I will confess that I read this book because it had an endorsement from Michael Chabon on the cover. I did not read it because I knew it was a memoir about somebody (SPOILER ALERT) who survived the 9/11/11 attack on the Twin Towers. To the publisher's credit, this fact is not mentioned on the dust jacket, although I quickly guessed it after reading the author's note stating the span of time the book covered and the fact that the story begins with the author's move to New York City and quickly leads to him getting a job in Trade Center Two. I begin with this information by positing that while the book is an enjoyable read, it falls short (in my opinion) of Chabon's praise, and I suspect the book would not have been published were it not for the author's connection to an iconic moment in our nation's history.
What did I like about this memoir? The author's style is appealing--he praises Joan Didion and Tobias Wolff at separate moments in the book, and he offers the same direct language with deep reveals under deceptively straightforward description of events and actions. I liked the pace, which was quick; I finished the book in two sittings. I liked the honesty in which the author revealed his at times dysfunctional approaches to women and friends and his PTSD actions post-attack.
What I didn't like, I confess, was the story itself. The first 187 pages read like the creative thesis of a 20-something MFA student, which Charles was at the time. Most of the pages involve his frustration at not being published in literary journals, which is not happening in large part because he is not actually writing. He also is disillusioned by working in a high-paying job for "the man," which grows tiresome when you think about how many people of his generation would have loved to have had that "problem." Ultimately the challenge is that, before the 9/11 incident, nothing much happens in his life to warrant such a deep examination. I'm not suggesting someone who has only lived a short life should be precluded from writing a memoir; I am suggesting instead that Charles didn't give me enough uniqueness to truly intrigue me. I'll confess I kept reading because it was easy to (with his pace) and because I wanted to get to the World Trade Center already.
The dust jacket says Charles has written two other books, a novel and a biographical work. I applaud him achieving the publishing success he so longs for in the memoir. I also don't feel too bad about not overly praising this book, because he at times (with welcome honesty) trashes great writers in his book. Perhaps the most meta moment for me is when he meets an author whose book he savaged in an online review without having read, and then changes the review to a glowing one after meeting him (still without reading the book). Perhaps if I cross paths with Charles I will be tempted to give this book another star or two!