What do you think?
Rate this book
Zero Station
John Saylor is a lethargic 16-year-old kid with a penchant for pot and indie rock, who passes the time with his best friend, Andy -- cruising the back roads of South Jersey in a used Datsun, doing all they can to stay off the world’s radar. When John winds up accidentally drugging his two-year-old brother, his journey out of adolescence goes flying off the existential rails...
ZERO STATION is set in February 1991, during the first invasion of Iraq. Per the narrator (John), on Page 5: “[This] is my account of what happened during the last three days of the Persian Gulf War. No, I wasn’t there (in Iraq, I mean). This is a Jersey story (mostly). But it’s a war. You’ll see.”
“ZERO STATION is an unusual literary cocktail, a heady mix of the edgy and the sweet.”
- Frank Wilson, retired Philadelphia Inquirer Book Review Editor
“At once sad, hilarious, and stirring, ZERO STATION captures the pitch and velocity of adolescence as few novels in recent memory have managed to do. Fans of Nick Hornby are sure to love Ippolito’s rousing debut.”
- Jonathan Evison, author of *All About Lulu*
“Greg Ippolito belts out a deft debut bent on telling one thing: the truth. Always the truth. All those unstoppable consequences, all those nerve-burning decisions, all the funny and frightening ways Ippolito adds his volume to the bookshelf of a generation.”
- Paul Siegell, author of *jambandbootleg*
ZERO STATION is set in February 1991, during the first invasion of Iraq. Per the narrator (John), on Page 5: “[This] is my account of what happened during the last three days of the Persian Gulf War. No, I wasn’t there (in Iraq, I mean). This is a Jersey story (mostly). But it’s a war. You’ll see.”
“ZERO STATION is an unusual literary cocktail, a heady mix of the edgy and the sweet.”
- Frank Wilson, retired Philadelphia Inquirer Book Review Editor
“At once sad, hilarious, and stirring, ZERO STATION captures the pitch and velocity of adolescence as few novels in recent memory have managed to do. Fans of Nick Hornby are sure to love Ippolito’s rousing debut.”
- Jonathan Evison, author of *All About Lulu*
“Greg Ippolito belts out a deft debut bent on telling one thing: the truth. Always the truth. All those unstoppable consequences, all those nerve-burning decisions, all the funny and frightening ways Ippolito adds his volume to the bookshelf of a generation.”
- Paul Siegell, author of *jambandbootleg*
First published January 1, 2010
15 people want to read
About the author
Greg Ippolito
2 books6 followersGreg Ippolito is the author of
Zero Station
(Coral Press, 2010) — a novel about a Gen-X Jersey teenager/indie rocker who flies off the existential rails during the last three days of the Persian Gulf War (Feb. 1991). It’s scheduled for release later this year. Greg is also the author of the lauded short story, “Wheel of Fortune”, and the provocative essay, “The Death of Cool”.
Greg lives outside Philadelphia, PA, with his wife and two daughters.
To request a free sample download of Zero Station , click here to send an email to zsfreedownload@gmail.com.
To learn more about the author, visit:
http://gregippolito.net/
To follow the author on Twitter, visit:
https://twitter.com/gregippolito
Greg lives outside Philadelphia, PA, with his wife and two daughters.
To request a free sample download of Zero Station , click here to send an email to zsfreedownload@gmail.com.
To learn more about the author, visit:
http://gregippolito.net/
To follow the author on Twitter, visit:
https://twitter.com/gregippolito
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
March 23, 2010
“Greg Ippolito belts out a deft debut bent on telling one thing: the truth. Always the truth. All those nerve-burning decisions, all those unstoppable consequences, all the funny and frightening ways Ippolito adds his volume to the bookshelf of a generation.”
April 3, 2010
Greg Ippolito continues to write intensely fascinating books and ZERO STATION may be his best yet. Only having read the first pages that are on line it is difficult to see just how far tis first person narrative will go, but getting to know his characters in the manner in which he paints them guarantees a solid book. In thia brief Introduction, more of a conversation Greek Chorus style that sets out the events that will occur, he writes about the death of his mother as follows:
'My mom, Jeanine, died about seven months ago. Lung cancer. What a fucking
cliché. She spent her last two weeks in hospice. The people who cared for her were
just wonderf— That’s beside the point. Bottom line: after a long, grueling ordeal,
she eventually slipped away in her morphine-lubricated sleep. It was a long time
coming, no surprise to anyone, so I don’t find it very surprising that I didn’t cry.
I did cry a couple of days later, the night before the viewing. I went to the
funeral home to see her body. I knelt down by the casket and looked at her
powdered, waxy face…and I wailed. I wailed and convulsed, clutched the taffeta
trim around her pillow. I pounded her chest and pinched the heel of my fist on the
wire caging beneath her blouse. My mom was gone, really gone. They didn’t even
leave her flesh for the worms.'
Few can write like this and get away with it, pulling the reader in as closely as he does without prejudging the main character before learning more about him. But it is writing of this sort (just as in his other writing) that seems to suggest that here is a new voice in literature who deserves our attention.
Grady Harp
'My mom, Jeanine, died about seven months ago. Lung cancer. What a fucking
cliché. She spent her last two weeks in hospice. The people who cared for her were
just wonderf— That’s beside the point. Bottom line: after a long, grueling ordeal,
she eventually slipped away in her morphine-lubricated sleep. It was a long time
coming, no surprise to anyone, so I don’t find it very surprising that I didn’t cry.
I did cry a couple of days later, the night before the viewing. I went to the
funeral home to see her body. I knelt down by the casket and looked at her
powdered, waxy face…and I wailed. I wailed and convulsed, clutched the taffeta
trim around her pillow. I pounded her chest and pinched the heel of my fist on the
wire caging beneath her blouse. My mom was gone, really gone. They didn’t even
leave her flesh for the worms.'
Few can write like this and get away with it, pulling the reader in as closely as he does without prejudging the main character before learning more about him. But it is writing of this sort (just as in his other writing) that seems to suggest that here is a new voice in literature who deserves our attention.
Grady Harp
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews