Great review. It’s kind of funny how all of the reviews I’ve read (including my own!) have glossed over the first Akari chapter and focused on the central Dan/Mariko/Eliza chapters. It was an interesting choice to start the book. I’m not as negative on it as you are, though I agree the book doesn’t really hit its stride until that agonizing bizarre fight between Mariko and Dan. Seemed kind of like a flex to show how realistically he could render female interiority (which I do think he did well.) And I did enjoy the passive aggressive sister relationship. Makes me wonder if Gasda is a younger brother to two sisters.
I remain disappointed that no one walked in on Akari masturbating on the couch; I kept waiting for the story to catch up to the opening scene but it never did. Also that Kurosawa summary was weird as fuck.
Glad you touched on the food motif. That really stood out to me, how joyless the consumption of food was throughout the book. Super depressing (but effective in this context.) Where is the great millennial foodie novel?
Even though I spent a lot of time thinking and writing about the book, I’m still not quite sure what made it so compelling and readable for me. I am usually terrible about getting distracted and switching books but I wasn’t tempted to put this one down at any point. I’m not sure I buy into your happy ending massage theory but I appreciate the metaphor. Agree that it was an unusual yet stimulating (lol) reading experience.
Oh god the happy ending thing didn't even occur to me lol I need to tweak that.
But yeah, the Akari thing is, in retrospect, bizarre, but at the time was just frustrating. I hadn't noticed other reviewers ignoring it, but if that was an unconscious oversight I think youre right in thinking there's a reason for it. I was guessing the book probably started with that fight and an editor said it was too abrupt. It feels like it was written later.
I didn't know he wrote a column for Compact, thanks for the heads up. Im happy to check it out now but glad I didn't know while reading it. Haven't seen the plays, either, and I've been wondering if the stage-like scene setups in the novel would have occurred to me had I not known.
Yeah, my review is very much about how my foreknowledge of Gasda almost led me to avoid reading the book, which I ultimately enjoyed and thought was well done even if I think the perspective behind it is a little facile.
I have not read any of his political commentary but I thought the Calvinist quip was pretty good, actually. I have only a rudimentary understanding of Christian theology but I know Calvinism’s the predestination one, and I recognize the character as someone who thinks of himself as being the *kind of person* who has correct opinions and is preordained to be a good leftist, no matter what he actually *does.* Even if he buys a Tesla and a house in the Hamptons. This is a legible type of leftist guy to me.
I thought it was pretty clear in the text with regard to Dan, I think there's a broader worldview behind his employment of that term that is elaborated on in the Compact article. You mention the Tesla thing; I thought that was kind of funny, because I don't know that it would've been taboo for a leftist to aspire to have one in 2016, like, from an environmental perspective? I assume it's because it has luxury connotations; you wouldn't ding Dan for wanting a Chevy, I guess. Still, it feels a little like "we should improve society"/"oh and yet you participate in society!" meme to me. Ultimately, I think it's weird that a guy who lives in New York City would want a car at all.
Yep, you can also get it in plenty of the older neoreactionary material, say 2009–2013, and scattered in Californian counterculture from the 70s-80s before that.
I appreciate that, but I honestly enjoy reading these books. There's more connective tissue than I think meets the eye, and it's fun to be able to dig that stuff out while also engaging the community. If anyone wants to review Cubafruit, that's cool, but I dont want these things to feel tainted with a sense of transaction.
There's nothing wrong with trying to be read and reviewed if you're doing it like you're doing it (even if that's not what you're doing). I don't doubt you enjoy reviewing these books. That's clear in how much you engage.
I wanted to note this in response to Naomi elsehwere, but missed my chance. ALL human cultural activity has some transactional elements and these don't have to be bad. I am sure that the positive reviews of the Substack Bros' novels are in part positive to curry favor with those bros, but I am also sure that loyal courtiers know that sincere enjoyment is important to self-respect, and thus the enjoyment is both sincere and transactional. There's nothing wrong with being transparent about this process. The real problem is when you start trying to deny that you're going to review someone you know differently than someone you don't and pretending instead that objectivity is real.
I am slightly confused. You mean you have not previously read novels that a) took a while to connect all their pieces but left you ultimately satisfied; b) novels that do not explain their references and trust the reader to figure them out, know them, or look them up (the exact opposite of not respecting the reader)? I'm sorry, I realize that's a bit snarky, and I like your writing generally so I am not trying only to be jerk. I just am genuinely confused because, while I am probably the last one to be a likely Gasda fan, I absolutely love settling into a book, not quite sure what is going to develop, and just reading, letting it happen, and waiting to see if the parts connect. I can be defeated by this, and give up, but generally if you approach a story with the presumption that something will cohere, you can see the coherence. The way you phrased this just seemed like you expect all books to pick up quick and run hard. I'm sure that's not the case. But, for instance, had I not been prepared to sit back and observe, I doubt I would ever have finished and richly enjoyed Dhalgren, Good Morning, Midnight, La-Bas. or The USA Trilogy (and Stand on Zanzibar). In genre fiction they talk about world-building, and every book has to do it, and picks different terms by which to do so. It sounds like this novel is uneven in the methods it uses, which is both jarring and off-putting if you want immersion in the book rather than observation. But also like this is more an issue of your taste than the book's failure on its own terms. Which is valuable to know! If you know a reviewer's taste you have a better sense of how to read their reviews.
FWIW I had the opposite reaction about the unexplained references. I enjoy really densely referential prose like Bellow and Eco— even/especially when I can’t follow them all, I like letting these trains of thought pass over me. Here I think there should’ve been more, since one character is a professor, another is an undergrad upperclassman, and another is a theater director. There’s some vague gesturing towards Marx and Sophocles but everyone’s internal monologue is distinctly less erudite than I hoped. Mostly the characters are thinking literally about their bodily processes, as Alexander points out.
I am all for them myself. I believe way too many people let themselves be intimidated by some "elite" act of cultural reference they don't understand, and then feel like they MUST understand. Ulysses is a great, FUN read, if you don't worry too much about all the critical appurtenance. It can be really interesting to read that stuff AFTER the novel, and then go back to it with that information, but it is at heart not necessary to enjoy, even if arguably you might not understand all that you could.
Plus, the Calvin/Marx reference really -- really! -- isn't hard, or very deep. I think that Gasda's shallowness of knowledge (like Noah Kumin's) really makes his work pretty thin overall, what I have read anyway. And since he doesn't know (and in this case, who would, except one, hence campus novels) what a professor actually thinks about (or does all day) he can't write a really credible or erudite professor.
a) I've read novels that took a while to connect all their pieces, and left me satisfied. The one I'm reviewing is an example. I didn't abandon it because I hated the first chapter. Just got frustrated and wanted to.
b) I've read books that trusted the reader to manage a certain amount of challenge and then paid dividends when I rose to the occasion. (Vollmann, etc.) I understand some authors do this. But you can see an intentional intellectual challenge when it's been crafted that way.
There were sentences in Gravity's Rainbow I didn't understand. When I looked them up, I was glad that I did. But I mainly looked them up because the those challenges were nestled within a book that was demonstrating, in a dozen other ways, an intellect and talent that *promised* depth. I don't consider the offhand mention of Calvinism and Marxism in Gasda's book, by a character who doesn't seem to care much about either of them, as an intellectual challenge. What it's challenging is the reader's patience.
c) Dos Passos and Delaney wear their brilliance on their sleeves, which I would guess is part of what compelled you to dig deeper into those books, and give them the benefit of the doubt; I don't know about those other books you're mentioning but I'm guessing that, for the most part, they're older books and you embarked on them with some awareness of their reputation. A reason to trust them. Maybe it's ageism and it might sound lazy but, I confess, I'm less patient with a four-week-old novel about millennial love triangles in New York City than I am with a 50-year-old sci-fi epic whose reputation has grown every decade.
I read Dos Passos in college and was blown away in spite of “having” to read it. But I recognized Stand on Zanzibar as indebted to it, which I read because I think Harlan Ellison said something about it. It wasn’t effortful to relax in its flow. Gravity’s Rainbow exasperated me from being performatively “difficult” yet actually amounting to very little wrapped up in a confectionary of “serious” literature.
You really ought to check out Jean Rhys, who has remained respected but still largely a cult figure.
I understand in one sense that new books have different weights on their evaluation and therefore different pressures on how to read them, but I’m not totally sure I agree that they deserve LESS patience than some well-regarded and accepted as classic classic. I would say Gasda deserves less patience because of the slightness of his work, not because his book is contemporary, though of course contemporary does make it harder to see its future.
That’s why you should only read old, obscure books!
Great review. It’s kind of funny how all of the reviews I’ve read (including my own!) have glossed over the first Akari chapter and focused on the central Dan/Mariko/Eliza chapters. It was an interesting choice to start the book. I’m not as negative on it as you are, though I agree the book doesn’t really hit its stride until that agonizing bizarre fight between Mariko and Dan. Seemed kind of like a flex to show how realistically he could render female interiority (which I do think he did well.) And I did enjoy the passive aggressive sister relationship. Makes me wonder if Gasda is a younger brother to two sisters.
I remain disappointed that no one walked in on Akari masturbating on the couch; I kept waiting for the story to catch up to the opening scene but it never did. Also that Kurosawa summary was weird as fuck.
Glad you touched on the food motif. That really stood out to me, how joyless the consumption of food was throughout the book. Super depressing (but effective in this context.) Where is the great millennial foodie novel?
Even though I spent a lot of time thinking and writing about the book, I’m still not quite sure what made it so compelling and readable for me. I am usually terrible about getting distracted and switching books but I wasn’t tempted to put this one down at any point. I’m not sure I buy into your happy ending massage theory but I appreciate the metaphor. Agree that it was an unusual yet stimulating (lol) reading experience.
Oh god the happy ending thing didn't even occur to me lol I need to tweak that.
But yeah, the Akari thing is, in retrospect, bizarre, but at the time was just frustrating. I hadn't noticed other reviewers ignoring it, but if that was an unconscious oversight I think youre right in thinking there's a reason for it. I was guessing the book probably started with that fight and an editor said it was too abrupt. It feels like it was written later.
To understand the Calvinist thing, you have to read Gasda’s (pretty bad) political commentary that he writes for Compact.
I didn't know he wrote a column for Compact, thanks for the heads up. Im happy to check it out now but glad I didn't know while reading it. Haven't seen the plays, either, and I've been wondering if the stage-like scene setups in the novel would have occurred to me had I not known.
Keep trying to go into these as cold as possible.
Yeah, my review is very much about how my foreknowledge of Gasda almost led me to avoid reading the book, which I ultimately enjoyed and thought was well done even if I think the perspective behind it is a little facile.
I have not read any of his political commentary but I thought the Calvinist quip was pretty good, actually. I have only a rudimentary understanding of Christian theology but I know Calvinism’s the predestination one, and I recognize the character as someone who thinks of himself as being the *kind of person* who has correct opinions and is preordained to be a good leftist, no matter what he actually *does.* Even if he buys a Tesla and a house in the Hamptons. This is a legible type of leftist guy to me.
I thought it was pretty clear in the text with regard to Dan, I think there's a broader worldview behind his employment of that term that is elaborated on in the Compact article. You mention the Tesla thing; I thought that was kind of funny, because I don't know that it would've been taboo for a leftist to aspire to have one in 2016, like, from an environmental perspective? I assume it's because it has luxury connotations; you wouldn't ding Dan for wanting a Chevy, I guess. Still, it feels a little like "we should improve society"/"oh and yet you participate in society!" meme to me. Ultimately, I think it's weird that a guy who lives in New York City would want a car at all.
Yep, you can also get it in plenty of the older neoreactionary material, say 2009–2013, and scattered in Californian counterculture from the 70s-80s before that.
I hope these writers return the favor of giving CUBAFRUIT an equally honest review. I'd say you earned it with them.
I appreciate that, but I honestly enjoy reading these books. There's more connective tissue than I think meets the eye, and it's fun to be able to dig that stuff out while also engaging the community. If anyone wants to review Cubafruit, that's cool, but I dont want these things to feel tainted with a sense of transaction.
There's nothing wrong with trying to be read and reviewed if you're doing it like you're doing it (even if that's not what you're doing). I don't doubt you enjoy reviewing these books. That's clear in how much you engage.
Alright, cool lol Im relieved that the joy comes across (and also grateful to you for reading along!)
I wanted to note this in response to Naomi elsehwere, but missed my chance. ALL human cultural activity has some transactional elements and these don't have to be bad. I am sure that the positive reviews of the Substack Bros' novels are in part positive to curry favor with those bros, but I am also sure that loyal courtiers know that sincere enjoyment is important to self-respect, and thus the enjoyment is both sincere and transactional. There's nothing wrong with being transparent about this process. The real problem is when you start trying to deny that you're going to review someone you know differently than someone you don't and pretending instead that objectivity is real.
Sorry, I'm not following this one...
I am slightly confused. You mean you have not previously read novels that a) took a while to connect all their pieces but left you ultimately satisfied; b) novels that do not explain their references and trust the reader to figure them out, know them, or look them up (the exact opposite of not respecting the reader)? I'm sorry, I realize that's a bit snarky, and I like your writing generally so I am not trying only to be jerk. I just am genuinely confused because, while I am probably the last one to be a likely Gasda fan, I absolutely love settling into a book, not quite sure what is going to develop, and just reading, letting it happen, and waiting to see if the parts connect. I can be defeated by this, and give up, but generally if you approach a story with the presumption that something will cohere, you can see the coherence. The way you phrased this just seemed like you expect all books to pick up quick and run hard. I'm sure that's not the case. But, for instance, had I not been prepared to sit back and observe, I doubt I would ever have finished and richly enjoyed Dhalgren, Good Morning, Midnight, La-Bas. or The USA Trilogy (and Stand on Zanzibar). In genre fiction they talk about world-building, and every book has to do it, and picks different terms by which to do so. It sounds like this novel is uneven in the methods it uses, which is both jarring and off-putting if you want immersion in the book rather than observation. But also like this is more an issue of your taste than the book's failure on its own terms. Which is valuable to know! If you know a reviewer's taste you have a better sense of how to read their reviews.
FWIW I had the opposite reaction about the unexplained references. I enjoy really densely referential prose like Bellow and Eco— even/especially when I can’t follow them all, I like letting these trains of thought pass over me. Here I think there should’ve been more, since one character is a professor, another is an undergrad upperclassman, and another is a theater director. There’s some vague gesturing towards Marx and Sophocles but everyone’s internal monologue is distinctly less erudite than I hoped. Mostly the characters are thinking literally about their bodily processes, as Alexander points out.
I am all for them myself. I believe way too many people let themselves be intimidated by some "elite" act of cultural reference they don't understand, and then feel like they MUST understand. Ulysses is a great, FUN read, if you don't worry too much about all the critical appurtenance. It can be really interesting to read that stuff AFTER the novel, and then go back to it with that information, but it is at heart not necessary to enjoy, even if arguably you might not understand all that you could.
Plus, the Calvin/Marx reference really -- really! -- isn't hard, or very deep. I think that Gasda's shallowness of knowledge (like Noah Kumin's) really makes his work pretty thin overall, what I have read anyway. And since he doesn't know (and in this case, who would, except one, hence campus novels) what a professor actually thinks about (or does all day) he can't write a really credible or erudite professor.
No offense taken, I promise. Indulge the snark.
a) I've read novels that took a while to connect all their pieces, and left me satisfied. The one I'm reviewing is an example. I didn't abandon it because I hated the first chapter. Just got frustrated and wanted to.
b) I've read books that trusted the reader to manage a certain amount of challenge and then paid dividends when I rose to the occasion. (Vollmann, etc.) I understand some authors do this. But you can see an intentional intellectual challenge when it's been crafted that way.
There were sentences in Gravity's Rainbow I didn't understand. When I looked them up, I was glad that I did. But I mainly looked them up because the those challenges were nestled within a book that was demonstrating, in a dozen other ways, an intellect and talent that *promised* depth. I don't consider the offhand mention of Calvinism and Marxism in Gasda's book, by a character who doesn't seem to care much about either of them, as an intellectual challenge. What it's challenging is the reader's patience.
c) Dos Passos and Delaney wear their brilliance on their sleeves, which I would guess is part of what compelled you to dig deeper into those books, and give them the benefit of the doubt; I don't know about those other books you're mentioning but I'm guessing that, for the most part, they're older books and you embarked on them with some awareness of their reputation. A reason to trust them. Maybe it's ageism and it might sound lazy but, I confess, I'm less patient with a four-week-old novel about millennial love triangles in New York City than I am with a 50-year-old sci-fi epic whose reputation has grown every decade.
I read Dos Passos in college and was blown away in spite of “having” to read it. But I recognized Stand on Zanzibar as indebted to it, which I read because I think Harlan Ellison said something about it. It wasn’t effortful to relax in its flow. Gravity’s Rainbow exasperated me from being performatively “difficult” yet actually amounting to very little wrapped up in a confectionary of “serious” literature.
You really ought to check out Jean Rhys, who has remained respected but still largely a cult figure.
I understand in one sense that new books have different weights on their evaluation and therefore different pressures on how to read them, but I’m not totally sure I agree that they deserve LESS patience than some well-regarded and accepted as classic classic. I would say Gasda deserves less patience because of the slightness of his work, not because his book is contemporary, though of course contemporary does make it harder to see its future.
That’s why you should only read old, obscure books!