The Gospel According to Larry

by Janet Tashjian Narrated by Jesse Eisenberg

Overview

Josh Swensen is not your average 17-year-old. At the age of two, he was figuring out algebraic equations with colored magnetic numbers. He is a prodigy who only wants to make the world a better place. Josh's wish comes true when his virtual alter ego, Larry, becomes a huge media sensation. Larry has his own Web site where he posts sermons on anti-consumerism and has a large following of adults and teens. Meanwhile, Larry's identity is a mystery to everyone. While it seems as if the whole world is trying to figure out Larry's true identity, Josh feels trapped inside his own creation. What will happen to the world, and to Larry, if he is exposed?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

A highly intelligent 17-year-old takes on a pseudonym and starts a Web site that rants against consumer culture. As his popularity grows and his identity becomes impossible to hide, he is forced to reevaluate his medium for instigating change. "A funny, thoughtful novel that takes on some sophisticated issues," wrote PW. Ages 12-up. (May) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

Written as an alleged account that a teen prophet handed to the author to publish, Tashjian's (Tru Confessions) funny, thoughtful novel takes on some sophisticated issues. Highly intelligent 17-year-old Josh Swensen wants to save the world and hopefully seduce Beth, the best friend for whom he pines. Josh's self-deprecating, humorous tone carries readers swiftly along ("Can someone please explain to me how this preoccupation with dopey athletes happens even to headstrong young women who... score 750s on their SATs?" he says when Beth gravitates to "Todd Terrific, a new jock she was obsessed with"). As the anonymous Larry, the hero starts a Web site (www.thegospelaccordingtolarry.com) on which he rants against consumer culture and its obsession with celebrities. But as Larry's popularity grows, Josh's identity becomes impossible to hide, forcing him to reevaluate his medium for instigating change. The popularity of his site which contains his "sermons," photos of some of his 75 possessions and parodies of ad campaigns may not be entirely convincing to some teens, but his compelling character and other clever flourishes, like Larryfest, the advertising-free rock festival put together by U2's Bono, or the make-up counter at Bloomingdale's, where Josh goes to connect with the spirit of his dead mother, keep the novel clipping along. Tashjian not only gives readers a good primer on materialism (and Thoreau), she also makes them think about a different kind of activism. Ages 12-up. (Nov.) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

School Library Journal

Gr 7-11-In this novel by Janet Tashjian (Holt, 2001), high school senior Josh Swenson is afraid to tell Beth, his best friend since sixth grade, that he's in love with her. Josh creates an anonymous Web site and an Internet persona named Larry to air his personal philosophy and dispense advice to the girl he loves. Larry is fast becoming a media sensation contrary to all the things Josh personifies. Framed by an artful disclaimer read by the author concerning how and why Josh's tale is being told for the first time, the story itself is read by Jesse Eisenberg who captures Josh's frenetic and sometimes manic style. A very nice pacing allows the Biblical quotes at section intervals to be set off clearly. The aural cues of a manual typewriter as Josh writes as Larry or the camera whir as he takes photos of his (and Larry's) limited possessions also help keep the story's different sections as clear in a listener's mind as they are on the printed page. Even the footnotes Josh inserts wryly come through well as Eisenberg uses a sotto voce delivery. As an auditory adaptation of a very visual book, this succeeds extremely well. The story's Internet-based plot combined with a fair amount of thought-provoking issues such as consumerism, tolerance, friendship, and love, will appeal to middle and high school students.-Jane P. Fenn, Corning-Painted Post West High School, NY Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Josh Swensen is a prodigy. At age two, he did algebraic equations with refrigerator magnets. His mother's threats of "no science homework after dinner" were enough to keep his behavior in line. His first word, shouted from his car seat, was "FASTER!" Now a self-proclaimed rebel against consumer culture and a latter-day Thoreau, Josh has created Larry, his Internet alter ego with his own Web site, where Larry delivers sermons railing against the control of our lives by advertising companies and our "culture that worships people just for being famous." Josh steals ads from his advertising-consultant stepfather's briefcase, manipulates the images into anorexic Gap models, cigarette ad models hooked up to oxygen machines, and swooshes turned into swastikas, and puts them on the Web site. Following a fortuitous alliance with Bono and U2, and a Woodstock-like event called Larryfest, Larry takes on a life of his own. The festival draws hundreds of thousands of fellow pilgrims and spiritual seekers, and the Web site now can't handle the 255 million hits it receives daily. Josh, through Larry, has become what he never intended to be-a celebrity-and he must find a way to pull the plug. Told in Josh's first-person narrative laced with Larry's sermons and photographs, the story accelerates with Larry's rise as a cult leader. Tashjian's inventive story is a thrilling read, fast-paced with much fast food for thought about our consumer-oriented pop culture. A parallel narrative about Beth, Josh's childhood friend and secret love, works nicely, too. The voice is clear, the ending satisfying. Teenagers will eat this one up. (Fiction. YA)

From the Publisher

* [A] thrilling read, fast-paced with much fast food for thought about our consumer-oriented pop culture. . . .Teenagers will eat this one up.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“* Tashjian's gift for portraying bright adolescents with insight and humor reaches near perfection here.” —School Library Journal, starred review

“* Tashjian fabricates a cleverly constructed scenario and expertly carries it out to the bittersweet end.” —The Horn Book, starred review

“* Very fresh.” —Booklist, starred review

“[A] clever wake-up call to the perils of consumerism for the sensitive and passionate teenage generation.” —Christian Science Monitor

“An innovative, fast-paced, arresting novel in a teen's voice that you won't forget.” —Contra Costa Times

“I'll predict that 99 percent of the teen-agers who read The Gospel According to Larry will love it.” —Long Beach Press Telegram

“A surprising and absorbing book.” —Cleveland Plain Dealer

“Tashjian skillfully uses humor and provides one of the most honest voices in young adult literature since Steve York and Rob Thomas's.” —VOYA

“Humorous. . . .The author gets all the notes just right—the wired adolescent passions, the destructive effects of the media spotlight, and the technology.” —Times Picayune

“Tashjian is sure to increase in popularity with the adolescent set.” —Book Report

“This is a great, well-written read.” —Colorado Independent

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169349542
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	04/13/2004
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Part One

"I haven't enjoyed a rant this much since Thoreau," Beth said. "We need people stirring up the way we think about things."

My best friend, Beth, was trying to talk me into forming a Larry study group with her. His Web site received hundreds of hits a day, mostly from teens and college students. No one knew Larry's identity, and that conjecture alone was the source of several companion Web sites. Many kids at school were fans, but Beth was rabid.

"Josh, I know neither one of us has ever joined a club in our life," she said. "But that's precisely why we should."

I tried to listen to the details of her story, I really did, but there is something about Beth's mouth that gets in the way of paying attention to its contents. She often wore a certain brown lipstick and outlined the edges of her lips with this pencil she carried in her bag. Every time she talked, it was like this pale chocolate snowcone staring up at me, waiting to be eaten. I've been in love with her since sixth grade, but she didn't have a clue.

"I'll help you with the club," I said. "But just so the two of us can bag all the meetings and laugh at the other people who show up."

She wasn't amused. "This isn't a joke. Someone is finally talking about the things I've been saying all along, and I think it's important to help spread the word. Are you in or are you out?"

"Of course I'm in. I can't let you do this on your own. Next thing I know you'll be running for prom queen or something."

She punched me in the arm, her usual form of affection. "Hey, why don't you help me at the store this afternoon? We're having a run on shovels."

Beth's father'shardware store had been our work/tree house/summer camp since grammar school. Sorting the nuts and bolts, counting the different lightbulbs, shoveling the woodchips into wheelbarrows had never seemed like a job to either of us. The small store prided itself on carrying everything a homeowner could need, but for a loner like me it was a nonthreatening way to be a part of the community without too much social pressure. I told Beth I'd meet her there at four.

For a brief moment I pretended we were a couple, not snowbound outside Boston, but romping through the Caribbean surf--tan and in love. My fantasy shattered, however, when she waved goodbye and headed across the cafeteria to Todd Terrific--a new jock she was obsessed with. Can someone please explain to me how this preoccupation with dopey athletes happens even to headstrong young women who work in hardware stores and score 1350s on their SATs? Beth, what are you doing to me? Life was cruel and unfair--what did this Larry guy have to say about that?

The rest of school went by like the movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray wakes up and every day is the same, down to the last boring details. Even when something new did happen--fire drill, substitute teacher--it was still just a giant yawn in the storyline. To keep myself amused during study hall, I invented a new alphabet based on the sense of smell.

At home that night, I booted up my laptop and logged on. I checked my e-mail, then the small portfolio of stocks my mother left me when she died. I made one last online stop: to Larry. I wondered if Beth was doing the same thing at the same time--an unrequited cyberdate.

The Larry logo filled the screen--a peace sign with a dove, a floppy disk, a planet, and a plug inside each of its four sections. I scrolled down through several photographs to comments people had written that day: puljohn posted a new link to Adbusters. Toejam ranted about Larry's last sermon, calling it brilliantly flawed. I was in the middle of reading his argument when Peter knocked quickly, then stuck his head in my room.

"Want some leftover pizza?"

My stepfather was the ultimate businessman; even in his terrycloth robe and slippers with the squashed heels, he could command his advertising consulting firm from the brink of failure to unbridled success. He had the whole sales thing down--the firm handshake, the warm smile, the good listening. It was the real Peter, not put on, like lots of other guys at his company.

He looked over my shoulder and checked out the screen.

"I've heard about this Larry," he said. "Some guy bashing our culture online. Anonymous coward."

"Some people think it's one of the big televangelists trying to reach the teen market. Or maybe it's a bored housewife in the suburbs looking for something to do."

Peter shook his head. "Probably some hacker trying to make a name for himself."

"I'll add that to the list of hypotheses," I said.

"You do that." He handed me a slice of pizza on a paper towel. "Dinner at Katherine's tomorrow. That okay with you?"

"Sure. Great." Katherine was my stepfather's girlfriend who had been putting on the full-court press to be the next Mrs. Swensen. I didn't have the nerve to tell Peter I found her as interesting as a bag of rice.

Peter closed the door and headed downstairs to his office. I browsed the Larry archives, then printed out the latest sermon to prepare for Beth tomorrow.

Sermon #93

Slip on your Gap jeans, your Nike T-shirt, your Reeboks--or maybe even your Cons if you think that makes you cool and ironic in a Kurt Cobain kind of way. Grab your Adidas backpack, ride to school on your Razor, drink your Poland Spring, eat your PowerBar, write a paper on your iMac, slip on your Ralph Lauren windbreaker. Buy the latest CD from Tower, check the caller ID to see who's on the phone, eat your Doritos, drink your Coke. Stare at the TV till you're stupefied.

Is there any time of the day when we're not being used and abused by the advertising companies? Can we have an inch of free space, do you mind? Some ambitious kids rent their head space--the outside, not the inside (although the inside space is certainly emptier)--to local companies by shaving ads into their hair for all their friends to see. It's just a matter of time before corporations figure out a way to sell you stuff while you're sleeping. Maybe some kind of vitamin that releases visual and sonic enzymes that run like a ticker tape through your dreams--ALL THE LATEST RELEASES NOW AT BLOCKBUSTER ... CHEESIER NACHOS AT CHILI'S . . . BY THE WAY, YOU'RE SNORING. . . .

Am I the only one who sees the irony of sitting in lit class reading 1984, having a discussion of Big Brother watching out for us like it's some time way in the future? Some science fiction nightmare that's never really going to happen? Hel-lo? Our lives couldn't be more dictated by the corporations if they gave our schools A/V equipment in exchange for making us watch commercials in class.

Oh yeah, they do that already.

Never mind.

Good thing Peter hadn't hung around for that one. By two a.m., I had fourteen pages of notes for the new Larry club. When I added up all the things I'd done for Beth over the years, I figured it was more effort than they put into developing the last space shuttle.

And completely and totally worth it.

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