resolved in one way or another, makes it hard to get a handle on. The result was that I found my attention wandering at times, which doesn’t happen much , and then I’d have to tab back a few pages and do some rereading. Even with notes in my e-reader, I can’t find any functional pattern. There’s an ending of sorts, but it seems to be sort of tacked on because the book has reached its required length, rather than because the plot has led us there.
Those that are familiar with Codrescu’s other work and are fans may feel differently, and so I recommend this novel to that niche audience.
Wakefield is an anti-motivational speaker. He’s in great demand. People grow weary of the cheerful chipmunk types that show up with a big grin and a you-can-do-it attitude, and so corporations are seeking balance by also providing a guy that tells them it’s all a waste of time. As a natural cynic, Wakefield assumes, when the devil comes to call and tells him his time is up, that he ought to be able to strike a Faustian bargain. But oh what a surprise—the devil doesn’t want his soul. “You’re assuming, dear sir, that you have one…”
The devil wants one thing only: proof that Wakefield has found a “true life”. This broad brush stroke gives the author all sorts of leeway. At times, Wakefield’s search is savagely funny. There are some literary references that I thought were terrific; quirky philosophy; and, true to his poetic nature, some kick-ass figurative language.
The main problem is that the plot doesn’t really have a structure to hold onto. “True life” is too general, and so Wakefield wanders, both geographically, in his relationships, and in his own thoughts. The author is obviously a very intelligent man, but he’s relied too much on innate cleverness and not enough on the structural requirements of a novel. Even the most unconventional literature needs to be able to hold its audience, or it won’t be successful.
I confess I took issue with the author’s characterization of Marxism as a kind of religion; then as well, one might think that someone that spends his life considering matters philosophical would recognize that Marxism and Stalinism are not necessarily identical.
But this isn’t the reason for my rating. The three stars reflect a story that has moments of great strength, even ones that made me laugh out loud, but its inconsistency and lack of a problem that builds, peaks, and is resolved in one way or another, makes it hard to get a handle on. The result was that I found my attention wandering at times, which doesn’t happen much , and then I’d have to tab back a few pages and do some rereading. Even with notes in my e-reader, I can’t find any functional pattern. There’s an ending of sorts, but it seems to be sort of tacked on because the book has reached its required length, rather than because the plot has led us there.
Those that are familiar with Codrescu’s other work and are fans may feel differently, and so I recommend this novel to that niche audience.
October 4, 2008
The devil and Wakefield make a deal, but it is all good and comedic and about general dropping knowledge.
Codrescu once said that Wakefield is his most autobiographical, or was that Messiah? It was written in a collection of his essays, which is numerous still.
Humph.
Anyway. Ex-wife, Marianna, women in various muse forms and the devil as his usual old Nick trickster self.
God in eternal slumber dreaming the humans up, various refs to all gods and muses. Not as saintly as Messiah.
genius with job solving, a much lighter tone to the destruction and apocalypse that can come to pass.
animatronic birds of rarity and inspiration
paying attention to massage, grocery shopping
exhaustive
asshole cyberia camera crew reality control room
mcdonalds in paris because it feels familiar
born/dying old man plate glass
simpsons v family guy
Codrescu once said that Wakefield is his most autobiographical, or was that Messiah? It was written in a collection of his essays, which is numerous still.
Humph.
Anyway. Ex-wife, Marianna, women in various muse forms and the devil as his usual old Nick trickster self.
God in eternal slumber dreaming the humans up, various refs to all gods and muses. Not as saintly as Messiah.
genius with job solving, a much lighter tone to the destruction and apocalypse that can come to pass.
animatronic birds of rarity and inspiration
paying attention to massage, grocery shopping
exhaustive
asshole cyberia camera crew reality control room
mcdonalds in paris because it feels familiar
born/dying old man plate glass
simpsons v family guy
March 18, 2010
Maybe Andrei Codrescu is liked by many people, undoubtedly he is because he has a number of books out.
However, I only was able to read about half of this book and put it down. I am a person who hardly ever puts a book down, as I will garind my way through most of them, but this one went down.
Don't know what others see in it, but as for me, forget it.
Sorry about that.
J. Robert Ewbank author "John Wesley, Natural Man, and the 'Isms'"
However, I only was able to read about half of this book and put it down. I am a person who hardly ever puts a book down, as I will garind my way through most of them, but this one went down.
Don't know what others see in it, but as for me, forget it.
Sorry about that.
J. Robert Ewbank author "John Wesley, Natural Man, and the 'Isms'"
September 18, 2007
I'm writing a review for this book to warn others not to read it--unless you like books that jump from idea to idea with no real overarching message. I read it for book club and I don't remember one person in our group being ecstatic about it. The upside: it was interesting to read a different type of book than I'd normally pick up.
March 3, 2024
The novel Wakefield by Andre Codrescu is, among other things, an enticing look at the US’s upper register around 2004.
The book is full of trenchant observations, but before looking at them, let me begin with a digression. If a reader surveys Codrescu’s novels, that reader can trace an interesting, recurring motif. Historically speaking, the living of a rich, sybaritic life, once the exclusive domain of only the richest of the nobility and bourgeoisie, then came to be available not only to the super-well off but to a lucky few of their lackeys, particularly, their storytellers. In The Blood Countess (1995), Codrescu describes the ultra-luxurious lifestyle of the Countess Elizabeth Bathorny, a 15th century noblewoman, who fully indulges her appetite for exquisite foods, wines, bedfellows, witty conversation and even (an acquired taste) sadistic torture. In Casanova in Bohemia (2002), Codrescu tells of the Lothario’s life near the end of his career when he is a librarian in a cubbyhole of a castle in rural Bohemia. In this lowly position, he usually lacks good food but his wonderful skills at storytelling enthralls a couple of lovely servants who offer him many delights of the flesh. Jump to Wakefield (2004) where he poses the question: what does the modern form of the storyteller to the rich come in, a form which can unlock the world’s treasure house of pleasures? The hero is a lecturer who speaks at corporate seminars and charity functions for the well-heeled whose message, bizarrely and humorously enough, is depressing. On the corporate lecture circuit, he tells us, “There is a shortage of non-positive points of view … so it’s a seller’s market.” Unlike Casanova, living in a castle, the hero Wakefield, when he is not on a corporate junket, is grounded in the earthy reality of his cabdriver friend who he meets in a local downhome bistro in (presumably) New Orleans, his home base. But when on the road he is able to enjoy the best hotels where he is catered to with the best food, finest wine and most delightful companionship. In this way, he shows the modern storyteller occasionally reaping the fruits of which are generally reserved for the upper crust.
To return to the story, it largely looks at how from his home base, Wakefield goes on three excursions into the empyrean world of elite banquets, seminars and functions where he is something an exalted toastmaster, taking the stage to celebrate while undercutting his hosts. His first stop is in an isolated Midwestern city, which, perhaps like Bentonville, Arkansas, where the home office of Walmart’s is located, has become home to a software giant. Here the author delicately satirizes the feel-good vibes and fulsome employee amenities characteristic of companies like Google, all of which keep the professional workers mesmerized and productive. As the devil tells him – in a subplot this fiend is angling to get our hero’s soul – observes about these corporate types who strive mightily for success and show off with conspicuous consumption, “The reason most people want to have a lot of money is so that other people won’t laugh at them.”
Next stop is Chicago where he will speak at the opening of a museum exhibition on Eastern European art. Here, the contemporary war taking place as Yugoslavia is breaking up is being played out both in the city’s embattled ethnic communities and in protests targeting the museum.
The former Yugoslavians are fighting over every inch of ground because, as one immigrant tells him, “Every mosque, church or bridge in the old country has someone buried in it. Usually it’s a virgin or new bride,” who had to be sacrificed to appease the spirits. Here the satire is two-sided t both showing the city cannot contain or cope with the violence of imported hatreds; but also that the museum staff, even the elite, have more contact (if stormy ones) with the poorer citizens than do those in the corporate enclave.
The last stop is on the West Coast where the hero, not lecturing but (for reasons unknown to himself) paid to attend the party of a noveau billionaire. It turns out he was invited so the host can show him his top-secret, sybaritically stocked, underground retreat where a select group, including Wakefield if he is so inclined, can weather the coming (imagined) environmental collapse. However, the hero turns down this offer and returns happily to his home base.
Perhaps the author would not support my interpretation, especially because of the generally friendly tone of the book’s joking, but it’s not hard to see the book as a rather dark vision of our nation’s sadly misguided upper crust. Wakefield’s sighs of relief in being back on his home ground are then accompanied by a comic retaliation against all the pretension and BS of the elite he has recently witnessed by his playing an elaborate (and deadly) practical joke on his yuppie neighbor who has, because of his noisy reconstruction of a historic building, ruined Wakefield’s neighborhood’s sleepy ambiance.
Overall, then, a magnificent read that employs a kind of sleight of hand satire whose surface of flowery mild joshing hides a critical vein of iron underground
The book is full of trenchant observations, but before looking at them, let me begin with a digression. If a reader surveys Codrescu’s novels, that reader can trace an interesting, recurring motif. Historically speaking, the living of a rich, sybaritic life, once the exclusive domain of only the richest of the nobility and bourgeoisie, then came to be available not only to the super-well off but to a lucky few of their lackeys, particularly, their storytellers. In The Blood Countess (1995), Codrescu describes the ultra-luxurious lifestyle of the Countess Elizabeth Bathorny, a 15th century noblewoman, who fully indulges her appetite for exquisite foods, wines, bedfellows, witty conversation and even (an acquired taste) sadistic torture. In Casanova in Bohemia (2002), Codrescu tells of the Lothario’s life near the end of his career when he is a librarian in a cubbyhole of a castle in rural Bohemia. In this lowly position, he usually lacks good food but his wonderful skills at storytelling enthralls a couple of lovely servants who offer him many delights of the flesh. Jump to Wakefield (2004) where he poses the question: what does the modern form of the storyteller to the rich come in, a form which can unlock the world’s treasure house of pleasures? The hero is a lecturer who speaks at corporate seminars and charity functions for the well-heeled whose message, bizarrely and humorously enough, is depressing. On the corporate lecture circuit, he tells us, “There is a shortage of non-positive points of view … so it’s a seller’s market.” Unlike Casanova, living in a castle, the hero Wakefield, when he is not on a corporate junket, is grounded in the earthy reality of his cabdriver friend who he meets in a local downhome bistro in (presumably) New Orleans, his home base. But when on the road he is able to enjoy the best hotels where he is catered to with the best food, finest wine and most delightful companionship. In this way, he shows the modern storyteller occasionally reaping the fruits of which are generally reserved for the upper crust.
To return to the story, it largely looks at how from his home base, Wakefield goes on three excursions into the empyrean world of elite banquets, seminars and functions where he is something an exalted toastmaster, taking the stage to celebrate while undercutting his hosts. His first stop is in an isolated Midwestern city, which, perhaps like Bentonville, Arkansas, where the home office of Walmart’s is located, has become home to a software giant. Here the author delicately satirizes the feel-good vibes and fulsome employee amenities characteristic of companies like Google, all of which keep the professional workers mesmerized and productive. As the devil tells him – in a subplot this fiend is angling to get our hero’s soul – observes about these corporate types who strive mightily for success and show off with conspicuous consumption, “The reason most people want to have a lot of money is so that other people won’t laugh at them.”
Next stop is Chicago where he will speak at the opening of a museum exhibition on Eastern European art. Here, the contemporary war taking place as Yugoslavia is breaking up is being played out both in the city’s embattled ethnic communities and in protests targeting the museum.
The former Yugoslavians are fighting over every inch of ground because, as one immigrant tells him, “Every mosque, church or bridge in the old country has someone buried in it. Usually it’s a virgin or new bride,” who had to be sacrificed to appease the spirits. Here the satire is two-sided t both showing the city cannot contain or cope with the violence of imported hatreds; but also that the museum staff, even the elite, have more contact (if stormy ones) with the poorer citizens than do those in the corporate enclave.
The last stop is on the West Coast where the hero, not lecturing but (for reasons unknown to himself) paid to attend the party of a noveau billionaire. It turns out he was invited so the host can show him his top-secret, sybaritically stocked, underground retreat where a select group, including Wakefield if he is so inclined, can weather the coming (imagined) environmental collapse. However, the hero turns down this offer and returns happily to his home base.
Perhaps the author would not support my interpretation, especially because of the generally friendly tone of the book’s joking, but it’s not hard to see the book as a rather dark vision of our nation’s sadly misguided upper crust. Wakefield’s sighs of relief in being back on his home ground are then accompanied by a comic retaliation against all the pretension and BS of the elite he has recently witnessed by his playing an elaborate (and deadly) practical joke on his yuppie neighbor who has, because of his noisy reconstruction of a historic building, ruined Wakefield’s neighborhood’s sleepy ambiance.
Overall, then, a magnificent read that employs a kind of sleight of hand satire whose surface of flowery mild joshing hides a critical vein of iron underground
May 18, 2021
Nu👏mi-a👏plăcut👏and👏that's👏ok👏
March 19, 2009
I recently reviewed a Don DeLillo novel in which I pointed out that author's tendency to meander around with a central character, but without a real plot. 'Wakefield' is very much in this same vein, so its overall quality was greatly going to be effected by how effectively Codrescu could write the plotless world inhabitited by the novel's eponymous character.
The verdict (or my verdict anyway), is that he's almost successful. The plot of the novel (which only notionally plays a part in the goings-on of the protagonist) involves Wakefield, a slightly more self-aware and cynical everyman, who makes a deal with the Devil to not go to Hell. The Devil agrees to allow him to make a new life for himself, if, within a year, he can actually find a life he's like to live.
This sets Wakefield off on a journey to find a new life. But he was apparently going off on this journey anyway, as his career as a motivational speaker had him already scheduled to travel to the various locales he visits. Each local (approximate representations of Chicago, a small Midwest town, the West Coast) presents Wakefield with different versions of the way Americans see the world and their place in it. Wakefield rejects them all and returns to a Manhattan analog.
And also along the way, we visit in on a world-weary Devil who seems so bored with his role in the universe, he can barely work up the interest to play the game he set up with Wakefield.
In very DeLillo-like fashion, Codrescu side-steps the deal-with-the-devil and instead just bounces Wakefield off of various characters in the various cities in order to incite obsessively ponderous conversations on the state of today's society. There are interesting things to be said, and Condrescu find them. He's very good at creating odd characters to crawl out of the hidden corners of his world to shine a light on assorted oddities of human nature. On that level, the book works.
Where it falls apart is the arbitrary nature of it all. Many interesting ideas are thrown out, but you can't really sense that any growth has occured on the part of Wakefield or the Devil by the time you flip through the last page. In that sense, this novel reminded me a lot of DeLillo's "Ratner's Star". Interesting settings, interesting characters, interesting ideas; but all sort of mixed together in a boiling pot with no particular recipe in mind.
The verdict (or my verdict anyway), is that he's almost successful. The plot of the novel (which only notionally plays a part in the goings-on of the protagonist) involves Wakefield, a slightly more self-aware and cynical everyman, who makes a deal with the Devil to not go to Hell. The Devil agrees to allow him to make a new life for himself, if, within a year, he can actually find a life he's like to live.
This sets Wakefield off on a journey to find a new life. But he was apparently going off on this journey anyway, as his career as a motivational speaker had him already scheduled to travel to the various locales he visits. Each local (approximate representations of Chicago, a small Midwest town, the West Coast) presents Wakefield with different versions of the way Americans see the world and their place in it. Wakefield rejects them all and returns to a Manhattan analog.
And also along the way, we visit in on a world-weary Devil who seems so bored with his role in the universe, he can barely work up the interest to play the game he set up with Wakefield.
In very DeLillo-like fashion, Codrescu side-steps the deal-with-the-devil and instead just bounces Wakefield off of various characters in the various cities in order to incite obsessively ponderous conversations on the state of today's society. There are interesting things to be said, and Condrescu find them. He's very good at creating odd characters to crawl out of the hidden corners of his world to shine a light on assorted oddities of human nature. On that level, the book works.
Where it falls apart is the arbitrary nature of it all. Many interesting ideas are thrown out, but you can't really sense that any growth has occured on the part of Wakefield or the Devil by the time you flip through the last page. In that sense, this novel reminded me a lot of DeLillo's "Ratner's Star". Interesting settings, interesting characters, interesting ideas; but all sort of mixed together in a boiling pot with no particular recipe in mind.
September 7, 2009
I'm almost at the halfway point of the audio version, and if something doesn't change my mind in the time it takes me to drive to work in the morning, I'm giving up. The writing comes across to me as intensely male, in a way that makes me feel I could never hope to understand anything that happens inside an XY brain. This book is trying hard to convince me that approximately 70% of U.S. residents have thick Eastern European accents. Perhaps that's true, and I'm simply not talking to the right people. It's also trying to convince me that 90% of all conversations in the U.S. are about art, money, philosophy, ethnicity, architecture, and various amalgams of all of the above. That I can't buy.
Read
April 2, 2009It's a comic novel from New Orleans, so John Kennedy Toole comparisons are inevitable. But Codrescu's his own voice, and a compelling one at that. There's the same fatalistic, cosmic sense of humor that I found in Stanley Elkin, which is a wonderful, rather rare quality in fiction. Especially fiction that deals with a protagonist whose life is as banal as that of a motivational speaker. I've read more satisfyingly vicious comic novels, but this remains an excellent one, largely because of its curious combination of sympathy and contempt.
September 17, 2025
A travel writer and lecturer is told by the Devil that his time is up. Naturally, the man makes a plea, and out of curiosity or boredom, the Devil decides to give him time to "find his authentic life" and thus save his soul. What follows is a plotless ramble through several American cities where our hero-- named Wakefield, after a lesser-known Hawthorne character--gives off-the-cuff lectures, meets women, has sex, and thinks a lot about architecture. Although written almost 30 years ago, the ruminations on computer tech, gentrification, class warfare, and a number of other topics feel surprisingly fresh. The book drags in spots--I found Wakefield's so-crazy-they're- brilliant lectures particularly tedious. And although the Devil provides some thematic content, he disappears from the story for long stretches, and I couldn't help but feel that angle could have been left out entirely. The book is uneven, sometimes brilliant, by turns vulgar and poetic, but always full of the author's obvious love of life.
January 27, 2024
Another rare DNF for me. I absolutely loved the author’s nonfic work so I expected to love this, too. I was wrong. If you want to understand why women are sick unto death of the typical straight white male perspective, read this book — it’s nothing but, and it’s boring as hell as a result. I’m not sure I’ve ever disliked a main character more, plus his inner dialogue is just exhausting to slog through. In the portion I made it through, female characters were either sexual conquests or “older” — totally flat, in other words. Pretty much nothing happens after the Devil shows up, and it’s mostly just people having unrealistic conversations that add up to nothing, or the author going on tangents (if you feel like spending two paragraphs on cabbage-related existentialism, you’ll love this.) Not plot-driven, but also terrible characters — not the book for me. I would recommend his nonfic work all day long, though.
December 21, 2018
Codrescu has a lyrical way with words, which colored this story delightfully. The story is a good mix of earthy humanity and surreal frolick. Reading it with Codrescu's accent delivering the words in my head added to the quiet humor for me.
May 2, 2019
I definately moved out of my comfort zone with this book. Wakefield becomes sucessful in the short time he lives. Some say he made a deal with the devil. The story moves quickly and kept me engaged.
April 24, 2025
Oddly interesting
Very fantastic flights at times. Reminds me a little of Hunter S Thompson with realistic situations and great detail. I recommended it to my brother who enjoyed it.
Very fantastic flights at times. Reminds me a little of Hunter S Thompson with realistic situations and great detail. I recommended it to my brother who enjoyed it.
July 12, 2025
idk if i dont get the hype orrr.... seemed a bit too american-ey to me and very random, honestly didnt really read the last 100 pages just skimmed them...
Impressive motor for a story but the execution wasnt as promising 🫠
Impressive motor for a story but the execution wasnt as promising 🫠
June 12, 2017
Read this freshman year of college. Was my first introduction to good "modern" fiction
April 25, 2021
Bouncy good fun but the plot is muddled.
May 6, 2022
Took me waaay too long to read this relatively short book. It just wasn't for me.
April 25, 2024
A quite engaging and amusing mix of road novel, art, philosophy, psychology, and literary play.
February 29, 2016
I tried to read this twice before because I've read other books by this author that I've enjoyed. The other 2 times, I put it down before the 100th page, thinking maybe. Just wasn't in the mood for it. So, thinking the 3rd time might be the charm, I did order this from my library, thinking it might be a fine addition to my winter reading list. Sadly, while I did make it further into the book this time around, I eventually got bored and just had to put it down. I'm not sure if it was all the political blather, soul-searching stupidity on the part of of Wakefield, being a captive audience of his self-indulgent rambling monologues, or the crass descriptions of way more unimaginative sex than I really wanted to hear about (seriously, this seemed so gratuitous and unnecessary--and how much of this was the author's fantasies put to paper?) .... Anyway, it was probably a combination of all of these elements that made me abandon this book for the 3rd and final time. And I must say, this one has pretty much turned me off of Andrei Codrescu as well.
August 11, 2009
Sort of like absurdistan with a faustian complex. Not much happens but people talking. Some of it is very clever.
Zamyatin: There is a salty, red-haired beauty standing by each shelf, reading over the top of her glasses.
Wakefield loves libraries, and has forever inscribed in his memory a schoolgirl masturbating quietly in government documents.
Zamyatin: The library is the eminent symbol for opposing barbarity. It is synonymous with civilization. Great libraries are the secular equivalent of the great cathedrals. public libraries are sanctuaries for the homeless. Think about it, the librarians are like nuns, I bet they can't wait to get to work in the morning, to wash and feed the crazies..."
Wakefield: You'll have to ask the librarians... I don't think that Andrew Carnegie had the homeless in mind when he endowed public libraries.
Zamyatin: There is a salty, red-haired beauty standing by each shelf, reading over the top of her glasses.
Wakefield loves libraries, and has forever inscribed in his memory a schoolgirl masturbating quietly in government documents.
Zamyatin: The library is the eminent symbol for opposing barbarity. It is synonymous with civilization. Great libraries are the secular equivalent of the great cathedrals. public libraries are sanctuaries for the homeless. Think about it, the librarians are like nuns, I bet they can't wait to get to work in the morning, to wash and feed the crazies..."
Wakefield: You'll have to ask the librarians... I don't think that Andrew Carnegie had the homeless in mind when he endowed public libraries.
January 19, 2016
The book Wakefield is very hard for me to review. One second I would love one of main characters (Wakefield) many rambles but then the next I would be looking to skim the entire next rambling. The entire book really not having a plot would bug me one second and then make totally sense the next. Overall, the book was entertaining and actually learned a little but just be prepared to get annoyed a couple times with sections going way too long and not making a ton of sense.
June 1, 2007
After reading "...mon amour" i went back through and read the Codrescu's that I had not yet picked up - i will always love Wakefield, not only for being a wonderful story, but for it's "so perfect you might as well have been there" description of grabbing a beer at Molly's.
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I was there that night ;)
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I was there that night ;)
November 13, 2011
Closer to 4 stars, and very funny. A little reptitious in spots, but if you have been listening to Codrescu on NPR over the years and enjoying- you will chortle at evil, admire his irony, and get to know a whole slew of characters from pedants, to cabdrivers, to the devil himself.Smart funny reading.
April 1, 2007
One of my favorite moments in this book was when the Devil fondled some words in his pocket. They were left over from the creation of language. Words no one had ever said in any language because he had snatched them up before anyone else could. They were described as "Long. Voweley. Yum."
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