Michael Jortner

When I was at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena a few weeks ago, this super tall and skinny trans redhead came up to me and said she’d “heard” this book was “good.” [Side note: A friend said she was probably trying to pick me up—but I’m oblivious to things like that so whatevs]. Because it’s so short and small I thought, “Okay this is so random that maybe I should take her advice. Maybe this book is F’in brilliant.” Well…it’s okay. I’m honestly shocked that so many people seem to think this book is a “masterpiece.” I got through it but it was a slog. Not that I didn’t enjoy parts of it. I did. I highlighted a couple dozen stanzas but remember - haha - they all begin with “I remember” and, frankly, it gets boring. Also, several sentences are racially insensitive to say the least and I’m surprised they were even published in the original printing back in 1975. He grew up in Tulsa, but still…I mean, why write stuff like that? Who does it serve? In the afterward a close friend of the author says, “Joe’s writing was also influenced by the treated-image painting of Andy Warhol….” Now that makes sense to me. I suppose, for me, repetition is cool as far as it goes—but maybe in a piece of artwork it makes more sense.