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glenn_rulz's review against another edition
funny
5.0
Probably the funniest book I've read. Read a while ago
rachel_a_'s review against another edition
3.0
Mate. Some people are rank. How are they their age and living worse than uni students in halls. Nah.
kirbyhunt's review against another edition
dark
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
4.5
So funny. Somewhat relatable. Very interesting, stylistically - never read something quite like this.
mc_j_ho's review against another edition
3.0
A decent read. I wish I had know about the homeowner share house rule in Melbourne sooner though!
kathleenes's review against another edition
dark
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
4.0
A good insight into what it was like living in share houses in Australia, mainly Brisbane in the late 80s and early 90s. Not for the faint hearted or as it says on the back of the book “not recommended for landlords”
jacqui_des's review against another edition
3.0
This book helped me to put my own experiences of shared living into perspective. In only about five short pages I realised that I had nothing to complain about compared to some of the weirdos [a:John Birmingham|33505|John Birmingham|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1263202847p2/33505.jpg] lived with over the years. The stories were bizarre to say the least and initially very entertaining. However, the book quickly became tedious and repetitive and I must say that I was surprised I actually bothered to finish reading this book.
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sonnymirrors's review against another edition
3.0
Book Review of He Died with a Felafel in his Hand by John Birmingham
”Things get out of control all the time in share houses. It’s not just a matter of the rent slipping behind or the washing line piling up. People flip over the line. Way over.”
He died with a felafel in his hand. With this amazing blow of a line, John Birmingham opens this intriguing account of a young man’s journey across different rooms, in different places in Australia, shared with a diverse and intriguing set of characters. It is this sharing of common space, flats, houses, rooms, and the ensuing drama of living with other people that is at the centre of the narrative in this autobiographical novel. Autobiographical because many of the experiences in this novel are based on the author’s own. The details and stories included here though incredibly fictionalised are based in part on real accounts and true events in the author’s life and those of the people he encounters.
Where there are people in a common space, there are bound to be clashes and moments of drama, experiences worthy of remembering to talk about in the future as once-upon-a-time interesting tales, or to detail in a book such as this one. He died with a Felafel in his Hand encompasses these aspects, it is a record of the drama of shared living, an account of the interesting human moments in these encounters, and also a compilation of experiences and stories worthy of being shared, to be remembered and to be engaged by any an interested reader. And it’s the author’s aim to fulfill all these aspects, in the form of a multilayered novel, that makes this work simultaneously interesting and daring, bumpy and frustrating.
Like the punch of the opening line, the stories in this novel are quite involving and they never fail to lead one’s emotional range to its fullest. The diverse and almost innumerable array of characters is what gives this novel its dramatic edge. Every Melissa, Nina, Dirk, Tim, John, Sara, Kate, Jeffrey, Greg and Lisa, etcetera etcetera…every one of them has a story to tell, some role to play in this entire theatre of living or sharing or renting or surviving? This fiasco of convoluted characters and personalities is the motive force of this narrative and its chaos.
And the narrative is chaotic! I did wonder while reading the story/ies whether it was the characters and events that dictated this chaotic narrative. Or it was the author’s own chaos and choice that delivered a narrative of this form, just wiry and winded in an intriguing way that, however, grows increasingly frustrating and cumbersome as one progresses through the book.
The novel, and its narrative structure, is multilayered and does not follow a traditional plot structure. The book is driven by an overarching theme of roommates/house-sharing chronicles. There are interesting graphics in the book layered in interesting albeit also confusing ways. There’s no clear or straightforward plot. The main character does not really go anywhere much or develop to achieve a certain goal or fail at that or anything else. It’s all just moving around from different places meeting crazy people, some of whom are memorable and the others easily or by choice forgettable. Even the main characters – can’t even tell you who they are -easily fall into the shadows of the narrative. What remains in the reader’s mind is a narrator they cannot recognise, characters they cannot care to remember, and stories they cannot reconnect or recount to save their lives. What starts as an intriguing and unconventional reading experience becomes an increasingly disengaging and disenchanting one.
There is no doubt that John Birmingham is a writer of immense capability and skill. His writing is clear and delivers the spirit and emotive atmosphere of the scenes in this book impeccably. As in these lines, he manages to capture with a moving clarity the sometimes difficult moments of sharing and moving houses: ”That black wave of despair, unknown outside the desperate wee hours, swept down on me.” This line, weighty in its emotional intensity, is an impactful moment in a largely hilarious and freaky assortment of tales where the unsmiling moments may be lost in the chaos or overridden by the drama and exaggeration of the detail. Birmingham’s verbose sentences are as clear and descriptive as the simple, no word goes to waste, no dull moment. In telling of a crazy night out, he writes: ”We tried to get into an illegal casino, where the alcohol is free as long as you’re losing – the economics seem feasible when you’re drunk – but they wouldn’t have us because we weren’t wearing ties.” Another Birmingham description: ”I woke up on the floor next to Milo with the sun slanting in on me, mouth like a dry turd and heavy peak-hour traffic roaring by outside.” A treat for the senses!
It was for Birmingham’s beautifully descriptive writing that I completed the book, even as it was less inspiring in its late stages. It became another weird or bizarre story after another, again and again, over and over. However, the reader’s left wanting to continue, not for the details or any interesting development (there isn’t), but for how the story is told. Put another way, the stories do get cumbersome after a while, but the storytelling (style) doesn’t. Birmingham’s style is a success, does not lose its energy and impact, even as the structure and narrative sometimes falter.
Birmingham’s He Died with a Felafel in his Hand is a good attempt, daring in its structure and impressive in style. Anyone who’s interested in roommate chronicles, this book is for you. Even if you don’t finish it, it leaves a lasting impression – shared living is a trip, a rollercoaster!
Rating: 3/5 ⭐⭐⭐