A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

This is the kind of book that I have only grown to appreciate in recent years; if I had picked it up when first published ten years ago, I would not have gotten it at all. As it stands, I got a few laughs and "hmms" out of it. The narrator is self-deprecating and humorous, although at times the rambling can become tedious. ( )

are the reviews on the first couple pages fabricated?

wavered between 3 and 4 stars for me while reading and I hate that I can't help but think this way while reading, now. ( )

The premise is soul-crushing, but the prose is exhausting. ( )

He rambles on and on, but somehow is effective and doesn't put you off. I guess with a young life jam-packed with heart wrenching stuff, combined with enough words to circumscribe it, you can come up with some pretty unique writing. ( )

Occasionally a writer will impale another with a critique that is so concise and incisive that my opinion is instantly and forever altered. For example, Truman Capote on "On the Road": "That's not writing, its typing." In this case it was Tom Wolfe, I believe, who said, "That's not a title, its a blurb."

This book is not a work of staggering genius; the problem with this book as with all of Eggers' that I have read is that he starts with a great premise and then starts writing before he has a really compelling plot. When Mark Twain encountered this problem with "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" he set it aside for a few years. Perhaps Eggers is in a publish or perish mode and can't afford that luxury.

Its one of the best covers ever; too bad it doesn't reflect the contents. ( )