Did You Miss These from Clayton Bye?

You’d THINK that, in the microcosm that is New York, New York–the epitome of life in the fast lane, “don’t waste my time”–that a reviewer would get to the point. But, no. Not in the NYTimes Sunday Book Review that appeared yesterday. Instead, we get this rambling essay on…nothing, a review wandering aimlessly in hopes of convincing…someone…that the book one Jonathan Lethem is reviewing is a worthwhile read.

However, if the review is any indication of its readability, well, it’s an obvious “don’t buy, don’t even check it out at the library.”

But WAIT. Let’s give the book a chance, right?

Okay.

So, there’s this link that says “Excerpt.” I click it., expecting a first page or two, maybe–a taste of good (or bad) things to come. Well, er…ah…ummmm. There are seven pages of small print available. I made it, willing myself, to page three.

Sentences like this:

My roommate Murph — a nose-pierced, hinky-toothed blonde from Dubuque, who used black soap and black dental floss and whose quick opinions were impressively harsh (she pronounced Dubuque “Du-ba-cue”) and once terrified her English teachers by saying the character she admired most in all of literature was Dick Hickock in In Cold Blood — had met her boyfriend September 10th and when she woke up at his place, she’d phoned me, in horror and happiness, the television blaring.

and this:

It explained the strange way she never quite looked at me when we were speaking, staring at a table or down at a tile of a floor, as if half-heartedly plotting its disinfection, while my scarcely controlled rage flew from my mouth in sentences I hoped would be, perhaps not then but perhaps later, like knives to her brain.

are enough to show that, yes, the rambling review definitely bespeaks a stream-of-consciousness “novel”, angsty and full of…what do they call it? I forget (thankfully). And I’ll forget considering A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore as a book to recommend here on The Deepening.

Sure, there are some folks out there that love this kind of rambling, “atmospheric,” self-indulgent fiction, but, well, no, not I. Somebody else can decide to post this one if they find it worthy. I don’t. Not at ALL.

But back to the reviewer: Pul-ease, can we get to the point of the review, rather than rambling around lost, delivering unconvincing blather that has nothing to do with whether or not it’s a good book to read. If it’s a lousy book, say so…or play the silent card and don’t say anything. Don’t waste your time and mine typing aimless “charitables” in hopes that you can sorta kinda bluff your reader.

Lorrie Moore must know someone, or be related to someone, for this to have been published by a major publisher. And the book’s editor must be illiterate or was under the influence at the time to have let it all go to print as it stands.”

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