It reads like an Gallic version of Woody Allen. It’s Woody Allen-like, the humor maybe a bit drier, as if the human comedy of falling in love is funny enough in itself without having to make jokes about it. Woody’s new movie takes place in Paris, by the way.
Daniel Orozco forces the vertigo on you, the wind holds you up, just long enough to have the life torn out of you. Life, it’s a sharp thing when you don’t have much of it left. You’ll feel the pain of being fat, defecating in the tarp that you’ve put down in your bathroom because you can’t sit on your toilet. You haven’t seen your penis in years. You eat when you aren’t hungry. Neighbors bring you food, they make you fat, and you love it.
I think The Astral is the best Brooklyn novel that I have ever read. So I’d like to say to the 100K of Brooklyn writers, who are expending about a million kilowatts of New York City’s power grid, that you can power down your laptops now. You don’t have bother anymore. Thanks anyway.
Lets say two-hundred thousand people read literary fiction in America today, and that’s generous. Forget the rest of the world. How do they hear about literary novels? Really…how? Because they read Three Guys One Book or The Millions? The Late American Novel: Writers On The Future of Books will give you years worth of reading material if you just go out and pick up one book from each writer and read it, just one.
Publicists want to focus the attention, and monetize the coverage. But if publicists were smart, they’d ask us to post this stuff three months BEFORE pub, because book blogs function best as places where the conversations starts–don’t you think? I feel like we (book bloggers) drive interest, not book sales–particularly because many of our readers (agents, editors, writers, booksellers, etc.) can get a galley (for free) of anything they want simply by asking the publisher.