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Some Things That Meant the World to Me
An imaginative, gritty tale that introduces a fresh new voice in American literature.
205 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 1, 2009
11 people are currently reading
1666 people want to read
About the author
Joshua Mohr
16 books354 followersJOSHUA MOHR is the author of five novels, including “Damascus,” which The New York Times called “Beat-poet cool.” He’s also written “Fight Song” and “Some Things that Meant the World to Me,” one of O Magazine’s Top 10 reads of 2009 and a San Francisco Chronicle best-seller, as well as “Termite Parade,” an Editors’ Choice on The New York Times Best Seller List. His novel “All This Life” was recently published by Counterpoint/Soft Skull.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 130 reviews
February 23, 2010
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com:]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)
So let me confess that the first thing I did after receiving Joshua Mohr's debut novel Some Things That Meant the World to Me was have a pretty serious eyerolling session, after seeing the back-cover blurb call it not only "gritty" and "beautiful" but also "hypnotic" and "poetic;" these are all essentially empty buzzwords used by lazy copywriters when trying to describe character-heavy literary stories they don't understand, a bad enough situation when even one is used and nearly unforgivable when spying all four. But damn if it didn't turn out to be true, which serves as a good enough introduction to this title as any; that it's the type of book that inspires people to use words like "gritty," "beautiful," "hypnotic" and "poetic" all in a big one-paragraph rush, the kind of book that its fans don't just like but passionately love, precisely for the mastery over language and style displayed. And that makes it one of the hardest types of books for me as an analytical reviewer to cover, because a big part of why it's so great is simply impossible to describe in analytical terms; and this of course is the main reason we have the arts in the first place, the reason we sometimes read poetry instead of a steady diet of essays and journalism, but is also the reason my write-ups of such books always seem to be lacking by the end, which is why I humbly ask in advance for your forgiveness today.
At its heart, the book is essentially a dark morality tale, not surprising from a man whose day job is as a teacher at a halfway house in San Francisco; set in the Bay area as well, it tells the story of a man called Rhonda, a victim of multiple childhood traumas now barely eking out an existence as an adult, the kind of terminal barfly who will literally drown the pain of a broken arm with liquor in order to avoid a trip to the public clinic, letting it reset as a twisted, unusable deformity instead. The son of a fellow alcoholic, who dated a man throughout his childhood who inflicted all kinds of abuse on him, both sexual and psychological, Rhonda seems to have had the deck stacked against him nearly from birth; and that's really the main point of the simplistic storyline itself, to travel back and forth in time as a way to examine this childhood in depth, and the ways it's made Rhonda a barely functioning trainwreck as an adult, using the framing device of an ineffectual psychologist that he is forced to visit as a teen, after getting caught slipping antifreeze into one of his stepfather's drinks one day (or, it's not actually his stepfather, in that his mom never technically remarries, but you see my point).
But like I said, a look at this book's plot really only scratches the surface of this remarkable manuscript; because if you really want a good if not pithy description of what this novel is about, you can think of it as the love-child of Charles Bukowski and Haruki Murakami. And that's because, much like Murakami, Some Things relies heavily not just on magic realism but sometimes outright magic to make its point, an emotionally dense story that nonetheless has the textual lightness of a well-done haiku; but then like Bukowski, it also relies on deliberately outrageous anecdotes concerning the depths that our lowest level of society can sometimes sink to, events so ridiculously horrible that you can't help but to assume they're true, because who in their right mind could dream up such depravity out of thin air? For example, take the whole running subplot in this book regarding the concoction of a batch of "prison moonshine," otherwise known as "pruno," originally suggested by one of Rhonda's wino friends as a way for him to save money; and how as it ferments day after day in its overstuffed plastic bag, Rhonda ends up forming an emotional attachment to it, eventually sleeping with it at night and treating it as the girlfriend he's never had, just to suffer yet another trauma when it breaks one night from over-squeezing, splashing its foul combination of rotting oranges and ketchup packets all over Rhonda's crappy SRO apartment. And this is brilliant because A) it adds an utterly unique element to what's usually a pretty tired genre; B) it nicely illustrates the kind of dysfunctional loneliness that defines Rhonda as a character; C) it establishes the kind of pitch-black yet absurdist humor that marks this entire book; and D) it creates a violently visceral visual metaphor for Rhonda's relationship with other humans in general.
This book is full of such moments, the kind of multilayered scenes that mark a mature writer in the first place, and that allow such books to be enjoyed in both a surface-level way and in a much deeper one, depending on the desire of the reader in question. It is a world where trapdoors to the human psyche exist in the bottoms of Mexican restaurant dumpsters, where the ring of hairs circling the bellybutton of a teenage Arab girl is the sexiest thing in all of human existence, a world where language desperately matters and nothing can be accepted at face value; and in fact the only reason it's not getting a higher score today is simply because of the harshness of its subject matter, sure to be a turn-off for some audience members and traumatizingly unreadable for others. You'll need a strong stomach for sure to make it through Some Things That Meant the World to Me; but I for one found the effort well worth it, the kind of near-perfect literary construction that makes me fall in love with writing all over again, every time I come across yet another example. It's one of the few books I read each year to remain a true pleasure from start to finish, instead of at least partly a chore, and it comes highly recommended to those who are up for such a challenge.
Out of 10: 9.1, or 10 for fans of dark fiction
So let me confess that the first thing I did after receiving Joshua Mohr's debut novel Some Things That Meant the World to Me was have a pretty serious eyerolling session, after seeing the back-cover blurb call it not only "gritty" and "beautiful" but also "hypnotic" and "poetic;" these are all essentially empty buzzwords used by lazy copywriters when trying to describe character-heavy literary stories they don't understand, a bad enough situation when even one is used and nearly unforgivable when spying all four. But damn if it didn't turn out to be true, which serves as a good enough introduction to this title as any; that it's the type of book that inspires people to use words like "gritty," "beautiful," "hypnotic" and "poetic" all in a big one-paragraph rush, the kind of book that its fans don't just like but passionately love, precisely for the mastery over language and style displayed. And that makes it one of the hardest types of books for me as an analytical reviewer to cover, because a big part of why it's so great is simply impossible to describe in analytical terms; and this of course is the main reason we have the arts in the first place, the reason we sometimes read poetry instead of a steady diet of essays and journalism, but is also the reason my write-ups of such books always seem to be lacking by the end, which is why I humbly ask in advance for your forgiveness today.
At its heart, the book is essentially a dark morality tale, not surprising from a man whose day job is as a teacher at a halfway house in San Francisco; set in the Bay area as well, it tells the story of a man called Rhonda, a victim of multiple childhood traumas now barely eking out an existence as an adult, the kind of terminal barfly who will literally drown the pain of a broken arm with liquor in order to avoid a trip to the public clinic, letting it reset as a twisted, unusable deformity instead. The son of a fellow alcoholic, who dated a man throughout his childhood who inflicted all kinds of abuse on him, both sexual and psychological, Rhonda seems to have had the deck stacked against him nearly from birth; and that's really the main point of the simplistic storyline itself, to travel back and forth in time as a way to examine this childhood in depth, and the ways it's made Rhonda a barely functioning trainwreck as an adult, using the framing device of an ineffectual psychologist that he is forced to visit as a teen, after getting caught slipping antifreeze into one of his stepfather's drinks one day (or, it's not actually his stepfather, in that his mom never technically remarries, but you see my point).
But like I said, a look at this book's plot really only scratches the surface of this remarkable manuscript; because if you really want a good if not pithy description of what this novel is about, you can think of it as the love-child of Charles Bukowski and Haruki Murakami. And that's because, much like Murakami, Some Things relies heavily not just on magic realism but sometimes outright magic to make its point, an emotionally dense story that nonetheless has the textual lightness of a well-done haiku; but then like Bukowski, it also relies on deliberately outrageous anecdotes concerning the depths that our lowest level of society can sometimes sink to, events so ridiculously horrible that you can't help but to assume they're true, because who in their right mind could dream up such depravity out of thin air? For example, take the whole running subplot in this book regarding the concoction of a batch of "prison moonshine," otherwise known as "pruno," originally suggested by one of Rhonda's wino friends as a way for him to save money; and how as it ferments day after day in its overstuffed plastic bag, Rhonda ends up forming an emotional attachment to it, eventually sleeping with it at night and treating it as the girlfriend he's never had, just to suffer yet another trauma when it breaks one night from over-squeezing, splashing its foul combination of rotting oranges and ketchup packets all over Rhonda's crappy SRO apartment. And this is brilliant because A) it adds an utterly unique element to what's usually a pretty tired genre; B) it nicely illustrates the kind of dysfunctional loneliness that defines Rhonda as a character; C) it establishes the kind of pitch-black yet absurdist humor that marks this entire book; and D) it creates a violently visceral visual metaphor for Rhonda's relationship with other humans in general.
This book is full of such moments, the kind of multilayered scenes that mark a mature writer in the first place, and that allow such books to be enjoyed in both a surface-level way and in a much deeper one, depending on the desire of the reader in question. It is a world where trapdoors to the human psyche exist in the bottoms of Mexican restaurant dumpsters, where the ring of hairs circling the bellybutton of a teenage Arab girl is the sexiest thing in all of human existence, a world where language desperately matters and nothing can be accepted at face value; and in fact the only reason it's not getting a higher score today is simply because of the harshness of its subject matter, sure to be a turn-off for some audience members and traumatizingly unreadable for others. You'll need a strong stomach for sure to make it through Some Things That Meant the World to Me; but I for one found the effort well worth it, the kind of near-perfect literary construction that makes me fall in love with writing all over again, every time I come across yet another example. It's one of the few books I read each year to remain a true pleasure from start to finish, instead of at least partly a chore, and it comes highly recommended to those who are up for such a challenge.
Out of 10: 9.1, or 10 for fans of dark fiction
July 8, 2017
Brilliantly weird and heartbreaking.
I just finished reading this , and seriously need to compile my thoughts before trying to write a proper review-this was just one big emotional rollercoaster for me. But, I will say I loved this book, and need to read more by Mohr.
I just finished reading this , and seriously need to compile my thoughts before trying to write a proper review-this was just one big emotional rollercoaster for me. But, I will say I loved this book, and need to read more by Mohr.
April 17, 2009
This is a pretty crazy book. There's a lead male character named Rhonda, who is lead around by his inner child who wanders around with a coal miner's helmet. His favorite place in the world is a dumpster where he can find a trapdoor to his past and he's in love with a girl who works at the liquor store. Also, his best friend is a sweet old lady, also named Rhonda. Mohr takes all sorts of risks in this dazzling debut (not just weird subplots but also chapters reminiscent of William Burroughs's cut-up action) and most of the time it works, especially early on. Some of the drama gets too heavy later on, which keeps this from being a full-on 5-star gem, but still--I highly recommend this to anyone looking for a new author willing to fuck shit up.
February 14, 2018
Totally gorgeous book where the story starts maybe just a tad too late. What I mean is, I plowed through about 25 pages before it got to the core and completely broke my heart. After that I was hooked, and it delivered. But the first little bit seemed almost like it was a little too gritty somehow. In retrospect, the grit helps heighten the vulnerable parts later, but I think it took me a little too long to figure out where the book was going. But once I did, totally worth it, and this is one of the rare titles that I recommend reading a little further than you might want to at first. It's not the speediest start, but the meat is worth it.
It has some dreamlike, hallucinatory stuff in it, but it totally works, which is a rarity. Why does it work?
Let's go back to why these things don't work.
I knew that one of my writing teachers was one of my favorites because he thinks dreams in writing are kinda bullshitty. Because a dream can be anything. And nobody wants to hear about your dreams. We all know that, right? By the way, if you had an amazing dream and you have to tell someone about it, and if you know they're not interested, tell them they were in the dream. Then just arbitrarily insert them in somewhere. We don't CARE about other peoples' dreams, but we are still sort of flattered to make an appearance.
The visions in this book work differently for a couple reasons.
First, they're rendered in a very concrete way. We know what the character is perceiving, exactly, no question. It's very unambiguous, and that makes them work because while what's happening is not normal, the way events are broken down make me certain of where we are in space, whose body we're occupying, and so on.
Second, it's very clear that these are hallucinations. No bullshit about maybe they're real, maybe they're not. They are unequivocally not real. No Field of Dreams bullshit.
Third, They don't provide the character information he doesn't already have. We use hallucinatory events as a way of connecting to identity and past events, but the character doesn't learn anything he doesn't already know. He doesn't see events that he was not a part of before. This works, it's logical. I don't want to read a hallucination where a kid sees his parents fighting when, in reality, he wasn't even there. That's a cheat.
That's a very quick summary because I don't want to ruin the book. But it's the rare book that gets a thumbs up from me and features some heavy unreal elements.
It has some dreamlike, hallucinatory stuff in it, but it totally works, which is a rarity. Why does it work?
Let's go back to why these things don't work.
I knew that one of my writing teachers was one of my favorites because he thinks dreams in writing are kinda bullshitty. Because a dream can be anything. And nobody wants to hear about your dreams. We all know that, right? By the way, if you had an amazing dream and you have to tell someone about it, and if you know they're not interested, tell them they were in the dream. Then just arbitrarily insert them in somewhere. We don't CARE about other peoples' dreams, but we are still sort of flattered to make an appearance.
The visions in this book work differently for a couple reasons.
First, they're rendered in a very concrete way. We know what the character is perceiving, exactly, no question. It's very unambiguous, and that makes them work because while what's happening is not normal, the way events are broken down make me certain of where we are in space, whose body we're occupying, and so on.
Second, it's very clear that these are hallucinations. No bullshit about maybe they're real, maybe they're not. They are unequivocally not real. No Field of Dreams bullshit.
Third, They don't provide the character information he doesn't already have. We use hallucinatory events as a way of connecting to identity and past events, but the character doesn't learn anything he doesn't already know. He doesn't see events that he was not a part of before. This works, it's logical. I don't want to read a hallucination where a kid sees his parents fighting when, in reality, he wasn't even there. That's a cheat.
That's a very quick summary because I don't want to ruin the book. But it's the rare book that gets a thumbs up from me and features some heavy unreal elements.
December 28, 2009
This book is powerful because it causes the reader to consider those people on the fringes of our society - people we think too weird or dirty to really want to remember. The events and the characters in this book are things we don't want to think about and keep swept away in the dark corners of our cities. Even with sparse writing, Mohr brings these characters to life, makes them human, and forces us to recognize those dark places and people in our world.
"Safety" and "home" are not assumed in this world, but the longing for both shows up in sometimes surprising and twisted ways. However, they are only surprising and twisted for those of us who have grown up with a family or life situation that has allowed us to assume both safety and home. For that reason alone Some Things That Meant the World to Me needs to be read by many, many people. You wouldn't find any of these characters on TV, even on an exploitative reality show. Nothing superficial can fix the messes these people have, but the beauty is that they know it... and they tramp on, living their lives, doing the work they need to do to make it right. (Unlike the too-many wannabe celebrities filling our reality-tvs thinking that money and plastic will make it all better.)
I would have liked to give 3.5 stars on this novel simply because it's hard to say I "really like" a book like this or think it's super amazing or something. I don't think books like this are meant to be enjoyed or loved at all, which makes our world based on grades and ratings an unfriendly place for all forms of art.
What makes writing like this special isn't how we rate it but how we respond to it.
"Safety" and "home" are not assumed in this world, but the longing for both shows up in sometimes surprising and twisted ways. However, they are only surprising and twisted for those of us who have grown up with a family or life situation that has allowed us to assume both safety and home. For that reason alone Some Things That Meant the World to Me needs to be read by many, many people. You wouldn't find any of these characters on TV, even on an exploitative reality show. Nothing superficial can fix the messes these people have, but the beauty is that they know it... and they tramp on, living their lives, doing the work they need to do to make it right. (Unlike the too-many wannabe celebrities filling our reality-tvs thinking that money and plastic will make it all better.)
I would have liked to give 3.5 stars on this novel simply because it's hard to say I "really like" a book like this or think it's super amazing or something. I don't think books like this are meant to be enjoyed or loved at all, which makes our world based on grades and ratings an unfriendly place for all forms of art.
What makes writing like this special isn't how we rate it but how we respond to it.
January 10, 2009
Set in San Francisco, so it is a must read, right? I got quite a bit more than I bargained for once I opened the cover though.
A crazy trip into the mind of someone who you alternately cheer for and cringe at. Mentally begging them not to do that thing that you know they will inevitably do. Dealing with some deep and very personal childhood traumas in a manner that is sometimes skirting and occasionally nauseatingly blunt, you are given just enough rope to tie yourself a knot that may be very reminiscent of your own shadowed past.
An original author with a hint of Martin Amis, I look forward to his sophomore effort!
A crazy trip into the mind of someone who you alternately cheer for and cringe at. Mentally begging them not to do that thing that you know they will inevitably do. Dealing with some deep and very personal childhood traumas in a manner that is sometimes skirting and occasionally nauseatingly blunt, you are given just enough rope to tie yourself a knot that may be very reminiscent of your own shadowed past.
An original author with a hint of Martin Amis, I look forward to his sophomore effort!
February 8, 2010
I wanted to like this book. The concept was something I would like. It was weird, it was well written, it had great prose, the characters were fucked up. And yet, I couldn't get into it. I felt like I was reading somebody's dream - and hearing other people's dreams are boring.
I do understand why it's loved but I don't understand why I didn't love it. Did it try and be too weird? Is the author just too weird? If it's the latter, I'd be a lot easier on the book - I can handle too weird people, I can't handle people who try and write too-weird books. Unless they're a too-weird person writing an autobiography. Not that I'm not flexible. I'm like a gymnast with my reading habits. But it gave me too many what-the-fuck moments. And this is why I stopped doing acid. It probably would have been my favourite book back in the day.
It was certainly well written, sentences such as, "He picked little black smiles out from under his fingernails with a steak knife." Love it! "Clammy humiliation fastened all over me." Even better! The whole thing was written beautifully, it was fast and snappy and there wasn't any bullshit. Well except for all the bullshit, if you know what I mean. No? Nevermind. Never mind me, I'll just go sit in my dumpster with my fists of popcorn and soothe myself with a bag of mouldy orange juice. That I've named.
It's not that I don't even get depersonalisation. I've had depersonalisation. It wasn't anything like this. I think I would have killed myself if it was anything like this. This isn't depersonalisation, this is some dude's bad acid trip and he just never snapped out of it. I think he needs more than Klonopin to sort his shit out.
I didn't feel as if Rhonda was a real person, everything was so far fetched. He seemed to lack emotion. I couldn't get involved. The only person I liked was Old Lady Rhonda and even then, her details were a little vague. It was almost like science fiction, inside somebody's head. And I don't like science fiction, even though I do like being inside people's heads.
It was almost like reading a deranged austistic's dream diary.
And as good as that might sound, well, it didn't win my affections.
I do understand why it's loved but I don't understand why I didn't love it. Did it try and be too weird? Is the author just too weird? If it's the latter, I'd be a lot easier on the book - I can handle too weird people, I can't handle people who try and write too-weird books. Unless they're a too-weird person writing an autobiography. Not that I'm not flexible. I'm like a gymnast with my reading habits. But it gave me too many what-the-fuck moments. And this is why I stopped doing acid. It probably would have been my favourite book back in the day.
It was certainly well written, sentences such as, "He picked little black smiles out from under his fingernails with a steak knife." Love it! "Clammy humiliation fastened all over me." Even better! The whole thing was written beautifully, it was fast and snappy and there wasn't any bullshit. Well except for all the bullshit, if you know what I mean. No? Nevermind. Never mind me, I'll just go sit in my dumpster with my fists of popcorn and soothe myself with a bag of mouldy orange juice. That I've named.
It's not that I don't even get depersonalisation. I've had depersonalisation. It wasn't anything like this. I think I would have killed myself if it was anything like this. This isn't depersonalisation, this is some dude's bad acid trip and he just never snapped out of it. I think he needs more than Klonopin to sort his shit out.
I didn't feel as if Rhonda was a real person, everything was so far fetched. He seemed to lack emotion. I couldn't get involved. The only person I liked was Old Lady Rhonda and even then, her details were a little vague. It was almost like science fiction, inside somebody's head. And I don't like science fiction, even though I do like being inside people's heads.
It was almost like reading a deranged austistic's dream diary.
And as good as that might sound, well, it didn't win my affections.
May 25, 2009
I really enjoyed reading this book, even though the subject (at times) was very heartbreaking. The story revolves around Rhonda, (a boy) who through no fault of his own has a girl’s name attached to him. The book follows Rhonda and his issues, which stem from his miserable youth. Joshua Mohr (the author) forces both the characters in the book and the reader to recognize Rhonda’s flaws. Mohr offers us a real world based on embracing the circumstances at hand, even if the situation at times is doomed to failure and clouded by delusions. This is a very quick read, however I am sure Rhonda’s story will stay with me for a long time!
November 9, 2008
I had the blissful pleasure of getting an advanced copy of this book, and what a wild ride! I can honestly say I've never read anything like it (in the best sense of the phrase). The plot is wholly unique. The characters are vivid. Mohr's imagination is our new blessing. The book isn't out until June, but do yourself a favor and, like the novel's main character, take the trip down through the dumpster's trapdoor and enjoy the magical trip.
June 8, 2009
I just finished this novel, and loved it. I laughed (damn, Little Rhonda is funny), I cried (seriously), I held my breath (this book is probably not for the light of heart)...and I read it cover-to-cover in one sitting.
Read
July 3, 2020Strange and sad, endlessly disturbing and very, very wrong. In other words, a must read and a great introduction to all things Mohr.
December 20, 2018
I believe much of a book's emotional potential lives in its ability to surprise you with things more--in this case horrible--than what you imagine will happen. Its difficult for books to do that to me, but Mohr has succeeded. This book was devastating. And devastatingly beautiful.
His prose was everything I aspire to be. Both poetic and very real. The characters were unique. The world was dark and weird and both confounding but simple. He took a lot if simple things we all understand and put them together in a new and colorful way. (Which I guess is all writing ever attempts to be)
Mohr created a really good balance of questions asked and answered. A juxtaposition of humor and sadness. Great metaphors and suspension of disbelief. Will definitely be checking out his other books.
His prose was everything I aspire to be. Both poetic and very real. The characters were unique. The world was dark and weird and both confounding but simple. He took a lot if simple things we all understand and put them together in a new and colorful way. (Which I guess is all writing ever attempts to be)
Mohr created a really good balance of questions asked and answered. A juxtaposition of humor and sadness. Great metaphors and suspension of disbelief. Will definitely be checking out his other books.
December 5, 2009
Some Things That Meant the World to Me is the unsettling story of a thirty-year-old San Francisco man named Rhonda, who suffers from depersonalization disorder after a childhood of abandonment and abuse. In between cue-stick beatings, Rorschach tattoos, and botched batches of home-brew wine, he discovers a portal to his past in the dumpster behind a local taquería.
It’s often a plot pitfall when storytellers defer to traumatic childhood episodes once the present-tense drama wanes. And this book does walk that line, spending as many pages in Rhonda’s childhood and adolescence as in his San Francisco here and now. But Mohr somehow manages to make the past convincing as the main event. We want Rhonda to go backwards, through that trapdoor in the dumpster, no matter how traumatic it gets. The story’s structure resembles psychotherapy: a reluctant but fearless inventory of the past in order to piece together some sort of viable future.
If this novel was a boxer and its sentences were punches, it would be all about the jab—that most rapid and relentless of blows, but which is, in fact, a defensive maneuver. Walking another line, Mohr combines the best visceral elements of hard-eyed realism with all the surprises and surreal imagery due a narrator that’s both mentally ill and chronically drunk. Hallucinations and nightmares are present, but sparing. Rhonda’s depersonalization disorder is never a cheap trick. Imagine Fight Club if you were told about the schizophrenia on the first page, none of the personalities were as pretty as Brad Pitt, and the narrator spent the rest of the book with the gun in his mouth.
The energetic prose and the number of scenes in bars will likely draw comparisons to Bright Lights, Big City or perhaps Less Than Zero. Indeed, Mohr’s novel shares traits with the so-called ‘literary brat pack’ of the 1980s: urban aesthetics, self-loathing, an unflinching focus on character which often eclipses narrative. Rhonda, however, is working with a smaller budget, a bigger heart, and deeper scars. Initial reviews of Some Things That Meant the World to Me have brought up Jesus’ Son, which is a sound comparison. However, die-hard Denis Johnson fans will find more common ground with his Resuscitation of a Hanged Man—that underrated benchmark for putting the sick back in quixotic.
Make no mistake: I’m not sad that Mohr’s novel isn’t up there on the lists with the summer bestsellers. I’m hopeful that, as storytelling moves into the twenty-first century, I’ll have more experiences like I had with this book: the discovery of an overlooked voice, which resonates and makes me feel less alone. After all, to borrow one last parallel from music: we wouldn’t buy the same records as our parents, so why should we buy the same novels?
It’s often a plot pitfall when storytellers defer to traumatic childhood episodes once the present-tense drama wanes. And this book does walk that line, spending as many pages in Rhonda’s childhood and adolescence as in his San Francisco here and now. But Mohr somehow manages to make the past convincing as the main event. We want Rhonda to go backwards, through that trapdoor in the dumpster, no matter how traumatic it gets. The story’s structure resembles psychotherapy: a reluctant but fearless inventory of the past in order to piece together some sort of viable future.
If this novel was a boxer and its sentences were punches, it would be all about the jab—that most rapid and relentless of blows, but which is, in fact, a defensive maneuver. Walking another line, Mohr combines the best visceral elements of hard-eyed realism with all the surprises and surreal imagery due a narrator that’s both mentally ill and chronically drunk. Hallucinations and nightmares are present, but sparing. Rhonda’s depersonalization disorder is never a cheap trick. Imagine Fight Club if you were told about the schizophrenia on the first page, none of the personalities were as pretty as Brad Pitt, and the narrator spent the rest of the book with the gun in his mouth.
The energetic prose and the number of scenes in bars will likely draw comparisons to Bright Lights, Big City or perhaps Less Than Zero. Indeed, Mohr’s novel shares traits with the so-called ‘literary brat pack’ of the 1980s: urban aesthetics, self-loathing, an unflinching focus on character which often eclipses narrative. Rhonda, however, is working with a smaller budget, a bigger heart, and deeper scars. Initial reviews of Some Things That Meant the World to Me have brought up Jesus’ Son, which is a sound comparison. However, die-hard Denis Johnson fans will find more common ground with his Resuscitation of a Hanged Man—that underrated benchmark for putting the sick back in quixotic.
Make no mistake: I’m not sad that Mohr’s novel isn’t up there on the lists with the summer bestsellers. I’m hopeful that, as storytelling moves into the twenty-first century, I’ll have more experiences like I had with this book: the discovery of an overlooked voice, which resonates and makes me feel less alone. After all, to borrow one last parallel from music: we wouldn’t buy the same records as our parents, so why should we buy the same novels?
June 9, 2009
Okay, I am so, so mad at my computer right now. When I finished this book I spent two hours composing a brilliant, insightful review and, as I was rereading it for errata, my Internet went out and the entire thing was forever lost in the ether. I am currently too busy to effectively recreate it, but here, in brief, are some of my thoughts:
1. Again, I wish Goodreads had a half-star option as I feel this book is really more deserving of three and a half stars than merely three.
2. This is a compelling, creative story of the beautiful-loser, down-and-out-struggle-to-stay-afloat-in-this-cruel-world genre that I am a total sucker for.
3. Criticisms: At times the writing verges on the maudlin and the emotion feels so overblown as to almost seem disingenuous. I found some of the depictions of women lacking (in particular, I didn't really buy the way the two potential love interests blew the main character off in such overblown, melodramatic fashion). Also, some of the author's writerly ticks can become cloying. (One example: The main character's mother is an alcoholic and is constantly drinking Chablis, which she pronounces "tcha-bliss." The first time this is mentioned it is charming and funny, but it becomes less so as the wine is reffered to as "tcha-bliss" every time it comes up in the rest of the book.)
4. Accolades: Mohr is possesed of an incredibly strong, unique voice. His ability to latch onto details and paint the utter strangeness, sadness, and magic of everyday city life in crystal clear strokes is breathtaking. The frenetic energy of the prose was such that I was literally late to appointments because I couldn't bring myself to put this novel down. As someone largely unfamiliar with San Francisco, I got a real and vivid sense of what life is like for the city's misfit, fringe population. The cast of characters -- from the broken and lost protagonist Rhonda (not his real name, but a nickname given him by his mother's abusive boyfriend, Letch -- "as in, 'Are you queer, Rhonda?') to Vern, the belligerent, diaper-sporting, elbow-bender with a recipe for prison wine to Rhonda's beatifically motherly, Wheel-of-Fortune-obsessed upstairs neighbor (also named Rhonda) -- is eclectic and fresh and a joy to encounter.
5. In spite of the flaws mentioned above, I highly recommend the novel. It reminded me of a number of first novels I love, in particular Willy Vlautin's "Motel Life" and Jeff Parker's "Ovenman." I look forward to reading more of Mohr's work!
1. Again, I wish Goodreads had a half-star option as I feel this book is really more deserving of three and a half stars than merely three.
2. This is a compelling, creative story of the beautiful-loser, down-and-out-struggle-to-stay-afloat-in-this-cruel-world genre that I am a total sucker for.
3. Criticisms: At times the writing verges on the maudlin and the emotion feels so overblown as to almost seem disingenuous. I found some of the depictions of women lacking (in particular, I didn't really buy the way the two potential love interests blew the main character off in such overblown, melodramatic fashion). Also, some of the author's writerly ticks can become cloying. (One example: The main character's mother is an alcoholic and is constantly drinking Chablis, which she pronounces "tcha-bliss." The first time this is mentioned it is charming and funny, but it becomes less so as the wine is reffered to as "tcha-bliss" every time it comes up in the rest of the book.)
4. Accolades: Mohr is possesed of an incredibly strong, unique voice. His ability to latch onto details and paint the utter strangeness, sadness, and magic of everyday city life in crystal clear strokes is breathtaking. The frenetic energy of the prose was such that I was literally late to appointments because I couldn't bring myself to put this novel down. As someone largely unfamiliar with San Francisco, I got a real and vivid sense of what life is like for the city's misfit, fringe population. The cast of characters -- from the broken and lost protagonist Rhonda (not his real name, but a nickname given him by his mother's abusive boyfriend, Letch -- "as in, 'Are you queer, Rhonda?') to Vern, the belligerent, diaper-sporting, elbow-bender with a recipe for prison wine to Rhonda's beatifically motherly, Wheel-of-Fortune-obsessed upstairs neighbor (also named Rhonda) -- is eclectic and fresh and a joy to encounter.
5. In spite of the flaws mentioned above, I highly recommend the novel. It reminded me of a number of first novels I love, in particular Willy Vlautin's "Motel Life" and Jeff Parker's "Ovenman." I look forward to reading more of Mohr's work!
June 5, 2009
"Some Things That Meant the World to Me" is a wonderful book. The writing is spare yet expressive; the happenings are horrific yet believable. The writing is not overtly emotional. It's visceral. I found myself trying to suspend belief, to slip into Mohr's world but it's a place I don't willingly go in the same sense I don't purposely walk Los Angeles' skid row. The people and their lives are (or so I tell myself, then murmur a small prayer) too removed from mine. I've recently read Ginnah Howard's "Night Navigation" and Augusten Burroughs' "Dry". One is fiction; the other is debatably a memoir. Both are about addictions, mental illness and healing. I don't have an antipathy to addiction fiction but Mohr's major characters were ALL addicted and neurotic or psychotic or criminal. This made it hard to relate to them. And there was no respite. Books such as "Dry" and "Night Navigation" afforded resting places through the healing or non-using characters. I have to say though just when I felt at my most frustrated with Mohr's book I'd come upon sentences such as, "I wrung my memory, but there wasn't anything besides blackness, and sometimes things were so black they were more than a color: they were a place, a lonely solar system". There were also bursting metaphors that kept me reading. In the end though I felt I was on the outside looking in, the happenings were ultimately too bizarre. I felt excluded or maybe I was just relieved to feel excluded.
June 30, 2009
When you start a book with a Tom Waits lyric, you've already gone a long way toward winning me over. Joshua Mohr's fantastic work did the rest.
If I hadn't known going in that this was a first novel, I never would have guessed that was the case. I became interested in the book when I saw the blurb Donald Ray Pollack wrote about it. I read Pollack's book "Knockemstiff" last year, and thought it was very good, though very bleak.
And there's where Mohr improves on Pollack's book. He's written a story about hurt, abused, damaged people, but injected it with heart. Rhonda is an odd, unreliable narrator, but before you've gotten too far into the story, you care about him, and want to know more of what is going and has gone on in his life.
The writing is strong, the characters feel real, and there's a great mix of style (traditional narrative mixed with stream-of-consciousness) here. I highly recommend this one, and am looking forward to Mohr's next book, due out next year. A very impressive debut.
If I hadn't known going in that this was a first novel, I never would have guessed that was the case. I became interested in the book when I saw the blurb Donald Ray Pollack wrote about it. I read Pollack's book "Knockemstiff" last year, and thought it was very good, though very bleak.
And there's where Mohr improves on Pollack's book. He's written a story about hurt, abused, damaged people, but injected it with heart. Rhonda is an odd, unreliable narrator, but before you've gotten too far into the story, you care about him, and want to know more of what is going and has gone on in his life.
The writing is strong, the characters feel real, and there's a great mix of style (traditional narrative mixed with stream-of-consciousness) here. I highly recommend this one, and am looking forward to Mohr's next book, due out next year. A very impressive debut.
June 15, 2009
Wow, what a book! Mohr pulls off two equally intriguing story lines: How did a boy named Rhonda end up in a mental hospital talking to a psychiatrist fifteen years ago? And will he finally be able to move beyond his past in the here and now? The boy Rhonda seems so full of innocence and resilience (and coping mechanisms), and the grown Rhonda brings some innocence and much chagrin but you find yourself rooting for him anyway. The sessions with the psychiatrist who he calls Angel-Hair resemble Faulknerian stream-of-consciousness, like Benjy in The Sound and the Fury. I'm not gonna lie and tell you this book isn't heartbreaking. But it's also beautiful and unforgettable.
January 16, 2009
I loved this book. The heartbreaking prose totally sucked me in. Beautifully written, interesting story.
August 15, 2009
This book was fucking awesome. Review forthcoming, I swear.
August 10, 2011
One of the best books i have ever read, truely moving and humanistic. taquitos anybody?
August 4, 2018
from the review I had read, I was expecting a kind of fantastical, surreal journey. however, as someone who's spent some time working with people who have schizophrenia, this "gritty" story is not what I needed in my downtime. it's a short book but took me a while to work through, because I often did not want to know what I was going to read next. but, I am going to put it in a little free library and maybe someone who enjoys it more will find it!
July 26, 2023
The prose is just really good.
March 3, 2012
What a wonderful book this is. Additionally, as a clinical social worker and marriage and family therapist I was very impressed with the clinically accurate portrayal of Rhonda, the protagonist. Rhonda is a 30 year old man who suffers from 'depersonalization' which is one of the more severe symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When someone suffers from depersonalization they can go into what is considered a fugue state or see themselves or parts of their body as 'other'. As part of his disorder, and also as an homage to his resiliency, Rhonda has an inner child that accompanies him from time to time. He calls this child 'Little Rhonda'. He also has an older Rhonda as a friend, nurturing and loving towards him, who he calls 'Old Lady Rhonda'. Both of these Rhondas help him to come to terms with his present life in relation to the trauma he suffered in the past.
One of the ways that Little Rhonda shows Rhonda his past life, is through a glass-bottomed dumpster with a trap door. Rhonda can climb out of the dumpster into his past and is able to see and question what occurred when he was a child. Little Rhonda also travels with Rhonda back to Arizona where he grew up. Rhonda is searching for his home which he believes is the source of evil. Little Rhonda challenges Rhonda's beliefs and tries to help him with his reality-checking. Old Lady Rhonda doesn't ask questions. She nurtures Rhonda unconditionally. She gives him food, love and money and, together, they relax and watch Wheel of Fortune. She is the nurturing mother he never had.
Rhonda's background is horrendous. His mother is an alcoholic who drinks 'Tcha-bliss' (Chablis) all day when she is at home. However, she often disappears for days or weeks at a time, leaving Rhonda with her horriby abusive boyfriend, Letch. Letch physically and sexually abuses Rhonda in their home and in order to integrate what is happening in his life, Rhonda blames the home for what is occurring. He sees his house as a desert landscape, stretching and filled with animals. In his own words, "I couldn't concentrate on anything except their warfare in our stretched, sandy house, as they screamed throughout the desert that was everywhere: a cactus had sprouted next to the TV, a dove perched on it; animals flying, slithering, crawling, running all around our desert; animals, livid and terrtorial". (p. 85)
The book goes back and forth in time and place, from Rhonda's childhood to adulthood. It starts off in the present with Rhonda saving a hooker who is being beaten in San Francisco. Rhonda spends the night with the hooker and something occurs so that the hooker mocks and humiliates Rhonda rather than being thankful that Rhonda is her savior. The book then takes the reader to Rhonda's childhood in Arizona and to his time as a teen-ager in a psychiatric hospital where he meets with a supportive psychiatrist over time. The psychiatrist does his best to challenge Rhonda's belief that his house is the source of all the bad things that happened to him.
I can't say enough positive things about this gem of writing. It takes the reader on a flight so dark and frightening that it could have been to difficult to make the journey. However, the author puts in just the right amount of humor and enough soothing so that we can take the journey with Rhonda.
One of the ways that Little Rhonda shows Rhonda his past life, is through a glass-bottomed dumpster with a trap door. Rhonda can climb out of the dumpster into his past and is able to see and question what occurred when he was a child. Little Rhonda also travels with Rhonda back to Arizona where he grew up. Rhonda is searching for his home which he believes is the source of evil. Little Rhonda challenges Rhonda's beliefs and tries to help him with his reality-checking. Old Lady Rhonda doesn't ask questions. She nurtures Rhonda unconditionally. She gives him food, love and money and, together, they relax and watch Wheel of Fortune. She is the nurturing mother he never had.
Rhonda's background is horrendous. His mother is an alcoholic who drinks 'Tcha-bliss' (Chablis) all day when she is at home. However, she often disappears for days or weeks at a time, leaving Rhonda with her horriby abusive boyfriend, Letch. Letch physically and sexually abuses Rhonda in their home and in order to integrate what is happening in his life, Rhonda blames the home for what is occurring. He sees his house as a desert landscape, stretching and filled with animals. In his own words, "I couldn't concentrate on anything except their warfare in our stretched, sandy house, as they screamed throughout the desert that was everywhere: a cactus had sprouted next to the TV, a dove perched on it; animals flying, slithering, crawling, running all around our desert; animals, livid and terrtorial". (p. 85)
The book goes back and forth in time and place, from Rhonda's childhood to adulthood. It starts off in the present with Rhonda saving a hooker who is being beaten in San Francisco. Rhonda spends the night with the hooker and something occurs so that the hooker mocks and humiliates Rhonda rather than being thankful that Rhonda is her savior. The book then takes the reader to Rhonda's childhood in Arizona and to his time as a teen-ager in a psychiatric hospital where he meets with a supportive psychiatrist over time. The psychiatrist does his best to challenge Rhonda's belief that his house is the source of all the bad things that happened to him.
I can't say enough positive things about this gem of writing. It takes the reader on a flight so dark and frightening that it could have been to difficult to make the journey. However, the author puts in just the right amount of humor and enough soothing so that we can take the journey with Rhonda.
December 6, 2014
"Even bad memories can make you happy because they're yours."
Four stars is a little tough love because this had a lot of potential to get the coveted 5 stars from me (I know no one cares).
Quick summary for the initiated: Our narrator has mommy (and daddy) issues. Mom's a drunk who disappears for weeks at a time leaving her 10-year-old (or so) son with an abusive boyfriend, pretty much just a real mean guy like Dwight Yoakam in Slingblade.
She blames her son for ruining her life and has frequent conversations with him stating those facts clearly.
Also like Slingblade, the narrator is pretty messed up, although not mentally retarded. I mean how could he not be? His mom's idea of cooking is to put taquitos in the microwave, and she can't even remember how long they're supposed to cook.
The narrator, who refers to himself as Rhonda, which what the stepdad called him as an insult, spends the present day basically just trying to find someone to love him.
He's almost like a beaten dog, still just wanting attention from his mom even long past adolescence. However, emotional baggage leaves him slightly unable to really form normal relationships. He meets a girl who works for her dad at a liquor store, and ends up freaking her out by trying to convince her to get into the dumpster behind the taco joint so she can see the trapdoor that leads to viewing sessions of his memories.
He also sleeps with a big bag of fermenting prison wine and names it Madeline.
Yeah it's that kind of book. There's a lot of "magical realism" and one of the main characters is the child version of himself, who acts as a sort of guide and wears a miner's helmet. He's actually the comic relief in a pretty bleak book.
So we have all these winning elements, and the result is good. The writing is legit. Sparse but emotive, although maybe a little too "Hemingway" for me at times and sometimes the metaphors are just a little too much to handle.
Good: "I'd dazzled him by picking the right quarter; he got down onto a knee, onto my level, and looked me in the eye: 'I used to be just like you,' smiling, 'but now I'm a disaster.'" I guess this one needs context, but whatever.
Bad: "Looking at me as if the carcasses of my failures were were mounted all over my face like taxidermy." I admire the attempt, but can't help thinking of Jackalopes.
The book is arranged to leave you hanging on some things, and it delivers each time for the most part.
Only real complaint is that the end sort of took a little too long to wrap up without really revealing anything new. I mean, I know it's notsome kind of OMG, plot-driven book, but it does fizzle out just a tad.
So yeah, I'd highly recommend this one. I just think this author has his best book still to come and I'm expecting even better next time.
Four stars is a little tough love because this had a lot of potential to get the coveted 5 stars from me (I know no one cares).
Quick summary for the initiated: Our narrator has mommy (and daddy) issues. Mom's a drunk who disappears for weeks at a time leaving her 10-year-old (or so) son with an abusive boyfriend, pretty much just a real mean guy like Dwight Yoakam in Slingblade.
She blames her son for ruining her life and has frequent conversations with him stating those facts clearly.
Also like Slingblade, the narrator is pretty messed up, although not mentally retarded. I mean how could he not be? His mom's idea of cooking is to put taquitos in the microwave, and she can't even remember how long they're supposed to cook.
The narrator, who refers to himself as Rhonda, which what the stepdad called him as an insult, spends the present day basically just trying to find someone to love him.
He's almost like a beaten dog, still just wanting attention from his mom even long past adolescence. However, emotional baggage leaves him slightly unable to really form normal relationships. He meets a girl who works for her dad at a liquor store, and ends up freaking her out by trying to convince her to get into the dumpster behind the taco joint so she can see the trapdoor that leads to viewing sessions of his memories.
He also sleeps with a big bag of fermenting prison wine and names it Madeline.
Yeah it's that kind of book. There's a lot of "magical realism" and one of the main characters is the child version of himself, who acts as a sort of guide and wears a miner's helmet. He's actually the comic relief in a pretty bleak book.
So we have all these winning elements, and the result is good. The writing is legit. Sparse but emotive, although maybe a little too "Hemingway" for me at times and sometimes the metaphors are just a little too much to handle.
Good: "I'd dazzled him by picking the right quarter; he got down onto a knee, onto my level, and looked me in the eye: 'I used to be just like you,' smiling, 'but now I'm a disaster.'" I guess this one needs context, but whatever.
Bad: "Looking at me as if the carcasses of my failures were were mounted all over my face like taxidermy." I admire the attempt, but can't help thinking of Jackalopes.
The book is arranged to leave you hanging on some things, and it delivers each time for the most part.
Only real complaint is that the end sort of took a little too long to wrap up without really revealing anything new. I mean, I know it's notsome kind of OMG, plot-driven book, but it does fizzle out just a tad.
So yeah, I'd highly recommend this one. I just think this author has his best book still to come and I'm expecting even better next time.
July 8, 2010
I spent an insomniac's night finishing "Some Things That Meant the World to Me". I wanted to crawl into this fictional world and hold tight to Rhonda, man and child! Reading a novel stewed in abuse is never easy for me, or those of us who have hearts, and Rhonda made everything so raw that I was cringing and fearing 'My God, did this author live this abuse and turn it into fiction?' That is how well Mohr expresses the mental scars victims carry for their lives. Mohr conveys the nightmarish struggle of abuse over reality for children. Now for the cherry on top, there was a magical bend (not just in Rhonda's arm) but in the poetic manner Mohr told the story. I felt like I was beside Rhonda during his dumpster diving. This is not your typical sob story, though it is about victimization, this is not your typical story, period. I felt a little damaged and man-handled myself through Rhonda's excavation into his abusive, stolen childhood. The only thing I hated was that the story had to end, and I don't usually feel that about many books. I can't wait to read more by this unusual author. It must be said, I was rather charmed by the non-existent "acknowledgements" that follow most books. The "acknowledgements" was cleverly replaced by an "Apologies". Mr. Mohr, it's a relief to us readers to know the mother in your novel was born fully in your twisted but gifted imagination and is not, in fact, an ode to your own. You know exactly what your readers would wonder. I could hear your mother's sigh of relief.
I will never be able to eat a taquito again and not think of Rhonda. Also, what a clever way to tie in the Rorschach inkblot, which will make me itch for another tattoo.
Beautifully done!
I will never be able to eat a taquito again and not think of Rhonda. Also, what a clever way to tie in the Rorschach inkblot, which will make me itch for another tattoo.
Beautifully done!
April 17, 2011
The back of this book promised Mohr to be the kin of Bukowski, Lynda Barry, and Haruki Murakami--I did not agree. Bukowski never prepositioned aging vets for blowjobs; Barry's Roberta, though desperate at times and spiritually annihilated in her own ways, never begged to have her arm broken; and though they may be at home in Mohr's metaphysical trapdoor at the bottom of a Mexican restaurant's dumpster, Murakami's lost men never leapt into alcoholism. A giant dissociative episode, Some Things has many uncomfortable moments which I'm not entirely sure pay off. But there were parts that captured me, like the eruption of Rhonda's childhood home into a desert landscape and his subsequent journey to burn it down. I'd read more by Mohr, even though this book wasn't entirely a hit (for me).
Post script: I really enjoyed how one of the final chapters was entitled "Some Things That Bent the World for Me". Mohr does have a way with words... But the acknowledgments at the end made him sound like a total turd.
Post script: I really enjoyed how one of the final chapters was entitled "Some Things That Bent the World for Me". Mohr does have a way with words... But the acknowledgments at the end made him sound like a total turd.
September 9, 2016
This is a beautiful book with a really sweet heart. For all the nastiness roiling in the novel's outside world--alcoholism, violence, domestic abuse--there is something so endearing about the narrator, Rhonda. She is actually a he, who keeps the nickname given to him by an abusive stepfather (figure), well later in to life, as he tries to pick up the pieces and mend what's been broken. Rhonda is delicate but not weak, and we can't help but root for him. Most of the narrative takes place around San Francisco's Mission District, a place I know well, and Mohr gets every detail right. There is no city on earth like San Francisco. Normally the words "magic realism" scare me away from a book. I've heard this novel described that way, but to me a work this powerful transcends labels. I don't know what genre this falls into. I only know that Joshua Mohr is a helluva writer, and this book moved me in ways few do.
October 11, 2009
Joshua Mohr's debut novel, "Some Things That Meant the World to Me," is a startling journey into the life and mind of a young man suffering from a mental disorder. Part humor and part tragedy, you can't help but fall in love with Rhonda and root him on as he navigates through a world that he barely inhabits, let alone understands.
The most compelling part of this debut novel is the use of language. Joshua Mohr certainly has a way with words - the words string into sentences and paragraphs that dance in front of your eyes until you vividly picture each scene and feel as though you are there. His use of similes and metaphors is bold and refreshing; for example Rhonda's hands feeling like bags of microwave popcorn popping. His writing isn't the same old thing that we've read before. It's new. And bold. I like it.
The most compelling part of this debut novel is the use of language. Joshua Mohr certainly has a way with words - the words string into sentences and paragraphs that dance in front of your eyes until you vividly picture each scene and feel as though you are there. His use of similes and metaphors is bold and refreshing; for example Rhonda's hands feeling like bags of microwave popcorn popping. His writing isn't the same old thing that we've read before. It's new. And bold. I like it.
February 4, 2010
Super bizarre story that follows a schizophrenic man named Rhonda who takes orders from a nine year-old version of himself that he randomnly hallucinates at the best and worst of times while wondering around the Mission District. Both surreal and darkly hilarious this book will make you cringe when your not being disgusted, laughing or having your heart-broken. Im sure Mohr comes from a long line of writers (I definitely see a bit of Burroughs) but for a screwy, debut novel I was hard-pressed to find anything wrong with this story. Loved it.
Oh and everyone's favorite SF taqueria El Farolito makes an appearance! (Even though I'm a Taqueria Cancun fan myself...)
Highly recommended!
Oh and everyone's favorite SF taqueria El Farolito makes an appearance! (Even though I'm a Taqueria Cancun fan myself...)
Highly recommended!
January 25, 2010
Edgy. Dark. Twisted. Often brutal. And strangely moving. This was not an easy read emotionally and is certainly not for the faint-of-heart. What made it very worthwhile for me was the unmistakable ring of truth that most of the situations and circumstances bear. This author very clearly has lived and experienced much of what is described in the novel and - because of this - the book transcends the maudlin and unseemly and instead reveals a humanity we all can recognize at some level.
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