The Gospel of Anarchy

by Justin Taylor

“A feverish, fearless writer.” —Christine Schutt, author of All Souls , finalist for the 2009 Pulitzer Prize

“ The Gospel of Anarchy is a beautiful, searching and sometimes brutally funny novel. Justin Taylor writes with fierce precision and perfect balance.” —Sam Lipsyte, author of The Ask

Following his critically acclaimed short story collection Everything Here Is the Best Thing Ever , Justin Taylor’s mesmerizing debut novel explores the eccentricities, insights, and unexpected grace found in a motley crew of off-beat anarchists, and their quest to achieve utopia in a crumbling Florida commune. In the vein of Chris Adrian, Padgett Powel, and Hunter Thompson, Taylor delivers a shrewd, cerebral, and often wickedly humorous vision of reality on every leaf of the mirthfully absurd The Gospel of Anarchy .

Genres: Fiction, Novels, Unfinished, Religion, Politics, Cults, Ebooks

256 pages, Paperback

First published January 20, 2011

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name.

Justin Taylor is the author of the novel “The Gospel of Anarchy” and the story collection “Everything Here Is The Best Thing Ever.”

The Millions called “The Gospel of Anarchy” a “bold casserole of sensual encounter and deranged proclamation… Loudly, even rapturously, Taylor succeeds in making the clamoring passion of his characters real, their raw, mercurial yearning a cry for ‘a world newly established.’ In terms of acts of God, The Gospel of Anarchy is a tornado, tearing up the hill where rock ‘n roll and cult meet.”

And the New York Times raved that “Everything Here Is The Best Thing Ever ” is a “spare, sharp book” which “documents a deep authority on the unavoidable confusion of being young, disaffected and human. … [T]he most affecting stories in … are as unpredictable as a careening drunk. They leave us with the heavy residue of an unsettling strangeness, and a new voice that readers — and writers, too — might be seeking out for decades to come.”

His stories have been published in many shitty literary journals, and his non-fiction has appeared in the New York Times, BookForum and The Believer, among other publications.

He lives in New York.

Reviews

[Mariel · Rating 1 out of 5]

I quit. I got to the part where they were going to make a porno. I should have quit as soon as it switched to the hippie three-way with the two hippie girls [they are NOT punks. They are hippies!]. Blah blah she was worshipping her between her legs blah blah but Katy only had attention for David blah blah the wonderful special amazing thing about David is blah blah blah the twelve year old girls writing bad poetry in their bedrooms would be embarrassed to read this. Like I didn't just read the first part of the book from David's perspective? He had no personality. I don't give a shit that he dropped out of college. So he doesn't feel he belongs to society any more? Well, it didn't seem like he really did. It's the same vague as hell generalizations about everything. It's magazine pictorial depth. David gives one description of what everyone looks like and that is it. I can't do that. (Also, what the fuck? The paragraph about the roads of Gainesville? C'mon. I've lived in this town on and off since 1988. That was all he could come up with? Not only that, the background story was wrong anyway. Gainesville was called Hogtowne first. I should have quit when the two girls made out in each other's laps. Ohmigod two girls making out! Aren't they punk and dangerous? No, they aren't. I should've quit during the long technological know-how part about uploading porn on the internet and getting porn from the internet.

This could've been a boring commune story set in the '60s or '70s. You know, people talking at you about their ideals because they don't know what else to do? Or those aging bar sluts that tell you about how they found God just because they can't get laid any more?

I'm impatient. Also, I started rereading Franny and Zooey during my work lunchbreaks. I can't read this shit. If that's all you can see....

Fuck it. This is a fanfic of something I don't give a shit about.

I just shouldn't have bothered.

I guess if being punk is only about wearing a t-shirt...

I don't want to get together to fill the void with yet more void.

-------------

So I'm going to read this now. I don't know why I wrote those idiotic contest bids. I'd delete it but I don't think it is good for me to pretend that I don't do these idiotic contest bids. And this book is about a loser in the town where I live!

It had better not make me cry like this movie about a loser in Gainesville. (Did anyone else see that? It's the equivalent of watching a story about an abuser with flashbacks of their experiences with abuse. He's trapped in life... but he keeps a hawk chained up!!!!!! And Michael Pitt plays a retard who is abused in life. I just felt bad.)

-----

Okay, I wasn't going to win that one. No one would believe I was a punk. In 1999 I was probably reading Salinger alone in my bedroom and listening to The Cure. Hey, John Lennon wasn't a Teddy Boy!
WHO ARE THEY TO JUDGE????

-------

I'm a punk (of sorts) in Gainesville. Pick me!

[Oriana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Full disclosure: This was written by my friend's boyfriend, so.

This is a very strange, surprising book. I thought it should be longer, not in plot, but in development. Which is odd, because it is mostly a very internal-development kind of thing, where characters are given pages and pages of something like interior monologue, reacting to things happening now or reflecting on their past or meditating on the future. But yet, some aspects of the book, some aspects of the characters, and some characters altogether, still seemed...almost unfinished. Hinted at. Not fully realized.

Let me approach this another way. This is a book (you can tell by the title) about anarchy and God. It's often very cerebral, and is shot through with conviction and belief and faith. Now, I wish I could fully commit to anarchism nearly as much as I wish I could commit to agnosticism, but I can't. I like a degree of order, I have a fundamental cynicism at my core that shakes my faith in people, and God? Nope. I just can't buy into it, and haven't since I was young. My sister is an anarchist, and I am always shocked by how optimistic and idealistic and just plain nice her anarchist friends are, and I think that's wonderful, and I love spending time with them, and talking politics and philosophy with them, and I let myself get caught up in it, usually, in visions of utopian equality and each unto his needs and no ownership and no money and peace and peace and peace. But then I leave and someone shoves me out of the way when I'm trying to get out of the subway, or a homeless dude is screaming to himself on the street as everyone averts their eyes, or I read the newspaper or even just look around me at all the shit and misery, and the glow leaves and the spell is broken.

I guess the characters in The Gospel of Anarchy are able to keep right on living without losing the glow. And in fact it goes one step further, by combining the idealism of anarchy with the rapture of faith in God, of discipleship, of the absolute conviction that what they are doing and working toward is completely right.

I don't want to give the impression that this is some hippie love-fest or angry-punk screed or densely philosophized treatise. It's not any of those, really, but it's also sort of all of them. There are some really smart and interesting ideas here, and the writing is extremely evocative and gentle -- almost too gentle, really; the few scenes which should have involved real fights, either physical or verbal, are completely glossed over, their outcomes revealed later through backward glances rather than being violently smashed through while they were happening. But it's a lovely book, if maybe a little too fanciful for me. The time and place (Gainesville, 1999) are made beautifully real, the characters (especially Katy and Liz) are believable and familiar. I'm sure I should have taken my time and read this more slowly to have gotten full benefit of the ideas, because there really is a lot to meditate on and digest. But I'm too impatient for that.

[John Dishwasher John Dishwasher · Rating 4 out of 5]

This novel sets out to synthesize anarchy and mysticism. While doing so it exposes one of the most basic conundrums of being human: We crave freedom, but we are discontented without a purpose and a feeling of belonging. At their extremes, these contradictory yearnings cannot coexist. Total freedom would mean a freedom even from the need for purpose or belonging. And if you belong to something or are living for something you are unfree. The characters in Taylor’s novel profess and live a ‘punk’ freedom, but meanwhile bind themselves to each other and to a new spiritual framework which they discover and develop and advocate throughout the story. These folks may be freer than most, but they are far from truly free.

It strikes me as curious that Taylor’s very concise though elliptical results rely so much on Heidegger and Christianity when various forms of Eastern mysticism example what his characters are seeking so much more naturally (minus the group sex). Besides, Christianity comes with so much baggage for free-spirited Westerners. But I guess that Eastern approach has already been explored in literature like 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' and the Richard Bach books, among others. And it is valuable to remind that Christianity has its roots in defiance, withdrawal and rebellion, even though nowadays it is just a lapdog.

This freewheeling novel affirms that anarchy is not just a rejection of the state, as I’ve always conceptualized it, but also a proaction toward something positive, or freedom. It’s easy to overlook this aspect of anarchy while watching its adherents throw trash cans through bank windows.

[Anina · Rating 2 out of 5]

I am giving this two stars because I think the author has talent but I honestly hated this book and really feel like .5 of a star would describe my feelings more accurately.

It's a novel but really it's just a corny ode to CrimeThink publications and other punk rock propaganda of the 90's. So just like that stuff, it's negative and exclusionary. Also, the dialog and plot to me were completely unbelievable. I read to the end because it only took a day, but it just got sillier and sillier. By the time they got to the part where they wrote their own bible I nearly lost it.

[Amanda · Rating 5 out of 5]

To be fair, I am not exactly an unbiased audience; at the same time, as much as I can be, I believe I am. Nevertheless: I didn't fully realize how much this book kicked my ass until, later on the day I finished it, I got on a plane and for five hours was unable to do anything but stare out the window. Plus the only thing I can seem to stomach as a follow-up is Bolaño. These things all mean that this is a good book -- breathtaking in a stab-you-in-the-heart way.

[Caitlin Constantine · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maybe the word I would best use to describe this book is "ambitious." Taylor tries to tackle a bunch of really big themes - consumer-driven alienation and isolation, the way people use ideology and religion to give their lives meaning, the way going too far into these things can render a person indistinguishable from the guy who stands on the corner and screams at seagulls for killing his mother - over the course of a slender little novel. I like that. Even if he didn't quite succeed, I appreciate that he tried.

The plot of the book rotates around this group of fanatical Christian anarchists in late-90s Gainesville who live in a shabby punk house and spend their time dumpster-diving, partying, conducting orgies and engaged in philosophical conversation. Eventually they start calling themselves "anarchristians," the idea being that if Christ-like love is the theory then anarchy is the practice. I love to read about religion and religious theory but I kept bumping into one niggling little thought, which is that Jesus may have been a barefoot homeless socialist hippie with long hair, but dude was NOT an anarchist. Remember that whole "give unto Caesar what is Caesar's" scripture (aka "pay your fucking taxes, you damn teabaggers")? Yeah, that doesn't really go with the whole theme of anarchism. Is that nitpicking? Well, it's a big nit that rubbed me so raw I had no choice but to pick it.

I did like quite a bit of the language Taylor used, and I got a kick out of the way he critiqued organized religion even as he explored the mystical side of it. I didn't come away from this book thinking, my god, those crust punks have it all figured out! Rather I thought Taylor had done a good job of showing how these people, in their attempts to keep that encroaching sense of oblivion at bay, threw themselves into anything that could make them feel SOMETHING, anything that could make them feel alive, even if that thing ultimately led them to the path of self-destruction. The characters who saw this and distanced themselves in pursuit of something more moderate, who found ways to pick and choose what worked for them...that they ultimately became the most well-adjusted characters of the book is very telling I think.

This would have been a solid four-star book, though, were it not for the aforementioned theological fail and the philosophical ramblings that veered right into the nonsensical at times. Or perhaps, as I alluded to in the last paragraph, that was the whole point?

[Laurel · Rating 1 out of 5]

I thought this book would be a lot different than it was. I thought a book about anarcho-punk subculture would be lovely actually, but it ended up being as annoying as actual anarcho-punks. It's no secret that I am not at all religious, so when I read about all this gospel tied up in punk it was harder for me to take the whole thing seriously.

So here's some key plot points that rang immediately true.
•There's a self-proclaimed "prophet" who reminded me a lot of this dude in my hometown who killed a cop.
•It's set in Gainesville, and many mentions are made to the fact that little collegiate cities exist everywhere and breed lazy subterraneans.
•Someone has an emotional break from reality while listening to Dead Moon through the floorboards in his bedroom during a house party his roommates are throwing.
•Another dude (maybe the same dude, characterization is sometimes nonexistent) punches a wall while listening to Propaghandi.

There are other things too, like crumbling mansions with dumb names (Fishgut), travelers who take drugs and bring their babies everywhere, over-zealousness as a way to temper self-doubt, polygamy, self-righteous dumpster diving, etc.

The main problem I have with the book came after the text is done. The author's note reveals that the prophet's journals, which the characters find and turn into a zine, are LIFTED FROM CRIMETHINC LITERATURE. He admits that the soul center of the book is copied! And that it's essentially ok because those things are so anti-copyright he'd never get in trouble.

But the admittance that he couldn't make up his own manifestos for his characters makes me think this dude is just straight up a bad writer.

I will give this book 3 stars so that I can get more recommendations for books about punk.

[James Payne · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Gospel of Anarchy is a gross misreading of a counterculture. Taylor has moments of lucidity, and then forces his characters into actions that are not believable even under the aegis of fiction. This book is, like, (A) punxploitation and (b) a "cool" veneer/excuse to write about Christianity, which is a mindbogglingly boring topic - but more than that, if you're going to write about Christianity, have the confidence to actually do it. Don't masquerade as "cult" and "punk" or whatever is currently marketable for a hip, young writer.

Punks, by the way, are sexually repressed. I'm more inclined to believe the "punks forming a Christian cult" storyline than the "punks actually enjoying sex" confetti.

And, FYI, stole this from the Occupy Wall Street library.

[Tuck · Rating 2 out of 5]

you might know some punks, or are one yourownself. or maybe not punks punks, but urban pioneers, or 21st drop outs perhaps, diving dumpsters, working a bit for cash and goods, but not interested in a career, car, kids, cash even, but in being independent and being in the margins and working for perhaps a more meaningful community of art, do it yourselfing, bicycles, music maybe, education for sure, if self-only.
so some novels really need to be written about this 21st century phenomena, but this rather thin and sensational one is not it. this one is set in florida university town, but could really be any town usa (or barcelona, athens, berlin, but i guess not bejing, but then who knows, maybe there are some punk houses there too)

[Ana López Gómez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Extraño, con un ritmo narrativo a veces desconcertante, el Evangelio de la anarquía es una narración sobre sueños rotos, juventud, ideas que acaban transformándose en lo opuesto....
Curioso cuanto menos

[Nicholas George · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is superbly written, but it was difficult mustering up much to like (or appreciate) about this ragtag group of social misfits/dropouts/anarchists living together in a new-age commune in Gainesville, Florida. The sheer artistry of the prose kept me going, but the counter-culture philosophy of the group's leader, the mysterious Parker, was nearly impenetrable, and the rationalizations of his adherents understandably puzzling.

[Tim · Rating 1 out of 5]

Young adulthood is often a search for both self and meaning. As such it is prime ground for literary exploration. Yet while Justin Taylor's The Gospel of Anarchy gives a somewhat different take on the subject it's an exploration that falls short.

The story is built around David's search for self, which brings him into a loose group with an anarchistic bent living in a house they call Fishgut. The story is set in Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, in the late summer of 1999 and into Y2K. Both the location and time seem a bit odd. While some of the characters, including David, are brought there by the University, from which they have since dropped out, and others are "townies," Gainesville is a far from an hotbed of anarchistic thought. In addition, Taylor admits in a note at the end of the slim volume that this is a composite Gainesville, parts of it describing a city that didn't exist until after 1999. The 1999 setting seems a bit odd also. While the anti-globalization movement would draw significant attention as a result of the WTO protests in Seattle near the end of the year, Gainesville is plainly on the outside of that movement. And while anarchists undoubtedly made up part of the WTO contingent, it was anti-globalization that motivated the crowds, not any particular political theory or philosophy.

But since this is a novel, Taylor can set it when and where he wants. Yet the book still stumbles on other literary ingredients -- voice, character development and motivation.

Although David narrates the first part of the novel, once he moves into Fishgut the perspective for most of the balance of the book switches among the house's other main residents -- Liz, Katy and Thomas -- without a lot of rhyme or reason. There's nothing wrong with switching perspective but it's never quite clear why some parts of the story are seen from a particular perspective. There is not a great deal of differentiation among their voices, with a somewhat distinctive tone occasionally appearing to reflect an emotional state, such as in the midst of sexual acts. What is really surprising is that despite the various perspectives we get, none really allows us to grasp or appreciate the characters as individuals.

Yes, they claim to be anarchists and, yes, a couple have some religious inclinations, but how and why they arrived at Fishgut or their views of life, the universe or anything doesn't appear to be of great moment in The Gospel of Anarchy. As a result, the characters come off more as one-dimensional pieces moving around in setting where anarchism is an atmospheric overtone rather than substantive. Here, the philosophy or political theory seems to "no rules" rather than "no rulers."

David is a prime example. Even though he is the most developed character we're never quite sure what motivates him. Sure, the first part of the book establishes that he has an internet porn "habit" (as opposed to a compulsion or addiction) and hates his job cold calling people for telephone surveys. Granted, that might leave a person feeling dissatisfied and disconnected but why it might encourage them to be drawn to communal living in a run-down house isn't quite clear. Once David meets the people of Fishgut and stays there, he ends up in his own real life porno, an ongoing triad relationship with Liz and Katy. Yet his adoption of Fishgut's lifestyle and almost faux anarchism can't just be for the sex because if that is the pathway to insight, then millions of people are still and forever lost.

The meat of the book involves a grassroots anarcho-mystic-Christic movement that arises because David and Katy create a zine collecting some of the writings found in a notebook belonging to Parker, a long-missing early denizen of Fishgut. While far closer to an examination of self and life than the characters ever seem to engage in, the passages are largely rambling commentary involving philosophy, religion and politics. While this effort gives The Gospel of Anarchy its title, both are so unanchored and adrift they never rise above the level of arguably interesting observation.

(Originally posted at A Progressive on the Prairie.)

[Vito · Rating 4 out of 5]

From the back cover:

In landlocked Gainesville, Florida, in the hot, fraught summer of 1999, a college dropout named David sleepwalks through his life — a dull haze of office work and Internet porn — until a run in with a lost friend jolts him from his torpor. He is drawn into the vibrant but grimy world of Fishgut, a rundown house where a loose collective of anarchists, burnouts, and libtertines practice utopia outside society and the law. Some even see their lifestyle as a spiritual calling. They watch for the return of a mysterious hobo who will — they hope — transform their punk oasis into the Bethlehem of a zealous, strange new creed.

The Gospel of Anarchy by Justin Taylor is one of my favorites of 2011 so far. It opens with David, a college dropout working at a call center in Gainesville who is addicted to Internet porn, jerking off and throwing his laptop into a bathtub.

At home there was no conversation. No back and forth. No feigned ease, no modulated voice. No voice, period. Silence reigned. Quiet clicks. The world opened up to me through a small bright window, my personal laptop computer, which was of course too heavy and ran too hot to actually keep on my lap, not that I wanted it there. I had to use a plug-in trackball mouse because I couldn’t get the hang of the touchpad thing. The laptop was barely a year old, still more or less state-of-the-art, and had pride of place on the desk in my living room, where I sat and surfed a wave that never crested, climbed a mountain that never peaked. Curved, oiled, chesty, slick, spread; sometimes I imagined the girls in a kind of march, and endless parade celebrating — what? Themselves, I guess, or me. pg. 9

David is unlikable. He’s the sort of lost that doesn’t really care if he’s found or not. He’ll accept any sort of connection. He’ll follow whatever path in order to get there. When he meets the punk anarchists, he falls in love with their carefree lifestyle. The residents of Fishgut are punks, hippies, anarchists, and anarchristians. After David quits his job, moves out of his apartment, and becomes a resident of Fishgut, the book begins to ramble in an amazing way.

Truth is, these Catholics’ moderateness, and more generally their modernity, is at the heart of what spooks her about them. How the archness and the archaism of their faith seems to fit so snugly in with the regular lives they’re all living right now. What can the gilded crucifix, and the Man hung thereon, mean to the boy who buys sweatshop-produced Nikes at the mall by the highway? To the girl with the sorority pin, or anyone behind the wheel of an SUV? She knows these are cliché questions, straight out of Anticapitalism 101, but cliché or not, the questions are earnest. How can it be that the crucified Christ means so many different things to so many different people all at once? How can He contain it all? pg. 63

The Gospel of Anarchy explores faith and belief — in God, in a mysterious and absent punk-anarchist, in nothing — and how faith and belief can be fleeting, can be found and lost, can mean everything and also mean nothing. For David, this newly found faith in “Anarchristianism” means everything. He lost his girlfriend, dropped out of college, and was working at a job he hated just to pay the bills. When he finds Fishgut, his life suddenly has meaning.

Truly transcendent moments seem to lose something in the re-telling–they tend to be fleeting, and rooted in some feeling of extreme presence: a stronger or better sense of self, or of synchronicity between the self and the universe. When writing is going very well it can feel that way, and this is what Katy has in mind when she goes to the Devil’s Millhopper in chapter two. Art is not a religion, but the making of it and the reception of it can both qualify as devotional acts. - Jonathan Taylor in an interview at The Rumpus

Taylor’s writing is better suited for novel-length works. His short story collection, Everything Here is the Best Thing Ever, was good, but it could have been better. You could tell that he had so much more to say, that he had all this potential, but it was wasted on short stories. Taylor finds his voice in The Gospel of Anarchy. If you haven’t already, read this book.

[Lori · Rating 3 out of 5]

From publisher

I was really excited to read this review copy from Harper Perennial. I remember enjoying Justin Taylor's short story collection Everything Here is the Best Thing Ever - of reading his stories and experiencing these moments that were more like memories, of being pulled back into my younger-self, surprising me with their familiarity.

So I was not entirely unprepared for those same feelings and memories to be yanked back up towards the surface while reading The Gospel of Anarchy. Justin managed to create a world populated with characters that closely resembled people I had known once-upon-a-time, living a life that was eerily similar to the one they were living.

The novel follows David - a college dropout working a dead end job - as he escapes the choking confines of his humdrum life after running into a former high school friend in the back alleys of Gainesville, Florida.

What began as a little bit of fun and foolishness became a new way of life for David. His old friend Thomas and the residents of Fishgut - a broken down house that serves as half home, half hostel - live a life of lawlessness. They scrounge their food out of dumpsters and contribute money to the "house funds" by stealing products from one store to return them for full price at another or by donating their blood.

They are punks, they are anarchists, and they have created a following with their handmade booklet called the "Good Zine" and by preaching the word of "Parker" - one of the original founders of their punk anarchist movement who mysteriously went missing one night. They sneak into underground concerts, participate in threesomes and group orgies, and seem to have a never ending supply of alcohol and drugs.

Those memories I talked about earlier? Well, The Gospel of Anarchy reminded me of a group of friends I had back in 1994. At the time, I had an uncanny ability to become friends with just about anyone. At one point, I suddenly found myself hanging out in a Florida trailer park with a handful of teenage skinheads and hippies. The trailers were beat up and barely livable, some without electric. Most of the kids had dropped out of school, or were recently graduated with no real life ambition. They seemed to have no income to speak of, and I wasn't really ever sure who actually lived there and who was just hanging out or simply passing through. Lots of drugs were had (though, miraculously I managed to escape that period of my life 100% drug free), lots of things were stolen from god knows where, and lots of rules were broken and rewritten without rhyme or reason.

When we left the trailer park, we hung out in groups, kicking back in the grass under the hot summer sun, the hippies playing folk songs on their guitars with the grass between their toes believing they were talking to God while the skinheads hated everything that moved and swore to buck the system and live a carefree, workfree life taking advantage of "the man". We baked birthday cakes of chocolate and vanilla with sprinkle rainbows and rainbow colored swastikas and enough candles to burn the trailer down. They shaved and dreaded each others hair, preached to one another about spirituality and the evils of politics.

They were the coolest bunch of kids I had known, and they included me in their crazy, unlikely clan. After a few months, though, the scrounging and lounging wore on us - even though most of us had homes of our own and families that we returned to every night. Little by little, the fighting took over and we slowly broke off into splinter groups, which became sad little threesomes, and then singled ourselves apart until the trailer park and the rainbow cakes became our "remember when's".

Justin Taylor's novel brought all those moments back to me in a way that my old photo album never could. And for that, I want to say thank you.

[Michelle]

When asked by someone earlier to discuss The Gospel of Anarchy, the most lucid thought I had was to describe it as interesting. The plot is virtual non-existent, and the writing embodies anarchy itself. It is confusing, slightly disturbing, and more philosophical than I expected. Yet, in the end is somehow works. It is a novel that forces one to confront one's own biases and expectations of society. It is not one to be read quickly but rather to be enjoyed slowly, evaluating every word and phrase. It draws some unusual conclusions and presents some disturbing images but makes for a decent novel.

Call it my own failings, but I was not prepared for a book that was actually about anarchy. I thought the title was more allegorical; it is not. Once I got over this initial surprise, the story evolves into an exploration of each character's own struggles to find meaning in his or her life. Some follow blindly, with no doubts whatsoever. Others think they understand but find out they do not. Some characters are utterly sympathetic, while others are not. The result is a wild ride through the chaotic world of Fishgut.

Mr. Taylor evokes the spirit of anarchy in his writing. He switches tenses and characters without any warning. Sometimes, he flows into a stream-of-consciousness effect, while other scenes are terse and simplistic. If anything helps one understand what it means to be anarchist, Mr. Taylor's writing in this novel is a great example of making a point not to be bound by the rules of writing.

The Gospel of Anarchy starts out strong, unfortunately fades towards the end and yet finishes strongly. Its failings are that it simply becomes too preachy. When Mr. Taylor focuses on Parker's writings rather than on the actual characters, the story itself loses steam. The novel works best when the reader gets the opportunity to delve into each character.

The Gospel of Anarchy is not for everyone. In his effort to present anarchy and its teachings, Mr. Taylor pushes the boundaries of comfortable reading, leaving even the most open-minded reader squirming in one's seat. Chaotic and at times confusing, he quickly delves into this particular subculture and its exploration of everything and anything. Through the characters' questioning and searching, the reader gets the opportunity to explore his or her own opinions on faith, on politics, and on what it means to follow the rules. For those who can handle the sometimes explicit descriptions and heavily philosophical discussions, The Gospel of Anarchy is a great novel to get someone thinking. I suspect that for a majority of people, however, it is one to skip.

[Victoria Calo · Rating 1 out of 5]

*This is strictly my experience and opinion of the book. Please treat it as such.*

When I read the back of the book, I was immediately intrigued by the things it promised. I thought it was going to open me up to a way of thinking that I wasn't familiar with. And it did, kind of.

At first you think that it's going to be about David the whole way through. Wrong. Turns out you're going to get inside the heads of all the significant members of Fishgut. This was a problem for me. I think, by doing this, the writer missed the opportunity to show us what went on with David as he was making his transition from jaded creep-o porno "connoiseur" to enlightened creep-o God-loving orgy participant.

I have to admit that I could barely follow the characters' ideals and beliefs. The book was good all the way through until they found Parker's journal thing. That's when things started getting a little unbearable for me. They worshipped Parker and God. It almost seemed like they were one and the same sometimes or that Parker was a higher being than the characters are. But, hey, it's called the Gospel of Anarchy, so what the hell should I have expected? I seriously did not blame Thomas and Liz and Anchor for leaving Fishgut. In fact, I almost envied them, that I had to finish the book and put up with Katy the rest of the way alone.

I thought some of their beliefs or whatever were a little cheesy, and others were just incomprehensible. But that's my fault, I believe. Maybe I'm biased. Maybe I'm narrow-minded, which is weird in the context of this book 'cause I'm an apatheist. Maybe I'm an idiot. I don't fault the book or writer for that. I just simply could not handle this as I had expected.

I tolerated the weird sex, but I just could not stomach all the God and Parker talk. Yeesh. I tried to like the book. I did. I did my best to finish it. And I did. But in the end, it just didn't work for me.

*This is strictly my experience and opinion of the book. Please treat it as such.*

[Tobi · Rating 1 out of 5]

The Gospel of Anarchy goes from a sexist softcore porn male fantasy tale of dumpster diving Floridian anarcho-punks in Gainesville to magical realism...that centers around a cultish version of anarcho-Christianity...? After taking that turn it gets really boring. Like Jonathan Franzen or Mary McGarry Morris, the writing style is bleak, dystopic, vacant…not so much my thing...if this is a critique or depiction of the vast American suburban emptiness and alienation of sprawl, then ok but it feels sort of cheap, cliched and cynical. The characters are hopeless and don't seem fleshed out. Like, ok, if we live in a giant hamster wheel of chain stores along the interstate…we are still human right? So where is the humanity in this story? As far as dystopia goes, I like Stepford Wives, because at least there is an analysis of power happening. I don't know if the mysticism of this book really gets to anything real. When I looked up the author it seems that he is kind of a poseur who doesn't get it...like alternative rock representing the underground to the mainstream…he lives in Brooklyn and supposedly no one in Gainesville has ever heard of him but he seems to get ok reviews and know a lot of MFA-ified literary people? As much as I hate to give a book a bad review in its entirely, I guess I have to give this one a thumbs down. I really didn't like it. Another reason to seek out punks who write fiction I guess.

[Sean Owen · Rating 3 out of 5]

"The Gospel of Anarchy" focuses on an anarchist punk rock flop house that becomes the source of a kind of punk rock religion. Taylor wants to wrestle with some big ideas like faith and authenticity, but in aiming high on the idea front he leaves the plot feeling like an unfinished foundation. The at times naive and idealistic crimethinc/activist strain of punk rock subculture that flourished in the late 90s/early 2000s seems like ripe terrain that has largely been ignored by literature. At times Taylor truly does capture that contradictions embedded in this subculture, but often times it feels he's more interested in mocking his characters. This mocking tone makes it that much harder to swallow the part of the plot where the house develops and begins to spread a new religion. If Taylor only accepts his characters as wide eyed dupes then how can the reader try to understand them. Another problem plaguing the book is the shifts in perspective. The book starts out in the first person from the perspective of David, a disaffected young man dropping out of society and into the subculture, and then shifts to a third person perspective only to shift back to David in the first person and then finally to Anchor, but in the third person. These shifts further inhibit Taylor's ability to get the reader to connect with the characters and in the third person perspective there is an inconsistency of tone. The pieces are all here: big ideas, great untapped source material and a very capable writer, but unfortunately as a whole it fails to cohere.

[Marco Kaye · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’d wager that every college graduate knows of a place like Fishgut, the house/commune where much of the action takes places in The Gospel of Anarchy. I myself lived in such a place over a summer, a dilapidated yet loved white structure known as the Creek House. Someone said it wasn't as much of a house as it was a two-story tent with one flap open.

Justin Taylor perfectly captures that pre-Millennial time, when the Internet was just getting its sea legs and readers of my age were too. Then again, no one in this book actually attends the university. Taylor’s characters are dumpster diving free floaters. They are consumed with not being consumers. One talks about going to Seattle for the 99' WTO riots. The gospel of the title is a manifesto that could be summed up with the line from William Butler Yates' "The Second Coming." "The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity."

In the NY Times review mentions that the characters start to sound a lot alike, and that's fair. What I disagree with is the jumps in POV causing an "unsteady voice." I understood what was going on the whole time, even if I was left to wonder what the whole thing added up to. Isn't that a little like college?

[Michael B. · Rating 5 out of 5]

In The Gospel of Anarchy a handful of characters are introduced one by one as they cross paths in a collective household known as Fishgut, located in Gainesville. Florida, circa 1999. We are first introduced to David, only 21 years old and already facing a crisis of identity and meaning more appropriate to someone twice his age. He has just parted ways with his girlfriend, his studies at the University fail to enchant him, and he works at a call center known for doing meaningless survey work. He hates this. He hates his life. He wants to drop out of school. He feels his life is totally devoid of meaning. It is.

He is “saved” (his words) one evening while roaming the streets and back alley's aimlessly when he stumbles upon a body waist deep in a dumpster, feet flailing in the air, while an accomplice acts as a lookout. When the dangling feet finally find their sought after treasure the boy with the feet announces this out loud and David believes the voice belongs to Thomas, a childhood friend he has known since kindergarten, the both of them having chosen to go to the same University. Only Thomas has dropped out already.

Thomas and his accomplice Katy report they have scored the trash bag containing food thrown out from the dining room. This bag promises to contain enough to provide a feast for those back home and David is invited to join them. And this is how we enter this strange world where a bunch of similarly aimless folks join together to weave some kind of meaning out of their otherwise meaningless lives, living off the grid in some kind of fantasy of youthful freedom full of gratuitous sex and whatever drugs and alcohol are within reach.

If you imagine that Thomas and David know much about the gospel you should be alerted to the fact they were both raised in the homes of agnostic jews and their knowledge of the gospels cannot be measured with a microscope. Neither does Fishgut contain any books on political theory. Even if it did we cannot be certain that any of those passing through would either read or understand these texts. Their attachment to ideas such as anarchism can be described by someone like Murray Bookchin (an actual anarchist theorist - see his book The Ecology of Freedom) as “lifestyle anarchists”, that is young people fashionably attracted to the idea of freedom as they work through distancing themselves from the rules once imposed upon them by their parents.

That these young people desire some ideal of freedom to help combat the sense of alienation which is all pervasive to young people trying to find their place in the world circa 1999, is well illustrated by the casual sex and drug use, the dumpster diving for their food, and the meaning they impose on a life otherwise void of meaning. To this end Katy seeks to turn a guy named Parker, a passing resident of Fishgut who lived in a tent pitched in the backyard, into a sort of spiritual prophet. Parker mysteriously disappeared one day and left buried in the ground underneath his tent a blue Mead notebook containing doodles and paradoxical insights characteristic of those who are either high or mentally ill. Parker was likely both, but at any rate his “mysterious” disappearance adds a kind of spiritual aura to his after image, coupled of course with the fact that he might return again at any moment. Hope springs eternal for his second coming.

Which leads me to pose a question not presented in this book but sort of hinted at: what if Parker were to return to Fishgut and ask “what the heck is all this about?” An interesting premis for a novel but not the one that Justin Taylor committed his talents toward.

If you were reading this novel in the hopes of learning anything about political theory or spiritual quests, you are most likely going to feel disappointed. I think this might explain many of the poor ratings here on Goodreads. Others expressed disappointment that the author blurred the lines between “punk” and “hippie” and was to therefore be considered inauthentic in his representations (as if all such people diligently followed the unpublished checklist for what constitutes an authentic “punk” or "hippie"). Instead what we are treated to here is more along the lines of an anthropological text that is perpetually engaging and well developed, from my perspective. We are studying a snapshot of a time when these young people were feeling aimless and lost. Thank gosh that is no longer a problem amongst our young people today!

Not everyone at the Fishgut collective responds in precisely the same way, and I think this is part of the genius of the author who captured all this diversity in a single snapshot of a novel. Thomas, for example, can’t abide by the pseudo-spiritual nonsense and trucks off to Seattle to join the WTO protests in November of 1999. As someone who was also in Seattle during this time I must say the author appeared to have captured the spirit of Thomas who sought to find meaning through his budding activism. But the other characters in this novel are also equally well drawn, even if they are far less political. From the first pages of this novel the author proves to be very adept at weaving together complex narratives between a series of diverse individuals who do not exhibit a lot of self-awareness and lead difficult lives void of much promise of a better future. They all share in the loss of the future promised to a generation earlier. They self soothe this loss with hedonism.

Perhaps this is another reason why this work may be so poorly misunderstood. It did not contain any real heroes, nor any hope that these youngsters would all grow up to lead satisfying lives of a middle class existence, unsaddled by student loan debt, facing a dearth of exciting career possibilities. There really is no hope for these poor folks, and that truly is distressing. But it is also true and I applaud any author who dares to try and tell the truth about these times we live in, instead of glossing over all the rough stuff and pretending we all live an upper middle class existence in this land of freedom and plenty, blissfully unaware of the bloodied backdrop of genocide becasue, shhhhh! We are not supposed to speak about that.

I will read other works by this author. I hope that he accepts my apologies for all those Goodreads reviewers who did not give this brilliant novel the chance it so richly deserves.

[Craig · Rating 2 out of 5]

I seriously wanted to like this book and over the first 40 or 50 pages I did. Then the book took a strange turn, a long description of sex, a trip to a Catholic church, a strange dream, and then a new anarchist inspired Christian sect. The prophet of which is a missing friend who refused to join into the debauchery of a house called Fishgut. The rest of the novel meanders through 4 years of college philosophy with characters developed in a shallow and very unlikable way. Intelligent middle class punks who are smart enough to know that what they are doing will have no repercussions on the life they decide to lead as adults.

Justin Taylor is clearly a gifted writer, but the story seems to veer out of control and lose it's focus. The final chapter is so vague and uninteresting. A summary of characters you hardly care about. I wish this book was better, but ultimately it fell completely flat for me. And sadly the reviews from major critics were so overwhelmingly good I believe that this is another unfortunate product of hype.

[Ocean · Rating 1 out of 5]

i read this book mostly because i, too, have written a book (not-yet-published) about a wacky collective house, and i want to read all the other wacky-collective-household books to see the similarities and differences. well. this book, like mine, has a dumpstering scene right in front, but that's the only major similarity.
mr. taylor's a competent writer (although a little too MFA-ish for my tastes), but, OMG, i could not handle this book. i didn't care about any of the characters, and about halfway through it turns from a look-at-my-wacky-outside-of-the-mainstream slice-o-life to a bizarre tale of starting a religion? that worships an ex-housemate who ran off?!?!?!!!? are you fucking kidding me???? all the christianity (even though i know it's a parody of christianity, or whatever) REALLY grated on me. i simply could not deal. i feel dirty.

[fire_on_the_mountain · Rating 2 out of 5]

Guy becomes disillusioned with his corporate day-to-day life and embraces a punk commune, one that acts out in all the predictable ways. Is swallowed whole by the delusions of a self-created creed. Encounters stereotypes of all stripe. Yawn. Nothing new here, and I know it's not about the 'what' but the 'how,' but I found the 'how' lacking. I don't know what I found more jarring: the shift in voice and language, the utter wooden-ness of the characters, the self-indulgent pornographic scenes, or just the jaggedness of the plot. Can't be too mad, I only spent 3 commutes on this, so nothing of value was lost.

[Tyler Ward · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a complicated book that contradicts itself in many ways. Seeing as God is the ultimate Authority, how can one be both an anarchist and a devout believer in a higher power?

This is the contradiction that ends up being a central theme of this book, and as the story progresses, the author addresses this contradiction in surprising ways. It’s difficult to pin down exactly how this author feels about either anarchism or religion, that, perhaps, is the point.

Either way, it made me think and I, for the most part, enjoyed it.

[Sonja · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book is bad. I read it halfway just to see if it gets any better after the ridiculous porn scene. Nope. Religious propaganda. How did this even ever get published?
You simply can not be an anarchist and believe in god. Plus the main character annoyed me. What kind of "punk" girl would really be interested in a misogynist guy like him? People say that the writer has unique style, but for me he is just boring.

[Dennis Lannefeld · Rating 5 out of 5]

i like giving things five stars just for fun

but also this book deserves a five-star review!

i'm very thankful for the many loose threads unspooled throughout its course only to suddenly become a nice crocheted....scarf

extremely real and ethereal at the same time.

[Kevin · Rating 4 out of 5]

http://therumpus.net/2011/03/horn-rev...

[Sam Rosenberg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very much worth diving into.

[Daisy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had this book around 2017-2018. It was a strange book, with an even stranger story, that covered a niche I was beginning to delve into at the time. I had apparently liked this book so much that it influenced my writing after reading it, and every time I look back on those old stories I wrote, this book is all I can think about. I wouldn't say that the inspiration ruined my writing... but it definitely made me lag behind.

Aside from that, it impacted me in a strange way. I liked the characters, in fact I craved more characters like them. I remember liking Thomas the most. This book, as strange as it was, helped me embrace my identity and philosophies at that time.

[john lambert · Rating 2 out of 5]

Well, I had hopes for this author. He had written a book review in the Sunday NY Times. It was funny. Again, I had hopes.

Soon dashed as I started. A few lopsided analogies. Some simple stuff. And the big issue for me--and this is a limitation on my part--the characters were a bunch of bums living in a college town but hardly working, not going to school. Bums! And unfortunately, except for the sex scenes which are always fun, they're a dull bunch.

I tired three times to plug away at it until finally giving up around p. 93.