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A review by jacksontibet
Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles by Ron Currie Jr.
2.0
Waaaaaaaaaay too self-conscious...
The fictional version the author creates for himself comes across as a big "but seriously for real bro I'm super smart too" dude-bro, the kind of person that Ron Currie Jr. looks like in his dust jacket pictures (bulging biceps, shaved head, Clockwork Orange T-shirt). The shtick with this book is that Currie creates a thinly (?) veiled fictional version of himself to write a work of fiction that revolves around his fictional character fictionalizing himself and being ultimately persecuted by the world at large because of it. Then trying to redeem himself by being all, "but didn't you dummies like the fictional me better?"
I'm not sure if Currie is really that famous of an author for this to be his great big middle finger to the literary world or if he simply imagines himself to be that important that something like this is deserved. He/his character self really just spends most of the book getting drunk (being an alcoholic), fighting the natives on his unnamed Caribbean island, and whining about/propping up his old/forever flame/ex/childhood friend Emma (seriously, though, the whole time you read this book just put Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago" on repeat and get in the mooooood). Then sometimes he gets all worried about the SINGULARITY and spews some "didja know?" facts about Ray Kurzweil and machines taking over the stock market. THEME: Life is still worth it, even with all the sadness and pain. Woop-de-doo, bro, but you're not Hemingway.
The book does get a little interesting for the final 1/4 when he goes into hiding/accidentally-on-purpose kills himself, before he gets all self-important and masturbatory about defending his fictional self.
I liked his first book better, but have yet to read the middle one.
The fictional version the author creates for himself comes across as a big "but seriously for real bro I'm super smart too" dude-bro, the kind of person that Ron Currie Jr. looks like in his dust jacket pictures (bulging biceps, shaved head, Clockwork Orange T-shirt). The shtick with this book is that Currie creates a thinly (?) veiled fictional version of himself to write a work of fiction that revolves around his fictional character fictionalizing himself and being ultimately persecuted by the world at large because of it. Then trying to redeem himself by being all, "but didn't you dummies like the fictional me better?"
I'm not sure if Currie is really that famous of an author for this to be his great big middle finger to the literary world or if he simply imagines himself to be that important that something like this is deserved. He/his character self really just spends most of the book getting drunk (being an alcoholic), fighting the natives on his unnamed Caribbean island, and whining about/propping up his old/forever flame/ex/childhood friend Emma (seriously, though, the whole time you read this book just put Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago" on repeat and get in the mooooood). Then sometimes he gets all worried about the SINGULARITY and spews some "didja know?" facts about Ray Kurzweil and machines taking over the stock market. THEME: Life is still worth it, even with all the sadness and pain. Woop-de-doo, bro, but you're not Hemingway.
The book does get a little interesting for the final 1/4 when he goes into hiding/accidentally-on-purpose kills himself, before he gets all self-important and masturbatory about defending his fictional self.
I liked his first book better, but have yet to read the middle one.