An algorithm- that's what you need for a novel like 'The Teleportation Accident'. I mean, Amazon.com, as well as Goodreads and other book related web sites use software to guide you to other stuff you like, but they haven't quite perfected it yet.
There are so many styles of writing. I mean, if someone enjoys reading romance novels or thrillers or mysteries, then they have no business going through the 'horror' or 'preteen' section of the bookstore looking for something they might like.
It would be nice to think that all books should carry something with them that anyone could enjoy, no matter what the genre, but speaking practically that's never going to happen. I'm a horrible snob when it comes to fiction. I like what I like and if you don't agree then you must be stupid- I hate the 'me' that I become when talking about fiction, and save it only for when I'm with close friends or when I can enjoy the anonymity of posting something like this review. Speaking of which, let's have at it.
'The Teleportation Accident'. I cannot recommend this book enough for anyone interested in serious literature. No- not just that, as there's an ungodly amount of humor and character and just plain mastery of prose. (He let's you know where he's coming from right outta the gate, on page one.) It is so good on so many levels, most of all the pure style of someone that absolutely knows what he's doing and, if this keeps up who knows what he'll be doing in the future.
There are a fair number of 'less than 5 star' reviews on here. I don't understand it. I'll put them in the category of people that gave 2 stars to other books. I mean- 'Brideshead Revisited' got 47 bad reviews. As I said- algorithms. Six of the twenty reviews for 'Success' by Martin Amis' were middling.
I'm not saying that only people that enjoy a certain type of fiction should be allowed to review the books they like; I'm just saying that it would be easier for me, slogging through book after book until I find a gem like this book, if people that liked the kind of stuff I like had there own 'corner' of Amazon where they could discover the golden books- again, like this one.
I won't go over plot details or how the characters are blah, blah, blah, or how the plot really blah, blah, blah. I'm just telling you, go out and buy this book right now. Ignore the 'Top Ten books of 2013 as picked by...' there are fine books in those lists, but nothing like this. Not to put too fine a point on this, but if someone called me and told me I'd won the Pulitzer for fiction I'd slam the phone down and yell, "S***!" What am I saying? That the people that pick the Pulitzer don't know what they're doing? Yes, that's what I'm saying.
Is this the best novel released in 2013? How do I know, I haven't read everything, and besides, time is the only judge of what is great, and not enough time has passed. I'm just saying that this book is exciting, new, different and is very well written. I'm astounded that it isn't on everyone's 'must read' list. Maybe right now he's like a rock band that you rave about to all your friends, only to be slightly disappointed when they make it big.
But for now just take my advice and get the book. What are you waiting for? Stop reading this and order it right now- it's right up there, over this review.
P.S.:
Looking over other reviews for this book on the net to steal any- I mean to get insights on something I may not have caught- I notice the bright purple stain of sour grapes on some of the paragraphs. Apparently his parents are in the publishing business. When I first read of that fact I wondered how often he is reminded of that in his life- daily or hourly. Was he bred to be a writer? His blog is packed with densely, nearly unintelligible- OK mostly unintelligible selections from various books, seemingly picked at random.
I can only imagine a scene from his home life growing up in England, where I always believed literature is still considered an art form. Actually I can taste a tiny bit of those grapes now myself, but the book is so good he gets a pass on just about everything from me. This is how I imagine his home life being, after a night of reading S.J. Perleman. My experience with life in England come mostly from P. G. Wodehouse novels and David Niven films, so the curtain rises thus:
Scene: The upscale London apartment of Alyenora and Macpeace Beauman. The building has been in the Beauman family for generations and reeks of bacon blings and Moet et Chandon mixed with 17th century mildewed paper and bookworm s***. The furnishings are `cluttered rich'; Hepplewhite chairs line up against a wall seemingly decorated by William Morris wallpaper which on closer inspection reveal a hand painted wall by William Morris. At curtains rise young NED BEAUMAN is draped over an antique Chippendale commode. At the corner of the room is an enormous scattered pile of books. Ned is reading, pausing only to wet his finger for page turning.
Enter MACPEACE BEAUMAN. A fifty-ish, tall gentleman of royal bearing -though clearly a man who despises aristocracy. His icy white hair is framed by the blue smoke of his Calabash gourd pipe. Ned pays him no attention as his father slowly takes of his coat to put on a smoking jacket. He huffs a bit at Ned's indifference. ALYENORA BEAUMAN follows behind, her arms full of books to be edited that night. Alyenora is in her mid-forties, wire rimmed glasses falling down her nose as she places the books by the Chesterfield.
Macpeace (perturbed): "Ned? Have you finished that assignment I gave you- `Elemente und Ursprünge Totaler Herrschaft' and its effect on `Benny Hill's' season three?"
Ned (holding up index finger to finish last page): "Yes, dads. I split screened it at breakfast while reading the Times."
Macpeace: "I'll read it at tea."
Ned (closes the book, the Lakota Sioux translation of `Finnegan's Wake' and tosses it onto the pile, bored): "No need- I deleted it- you would have liked it."
Macpeace (gruffly): "Fair enough. I'll trust your judgment."
Alyenora: (cluckingly): "Neddie, Neddie, when are you going to go outside? You know Dr. Buckley said your vitamin D was low. We didn't fly you to Paris for..."
Ned (interrupting): "...I took a pill." (He heaves a heavy sigh, bored.)
Alyenora: (tilting her head back to focus over her reading glasses): "What about friends, Neddie? Have you made an effort to say hello to someone today?"
Ned: "Yes, mummers, in fact- I've met someone."
Both Alyenora and Macpeace stop suddenly in amazement. Ned slinks to center stage paging through `Norse Mythologies and Their Influences on Proustian Clerihews 1920-1933'.
Alyenora (tentatively): "A friend, Nedsums?"
Macpeace: "What is this friend's name? Do we know him?"
Ned: "It's her, father- her."
They both gasp in unison, Alyenora collapsing on the couch.
Alyenora: "But Neddie, why haven't you mentioned this `girl' before? I mean (she touches the tips of her fingers together nervously), where did you meet her?"
Macpeace (sternly): "It's not that we have to vet your (coughs nervously)... friends. It's just that we like to be kept up with what's going on in your life. We've put a lot of our desires into your raising, and, well- we want to make sure that we do what's best for you."
Alyenora: "You see, Ned, there are certain... well, certain traditions our family has tried to sustain through these last few generations. I mean to say, if this is something serious we just want to make sure this girl is... well, that is to say, we'd like to know if this girl is... is..."
Ned (exasperated): "Yes, mother. You don't have to worry."
Macpeace: "Then she's...?"
Ned: "A Library Science major- yes!"
Macpeace blows out tension filled air through puffed cheeks and both parents collapse a bit in relief.
Macpeace: "Thank god!" (Falls onto the couch.)
Alyenora: "We just wanted to make sure she was someone fit for you, Neddie. There are a lot of girls out there that will see your potential and capitalize on your promise. 'Riding on your tailcoats' I believe the expression goes."
Macpeace: "And there are certain advantages to being the offspring of publishers. Many people become interns and work at publishing houses for years just to get their book read by someone. We don't want you being used, my lad. Why, if this person keeps you from that Nobel before thirty..." (He trails off, waving his pipe in the air.)
Alyenora: "He would have had it by now if it wasn't for this country's damnable insistence on making children work for three years in the coal mines!"
A knock at the door snaps everyone to attention.
Ned (blankly): "There she is now."
Macpeace: "My god! You should have told us. Aly- fill that candy dish up with Knipschildt's, it's only half full. (Straightens his hair and tugs at the lapels of his smoking jacket.) And for Joyce's sake, fix your Valentino- Garavino would be appalled."
Alyenora straightens herself and, pulling two Blackborne handkerchiefs from her bodice flails at the dust on the Vermeer by the front door. She aligns herself as Macpeace takes the doorknob. Straightening his back he shows as many teeth as he can and opens the door.
Ned (holding his palm to his father's back- beaming): "Mummy; father, I'd like you to meet Sofia. Sofia Coppola."
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