National Book Critics Circle Award Winner
PEN/Faulkner Award Finalist
A New York Times Book Review Best Book
One of the Best Books of the Year: Boston Globe, Chicago Tribune, The Daily Beast, The Miami Herald, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune, Newsday, NPR's On Point, O, the Oprah Magazine, People, Publishers Weekly, Salon, San Francisco Chronicle, Seattle Times, Slate, Time, The Washington Post, and Village Voice
Bennie is an aging former punk rocker and record executive. Sasha is the passionate, troubled young woman he employs. Here Jennifer Egan brilliantly reveals their pasts, along with the inner lives of a host of other characters whose paths intersect with theirs. With music pulsing on every page, A Visit from the Goon Squad is a startling, exhilarating novel of self-destruction and redemption.
|Publisher:||Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||4.94(w) x 8.06(h) x 0.74(d)|
About the Author
Jennifer Egan is the author of four novels: A Visit from the Goon Squad, The Keep, Look at Me, The Invisible Circus; and the story collection Emerald City. Her stories have been published in The New Yorker, Harper’s Magazine, GQ, Zoetrope, All-Story, and Ploughshares, and her nonfiction appears frequently in The New York Times Magazine. She lives with her husband and sons in Brooklyn.
Read an Excerpt
It began the usual way, in the bathroom of the Lassimo Hotel. Sasha was adjusting her yellow eye shadow in the mirror when she noticed a bag
on the floor beside the sink that must have belonged to the woman
whose peeing she could faintly hear through the vaultlike door of a toilet stall. Inside the rim of the bag, barely visible, was a wallet made of pale green leather. It was easy for Sasha to recognize, looking back, that the peeing woman's blind trust had provoked her: We live in a city where people will steal the hair off your head if you give them half a chance, but you leave your stuff lying in plain sight and expect it to be waiting for you when you come back? It made her want to teach the woman a lesson. But this wish only camouflaged the deeper feeling Sasha always had: that at, tender wallet, offering itself to her hand-it seemed so dull, so life-as-usual to just leave it there rather than seize the moment, accept the challenge, take the leap, fly the coop, throw caution to the wind, live dangerously ("I get it," Coz, her therapist, said), and take the fucking thing.
"You mean steal it."
He was trying to get Sasha to use that word, which was harder to avoid in the case of a wallet than with a lot of the things she'd lifted over the past year, when her condition (as Coz referred to it) had begun to accelerate: five sets of keys, fourteen pairs of sunglasses, a child's striped scarf, binoculars, a cheese grater, a pocketknife, twenty-eight bars of soap, and eighty-five pens, ranging from cheap ballpoints she'd used to sign debit-card slips to the aubergine Visconti that cost two hundred sixty dollars online, which she'd lifted from her former boss's lawyer during a contracts meeting. Sasha no longer took anything from stores-their cold, inert goods didn't tempt her. Only from people.
"Okay," she said. "Steal it."
Sasha and Coz had dubbed that feeling she got the "personal challenge," as in: taking the wallet was a way for Sasha to assert her toughness, her individuality. What they needed to do was switch things around in her head so that the challenge became not taking the wallet but leaving it. That would be the cure, although Coz never used words like "cure." He wore funky sweaters and let her call him Coz, but he was old school inscrutable, to the point where Sasha couldn't tell if he was gay or straight, if he'd written famous books, or if (as she sometimes suspected) he was one of those escaped cons who impersonate surgeons and wind
up leaving their operating tools inside people's skulls. Of course, these questions could have been resolved on Google in less than a minute, but they were useful questions (according to Coz), and so far, Sasha had resisted.
The couch where she lay in his office was blue leather and very soft. Coz liked the couch, he'd told her, because it relieved them both of the burden of eye contact. "You don't like eye contact?" Sasha had asked. It seemed like a weird thing for a therapist to admit.
"I find it tiring," he'd said. "This way, we can both look where we want."
"Where will you look?"
He smiled. "You can see my options."
"Where do you usually look? When people are on the couch."
"Around the room," Coz said. "At the ceiling. Into space."
"Do you ever sleep?"
Sasha usually looked at the window, which faced the street, and tonight, as she continued her story, was rippled with rain. She'd glimpsed the wallet, tender and overripe as a peach. She'd plucked it from the woman's bag and slipped it into her own small handbag, which she'd zipped shut before the sound of peeing had stopped. She'd flicked open the bathroom door and floated back through the lobby to the bar. She and the wallet's owner had never seen each other.
Prewallet, Sasha had been in the grip of a dire evening: lame date (yet another) brooding behind dark bangs, sometimes glancing at the flat-screen TV, where a Jets game seemed to interest him more than Sasha's admittedly overhandled tales of Bennie Salazar, her old boss, who was famous for founding the Sow's Ear record label and who also (Sasha happened to know) sprinkled gold flakes into his coffee-as an aphrodisiac, she suspected-and sprayed pesticide in his armpits.
Postwallet, however, the scene tingled with mirthful possibility. Sasha felt the waiters eyeing her as she sidled back to the table holding her handbag with its secret weight. She sat down and took a sip of her Melon Madness Martini and cocked her head at Alex. She smiled her yes/no smile. "Hello," she said.
The yes/no smile was amazingly effective.
"You're happy," Alex said.
"I'm always happy," Sasha said. "Sometimes I just forget."
Alex had paid the bill while she was in the bathroom-clear proof that he'd been on the verge of aborting their date. Now he studied her. "You feel like going somewhere else?"
They stood. Alex wore black cords and a white button-up shirt. He was a legal secretary. On e-mail he'd been fanciful, almost goofy, but in person he seemed simultaneously anxious and bored. She could tell that he was in excellent shape, not from going to the gym but from being young enough that his body was still imprinted with whatever sports he'd played in high school and college. Sasha, who was thirty-five, had passed that point. Still, not even Coz knew her real age. The closest anyone had come to guessing it was thirty-one, and most put her in her twenties. She worked out daily and avoided the sun. Her online profiles all listed her as twenty-eight.
As she followed Alex from the bar, she couldn't resist unzipping her purse and touching the fat green wallet just for a second, for the contraction it made her feel around her heart.
"You're aware of how the theft makes you feel," Coz said. "To the point where you remind yourself of it to improve your mood. But do you think about how it makes the other person feel?"
Sasha tipped back her head to look at him. She made a point of doing this now and then, just to remind Coz that she wasn't an idiot-she knew the question had a right answer. She and Coz were collaborators, writing a story whose end had already been determined: she would get well. She would stop stealing from people and start caring again about the things that had once guided her: music; the network of friends she'd made when she first came to New York; a set of goals she'd scrawled on a big sheet of newsprint and taped to the walls of her early apartments:
Find a band to manage
Understand the news
Practice the harp
"I don't think about the people," Sasha said.
"But it isn't that you lack empathy," Coz said. "We know that, because of the plumber."
Sasha sighed. She'd told Coz the plumber story about a month ago, and he'd found a way to bring it up at almost every session since. The plumber was an old man, sent by Sasha's landlord to investigate a leak in the apartment below hers. He'd appeared in Sasha's doorway, tufts of gray on his head, and within a minute-boom-he'd hit the floor and crawled under her bathtub like an animal fumbling its way into a familiar hole. The fingers he'd groped toward the bolts behind the tub were grimed to cigar stubs, and reaching made his sweatshirt hike up, exposing a soft white back. Sasha turned away, stricken by the old man's abasement, anxious to leave for her temp job, except that the plumber was talking to her, asking about the length and frequency of her showers. "I never use it," she told him curtly. "I shower at the gym." He nodded without acknowledging her rudeness, apparently used to it. Sasha's nose began to prickle; she shut her eyes and pushed hard on both temples.
Opening her eyes, she saw the plumber's tool belt lying on the floor at her feet. It had a beautiful screwdriver in it, the orange translucent handle gleaming like a lollipop in its worn leather loop, the silvery shaft sculpted, sparkling. Sasha felt herself contract around the object in a single yawn of appetite; she needed to hold the screwdriver, just for a minute. She bent her knees and plucked it noiselessly from the belt. Not a bangle jangled; her bony hands were spastic at most things, but she was good at this-made for it, she often thought, in the first drifty moments after lifting something. And once the screwdriver was in her hand, she felt instant relief from the pain of having an old soft-backed man snuffling under her tub, and then something more than relief: a blessed indifference, as if the very idea of feeling pain over such a thing were baffling.
"And what about after he'd gone?" Coz had asked when Sasha told him the story. "How did the screwdriver look to you then?"
There was a pause. "Normal," she said.
"Really. Not special anymore?"
"Like any screwdriver."
Sasha had heard Coz shift behind her and felt something happen in the room: the screwdriver, which she'd placed on the table (recently supplemented with a second table) where she kept the things she'd lifted, and which she'd barely looked at since, seemed to hang in the air of Coz's office. It floated between them: a symbol.
"And how did you feel?" Coz asked quietly. "About having taken it from the plumber you pitied?"
How did she feel? How did she feel? There was a right answer, of course. At times Sasha had to fight the urge to lie simply as a way of depriving Coz of it.
"Bad," she said. "Okay? I felt bad. Shit, I'm bankrupting myself to pay for you-obviously I get that this isn't a great way to live."
More than once, Coz had tried to connect the plumber to Sasha's father, who had disappeared when she was six. She was careful not to indulge this line of thinking. "I don't remember him," she told Coz. "I have nothing to say." She did this for Coz's protection and her own- they were writing a story of redemption, of fresh beginnings and second chances. But in that direction lay only sorrow.
Sasha and Alex crossed the lobby of the Lassimo Hotel in the direction of the street. Sasha hugged her purse to her shoulder, the warm ball of wallet snuggled in her armpit. As they passed the angular budded branches by the big glass doors to the street, a woman zigzagged into their path. "Wait," she said. "You haven't seen-I'm desperate."
Sasha felt a twang of terror. It was the woman whose wallet she'd taken-she knew this instantly, although the person before her had nothing in common with the blithe, raven-haired wallet owner she'd pictured. This woman had vulnerable brown eyes and flat pointy shoes that clicked too loudly on the marble floor. There was plenty of gray in her frizzy brown hair.
Sasha took Alex's arm, trying to steer him through the doors. She felt his pulse of surprise at her touch, but he stayed put. "Have we seen what?" he said.
"Someone stole my wallet. My ID is gone, and I have to catch a plane tomorrow morning. I'm just desperate!" She stared beseechingly at both of them. It was the sort of frank need that New Yorkers quickly learn how to hide, and Sasha recoiled. It had never occurred to her that the woman was from out of town.
"Have you called the police?" Alex asked.
"The concierge said he would call. But I'm also wondering-could it have fallen out somewhere?" She looked helplessly at the marble floor around their feet. Sasha relaxed slightly. This woman was the type who annoyed people without meaning to; apology shadowed her movements even now, as she followed Alex to the concierge's desk. Sasha trailed behind.
"Is someone helping this person?" she heard Alex ask.
The concierge was young and spiky haired. "We've called the police," he said defensively.
Alex turned to the woman. "Where did this happen?"
"In the ladies' room. I think."
"Who else was there?"
"It was empty?"
"There might have been someone, but I didn't see her."
Alex swung around to Sasha. "You were just in the bathroom," he said. "Did you see anyone?"
"No," she managed to say. She had Xanax in her purse, but she couldn't open her purse. Even with it zipped, she feared that the wallet would blurt into view in some way that she couldn't control, unleashing a cascade of horrors: arrest, shame, poverty, death.
Alex turned to the concierge. "How come I'm asking these questions instead of you?" he said. "Someone just got robbed in your hotel. Don't you have, like, security?"
The words "robbed" and "security" managed to pierce the soothing backbeat that pumped through not just the Lassimo but every hotel like it in New York City. There was a mild ripple of interest from the lobby.
"I've called security," the concierge said, adjusting his neck. "I'll call them again."
Sasha glanced at Alex. He was angry, and the anger made him recognizable in a way that an hour of aimless chatter (mostly hers, it was true) had not: he was new to New York. He came from someplace smaller. He had a thing or two to prove about how people should treat one another.
Two security guys showed up, the same on TV and in life: beefy guys whose scrupulous politeness was somehow linked to their willingness to crack skulls. They dispersed to search the bar. Sasha wished feverishly that she'd left the wallet there, as if this were an impulse she'd barely resisted.
"I'll check the bathroom," she told Alex, and forced herself to walk slowly around the elevator bank. The bathroom was empty. Sasha opened her purse, took out the wallet, unearthed her vial of Xanax, and popped one between her teeth. They worked faster if you chewed them. As the caustic taste flooded her mouth, she scanned the room, trying to decide where to ditch the wallet: In the stall? Under the sink? The decision paralyzed her. She had to do this right, to emerge unscathed, and if she could, if she did-she had a frenzied sense of making a promise to Coz.
The bathroom door opened, and the woman walked in. Her frantic eyes met Sasha's in the bathroom mirror: narrow, green, equally frantic. There was a pause, during which Sasha felt that she was being confronted; the woman knew, had known all along. Sasha handed her the wallet. She saw, from the woman's stunned expression, that she was wrong.
Reading Group Guide
The questions, discussion topics, and suggestions for further reading that follow are designed to enhance your group's discussion of Jennifer Egan’s stunning new work, A Visit from the Goon Squad. In a satirical and oddly touching book, Egan brings to life the recent past, captures the confusions and ambiguities of the present, and speculates about the future of America.
A Note from Jennifer Egan
When I talk to audiences about how I came to write A Visit from the Goon Squad in the form it takes, someone invariably says, “I really wish I’d heard what you just said before reading the book; I would have enjoyed it more.” So it seems worth summarizing my remarks for the benefit of book clubs—or individual readers—who haven’t yet read the book, or might have read it and felt confused.
I began A Visit from the Goon Squad without a clear plan, following my own curiosity from one character and situation to the next. My guiding rules were only these: 1) Each chapter had to be about a different person. 2) Each chapter had to have a different mood and tone and approach. 3) Each chapter had to stand completely on its own. This last was especially important; since I ask readers to start over repeatedly in A Visit from the Goon Squad, it seemed the least I could do was provide a total experience each time.
In other words, you can read this book without making a single connection between any two chapters. They were written—and published—as individual pieces, apart from the book as a whole.
I didn’t think of A Visit from the Goon Squad as a novel while I was working on it; nor did I think of it as a collection of short stories. I honestly wasn’t sure what it was. Only when I found myself wanting to call its halves “A” and “B,” did I suddenly realize which genre I’d been working in all along: the concept album. By which I mean the great storytelling albums I grew up with in the 1970s: The Who’s Tommy, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust. A concept album is a story told in parts that sound completely different from each other (that’s the fun of an album, right?), yet also work together.
So, as you read A Visit from the Goon Squad, don’t worry about whether you’re “getting it” or whether it’s really a novel, or what connections you might have missed. None of that matters. The point is to have fun reading a tangle of stories in a lot of contrasting styles. If you’ll do that, then you’re exactly the reader I’d hoped for.
1. A Visit from the Goon Squad shifts among various perspectives, voices, and time periods, and in one striking chapter (pp. 234–309), departs from conventional narrative entirely. What does the mixture of voices and narrative forms convey about the nature of experience and the creation of memories? Why has Egan arranged the stories out of chronological sequence?
2. In “A to B” Bosco unintentionally coins the phrase “Time’s a goon” (p. 127), used again by Bennie in “Pure Language” (p. 332). What does Bosco mean? What does Bennie mean? What does the author mean?
3. “Found Objects” and “The Gold Cure” include accounts of Sasha’s and Bennie’s therapy sessions. Sasha picks and chooses what she shares: “She did this for Coz’s protection and her own—they were writing a story of redemption, of fresh beginnings and second chances” (pp. 8–9). Bennie tries to adhere to a list of no-no’s his shrink has supplied (p. 24). What do the tone and the content of these sections suggest about the purpose and value of therapy? Do they provide a helpful perspective on the characters?
4. Lou makes his first appearance in “Ask Me If I Care” (pp. 39–58) as an unprincipled, highly successful businessman; “Safari” (pp. 59–83) provides an intimate, disturbing look at the way he treats his children and lover; and “You (Plural)” (pp. 84–91) presents him as a sick old man. What do his relationships with Rhea and Mindy have in common? To what extent do both women accept (and perhaps encourage) his abhorrent behavior, and why to they do so? Do the conversations between Lou and Rolph, and Rolph’s interactions with his sister and Mindy, prepare you for the tragedy that occurs almost twenty years later? What emotions does Lou’s afternoon in “You (Plural)” with Jocelyn and Rhea provoke? Is he basically the same person he was in the earlier chapters?
5. Why does Scotty decide to get in touch with Bennie? What strategies do each of them employ as they spar with each other? How does the past, including Scotty’s dominant role in the band and his marriage to Alice, the girl both men pursued, affect the balance of power? In what ways is Scotty’s belief that “one key ingredient of so-called experience is the delusional faith that it is unique and special, that those included in it are privileged and those excluded from it are missing out” (p. 98) confirmed at the meeting? Is their reunion in “Pure Language” a continuation of the pattern set when they were teenagers, or does it reflect changes in their fortunes as well as in the world around them?
6. Sasha’s troubled background comes to light in “Good-bye, My Love” (pp. 208–33). Do Ted’s recollections of her childhood explain Sasha’s behavior? To what extent is Sasha’s “catalog of woes” (p. 213) representative of her generation as a whole? How do Ted’s feelings about his career and wife color his reactions to Sasha? What does the flash-forward to “another day more than twenty years after this one” (p. 233) imply about the transitory moments in our lives?
7. Musicians, groupies, and entertainment executives and publicists figure prominently in A Visit from the Goon Squad. What do the careers and private lives of Bennie, Lou, and Scotty (“X’s and O’s”; “Pure Language”); Bosco and Stephanie (“A to B”); and Dolly (“Selling the General”) suggest about American culture and society over the decades? Discuss how specific details and cultural references (e.g., names of real people, bands, and venues) add authenticity to Egan’s fictional creations.
8. The chapters in this book can be read as stand-alone stories. How does this affect the reader’s engagement with individual characters and the events in their lives? Which characters or stories did you find the most compelling? By the end, does everything fall into place to form a satisfying storyline?
9. Read the quotation from Proust that Egan uses as an epigraph (p. ix). How do Proust’s observations apply to A Visit from the Goon Squad? What impact do changing times and different contexts have on how the characters perceive and present themselves? Are the attitudes and actions of some characters more consistent than others', and if so, why?
10. In a recent interview Egan said, “I think anyone who’s writing satirically about the future of America and life often looks prophetic. . . . I think we’re all part of a zeitgeist and we’re all listening to and absorbing the same things, consciously or unconsciously. . . .” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, February 8, 2010). Considering current social trends and political realities, including fears of war and environmental devastation, evaluate the future Egan envisions in “Pure Language” and “Great Rock and Roll Pauses.”
11. What does “Pure Language” have to say about authenticity in a technological and digital age? Would you view the response to Bennie, Alex, and Lulu’s marketing venture differently if the musician had been someone other than Scotty Hausmann and his slide guitar? Stop/Go (from “The Gold Cure”), for example?
(For a complete list of available reading group guides, and to sign up for the Reading Group Center enewsletter, visit: www.readinggroupcenter.com.)
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
The publisher really should have taken a bit more time formatting this book for the Nook. (Or any ereader, really. I've heard the following complaint from users of competing readers as well.) In the chapter that's written in Powerpoint format, the "slides" really are too small to be read comfortably on the Nook. They fill less than half the page, and unless you're in a brightly lit room with good eyes (or glasses) you'll probably strain to read the pages. And no, changing the font size doesn't do anything to improve the situation. Shame on Knopf Doubleday for glossing over this important factor. It's a disservice to readers of the ebook and the author.
This book is a collection of interlinked stories, but each one could easily stand on it's own as an excellent work of short fiction. They collectively give us a snapshot of the class system in modern America and an examination of where "art" ends in music and commercialism begins. Many of the characters could be the basis of an excellent novel and their reappearance from different views over many decades of narrative gives a novel-like depth to them. By writing as a collection of stories, Ms. Egan is able to experiment with different voices and styles of writing which make reading the collection more interesting. I was also quite intrigued by the presentation of one story in a non-traditional format that dominates much of my professional communication (don't want to give the details away). I found the final story somewhat weak compared to the rest, partially due to it's futuristic setting; nonetheless, I understand it's placement and purpose in the collection.
I bought this book due to the favorable reviews online and in The Daily Beast. While I admire the different approach that Egan enlisted I found the book hard to follow and quite frustrating. I was very ready to put the book down and start another
I loved this book for many reasons. First, it was told in stories or separate narratives. I love this. Second, it was a rich interweaving story about music, failure, rebounding, and how passing time doesn't always heal wounds. Third, it is a wistful but not necessarily sad story about how we weave in and out of each others lives. Fourth, It left me feeling refreshed, nostalgic, and reflective. Loved it. Just read it and read it soon.
Record-company executive Bennie Salazar wonders where the years went as he listens to another horrific band of young untalented egos that believe they belong at the top. Divorced, he feels removed from his tweener son as if he still lives in analog and the kid is digital. Bennie thinks back to the late 1970s in the Bay area when he was young and part of the punk band Flaming Dildos that thought they belonged at the top. Bennie's former assistant Sasha is a mother hiding out in the desert after a youthful life of impulsive thieving. Her tweener daughter Alison thinks her mom is out of step with the digital world. Meanwhile Bennie meets Alex who dated Sasha. He later hires him to obtain the services of fifty paid "parrots" to pretend to be fans of a group performing at a concert. His target audience he informs Alexis is the silent future majority who text rather than speak. The key to the five decades of Bennie and others is what happens to a person when cynical age fueled by addictions and complacencies overcomes youthful rebellious fervor. Character driven with a powerful ensemble cast who all seem fully developed, the loci points anchor the epic story line are Bennie and Sasha. Jennifer Egan is a virtuoso as readers will relish the changes of the information age as music is a terrific milieu as the industry travels from vinyl to cassettes to CDs to DVDs; mirroring society. Harriet Klausner
I think it might be a little misleading to call this book a novel. It reads more like a well-executed exercise from a graduate writing program. The characters were interesting, but that's the best I can say. I'm not sure I felt any depth of emotion for any of them, which I find helps me connect a little better with a story. Just didn't happen here. Seems to me that this should have been a novel about Sasha, but the author just couldn't manage to pull it off. The disjointed leaps in time and location certainly didn't help. Elizabeth Strout managed this much better in Olive Kitteridge. Still, it's worth a try. Just don'ty spend too much on it. It isn't worth hardcover prices.
This book is a masterpiece. Although all of the chapters are excellent, I was probably 3-4 chapters in before I was hooked. Then by the end I couldn't get over how delicately the narrative was constructed; out of sequence but still surprising me completely again and again. I recommend this book to people who like books with heavy character development, and interesting structure.
Egan is a brilliantly economic writer whose literary chops are on full display here. Though some might be disappointed not to find a linear novel in Goon Squad, there is a pulsing energy to each and every one of these stories ("Safari" and "Selling the General" were my favorites), and each story is threaded together with familiar themes and characters. The penultimate tale, however--the much-discussed Powerpoint presentation--seems a bit too artsy and post-modern cool for my taste. To be fair, it wasn't the actual technique I didn't like (I'm all for writers taking chances and the characters in this one were no less engaging), it was the sheer volume of pages it took up. Though great for the Nook, in printed form it looks wasteful, as wasteful as many of the characters that inhabit Goon Squad (and perhaps that is Egan's point, but for me it just took too many pages to be worthwhile). Otherwise, there is not much I would change here. Indeed if I wished anything different of Egan's stories is that they could have been drawn out into novellas and novels of their own. But of course that criticism is only praise in disguise. Time is a goon and this goon is done...
This book was AWFUL. I cannot believe that this book has been so well reviewed. Do people think it is clever because all of the chapters/characters are inter-connected? The characters are neurotic and the storylines bizarre. SO disappointing!
While I appreciate the kudos Egan has received for writing a novel so loosely woven, I did not fully appreciate this story simply because I could not follow the thread. I spent a large amount of time trying to figure out what I was reading and what contribution it had to the "whole" of the story. In fact, I'm not sure I ever really got the "whole" of this story. This jumble of more-or-less vignettes left me fairly ambivalent about the characters and this book.
The NYT reviewer has it right: uncategorizable. If you're looking for a novel with a plot, a beginning, middle, and end, this isn't it. If you're looking for a good read that's different and in many ways refreshing, buy this book. However, if you are reading it on a Nook or other e-reader, beware of the chapter that is POV a young girl in the near future and is all in powerpoint-like graphs -- you can increase the font size all you want, you'll still need a magnifying glass to read them. Bad planning on the part of the publisher.
A Visit from the Goon Squad is about the passage of time and its effects on Sasha and Bennie, the two protagonists. The plot jumps between Benny and Sasha, showing them first as their present day selves, then delving into their pasts to explore how they got to their current situation, and finally progressing with them through their lives. The reader is introduced to a host of characters, who may seem trivial at first, but all come back to play a role in the protagonists' lives later on. In this way, Egan's book can only be described as a literal interpretation of life itself in its most raw and basic form. My compliments to Jennifer Egan for writing truly remarkable book. Although the beginning was a little confusing, I soon adjusted to and came to enjoy her unique writing style. The book was very engaging and every character brought a new dynamic to the story. My favorite chapter would have to be the one written in slide journal, and intriguing concept that I've never come across before but, in my opinion, a very effective one. I would definitely recommend this book to anyone and everyone, and even TIME magazine agrees with me: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1997438,00.html If you would like to read more of my reviews please visit my blog at ayushi30.blogspot.com
different writing style sometimes overdone but all in all-an alright book
This book just didn't do it for me. I was bored, there was no depth, and it seemed like it lack effort. I read it because the first chapter captivated me, and it won the Pulitzer prize. I was also interested in it because I grew up during that time in the punk scene and experience some of the same things the characters went through, but it was just very blah. I actually stopped reading it halfway through which is something I am so against, but I felt like I just needed to move on. This book just did nothing for me.
My suggestion would be start a character list from the first page. Each chapter is a mini-story in itself, which were all great. However, it was next to impossible to follow along with the extensive list of characters, unless you plan to read the entire thing in one sitting. It was interesting but oh so frustrating. I definitely won't be rereading.
Wow. what a complete disappointment. I had no emotional tie to any character that was introduced in this (these) story (stories). I was really looking forward to reading it. And I read the entire book, just hoping there would finally be connection somehow. I did not care what happened literally to any one of these characters.
Another book group choice for which I could find very few redeeming qualities. I couldn't care less about the characters and made no effort to try to keep them straight in my mind. Maybe I'm still "analog".
I liked the concept, but didnt enjoy reading the book. I didnt connect with any character or get a sense of the point of the story.
I have read everything by Jennifer Egan. I usually devour her books. This book was absolutely painful to read. I didn't feel connected to any of the characters and the flow of the book was choppy at best. Each time I felt myself getting into the book, it would change gears, and not smoothly. I didn't even like the characters. Benny seemed smarmy. I finally gave up on it after about 100 pages. It's too bad!
Annoyingly disjointed. I stuck with the book for far too long, in the hopes that the stories would "come together" and make some sense. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. In the future, I'll read customer reviews more carefully because it's clear from what others say that the book is lacking in plot and in flow.
I read some reviews, I saw that it won lots of awards, it's been compared to Borges and Calvino. Maslin says it's tough and uncategorizable. I tried hard to see it that way, but I can't see it as anything but a conventional story held together by interlocking characters and an awesome mastery of Powerpoint, which might excite an executive of Microsoft, but was boring to me. I like experimental fiction. I read Cortazar's "Hopscotch" the ways he suggested it be read. I really did, and enjoyed it. But this? Experimental? No way. Several of the chapters, or stories, are very moving and well written. I'm giving it a low rating because I feel like it's a case of the Emperor's clothes. And this book is mostly naked, after all the hype it's gotten.
I've done terrible things to people I love dearly. I can relate to the indie spirit of punk rock and the expectations of the adult world. I've held my beautiful son in my hands, as well as a needle. I've experienced the delusional rush of drugs, and the poignant ironies of aging ... I've believed, I've scoffed ... all of which make Jennifer's novel a touchstone. She has captured something magical (not necessarily pretty) about the human experience and the redemption possible after wasted youth. I couldn't recommend a book any more.
Kaleidoscopically interweaving the hopes and dreams, successes and failures, thoughts and actions of a vast array of utterly compelling characters, Jennifer Egan knocks it out of the park with GOON SQUAD. I found this novel--its centrifuge the punk-rock scene of San Francisco in the late 70's and outward from there--riveting from start to finish. It is funny, heartbreaking, poignant, honest, and both innovative and intricate in its conveyance of these desperate, lost, brilliant people and the traversing of their lives across several decades, states, countries, vocations, fates, destinies, and deaths. It's also a thrillingly surprising narrative. Never had any idea where it was going to go. Chapter 12 alone floored me. Floored. Being a Pulitzer-junkie, I always run right out and purchase whatever novel wins the prize (if I have not already read it, I mean) and 90% of the time I feel disappointed in the winner, thinking, 'Wait--why did this book win? It's really not that good.' Well, I understand why GOON SQUAD won the Pulitzer for fiction. And I concur. I will not easily forget it. It was a wild ride.
I enjoyed the almost web of characters. The author starts with two characters and then from the people they are in contact with tell their stories. By the middle to end of the book you see how they tie in together. However, with all the characters that were presented especially further along in the book I forgot who most of them were. Sasha who is one of the main characters is throughout the book, but I did not catch that until I dwelled on what I read later. I also did not like some of the content such as the drugs, sex and language. I am glad I finished it because it redeemed itself in my mind in the end but would not recommend.
Not sure why this book won the Pulitzer. Although the writing was polished I had a hard time following the story line. Almost felt I needed an outline to follow the characters. This was recommended by our Book Club and we have not discussed yet so maybe I missed the whole point.