Jennifer Egan’s spellbinding interlocking narratives circle the lives of Bennie Salazar, an aging former punk rocker and record executive, and Sasha, the passionate, troubled young woman he employs. Although Bennie and Sasha never discover each other’s pasts, the reader does, in intimate detail, along with the secret lives of a host of other characters whose paths intersect with theirs, over many years, in locales as varied as New York, San Francisco, Naples, and Kenya.
We first meet Sasha in her mid-thirties, on her therapist’s couch in New York City, confronting her long-standing compulsion to steal. Later, we learn the genesis of her turmoil when we see her as the child of a violent marriage, then as a runaway living in Naples, then as a college student trying to avert the suicidal impulses of her best friend. We plunge into the hidden yearnings and disappointments of her uncle, an art historian …
Jennifer Egan’s spellbinding interlocking narratives circle the lives of Bennie Salazar, an aging former punk rocker and record executive, and Sasha, the passionate, troubled young woman he employs. Although Bennie and Sasha never discover each other’s pasts, the reader does, in intimate detail, along with the secret lives of a host of other characters whose paths intersect with theirs, over many years, in locales as varied as New York, San Francisco, Naples, and Kenya.
We first meet Sasha in her mid-thirties, on her therapist’s couch in New York City, confronting her long-standing compulsion to steal. Later, we learn the genesis of her turmoil when we see her as the child of a violent marriage, then as a runaway living in Naples, then as a college student trying to avert the suicidal impulses of her best friend. We plunge into the hidden yearnings and disappointments of her uncle, an art historian stuck in a dead marriage, who travels to Naples to extract Sasha from the city’s demimonde and experiences an epiphany of his own while staring at a sculpture of Orpheus and Eurydice in the Museo Nazionale. We meet Bennie Salazar at the melancholy nadir of his adult life—divorced, struggling to connect with his nine-year-old son, listening to a washed-up band in the basement of a suburban house—and then revisit him in 1979, at the height of his youth, shy and tender, reveling in San Francisco’s punk scene as he discovers his ardor for rock and roll and his gift for spotting talent. We learn what became of his high school gang—who thrived and who faltered—and we encounter Lou Kline, Bennie’s catastrophically careless mentor, along with the lovers and children left behind in the wake of Lou’s far-flung sexual conquests and meteoric rise and fall.
A Visit from the Goon Squad is a book about the interplay of time and music, about survival, about the stirrings and transformations set inexorably in motion by even the most passing conjunction of our fates. In a breathtaking array of styles and tones ranging from tragedy to satire to PowerPoint, Egan captures the undertow of self-destruction that we all must either master or succumb to; the basic human hunger for redemption; and the universal tendency to reach for both—and escape the merciless progress of time—in the transporting realms of art and music. Sly, startling, exhilarating work from one of our boldest writers.
Not completely sure how I feel about this novel. I only finished it today so perhaps a few days thinking it over will help cement my opinion. The novel is told from several standpoints, each character interacting with some of the others at a point in their lives, some more fleetingly than others. Progressing through the novel, we jump forwards and backwards in time, understanding how future events were the result of earlier ones and how the characters' relationships develop or are lost. Unfortunately, although I was impressed by individual chapters, I didn't particularly like or identify with any of the characters who, I felt, came across as shallow people.
Review of 'A visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
4 stars
I didn't really like or get attached to any of the characters, and some of the stories seemed fantastical (really, PR for a genocidal dictator?), but I'm still giving this book four stars for doing one of my favorite tricks: threading a collection of short stories together with shared characters.
Review of 'A Visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
4 stars
The most modern book I've ever read, even newer fiction feels old compared to this.
Jennifer Egan really nailed the thoughts and motivations of her characters well. I could identify with every character, male and female alike, young and old, as though I had already been involved in similar conversations and situations and would have come up with the same outcomes. This felt comfortable and yet the stories were imaginatively fresh.
The multiple characters and perspectives did manage to relate loosely to one another in a way that felt natural and real, not forced or classic like a band of adventurers on a quest to destroy a ring or a group stuck together on one side against a group on the other side who are led by the smiling man. The good versus evil or black and whiteness or us and them is not present in the story as there …
The most modern book I've ever read, even newer fiction feels old compared to this.
Jennifer Egan really nailed the thoughts and motivations of her characters well. I could identify with every character, male and female alike, young and old, as though I had already been involved in similar conversations and situations and would have come up with the same outcomes. This felt comfortable and yet the stories were imaginatively fresh.
The multiple characters and perspectives did manage to relate loosely to one another in a way that felt natural and real, not forced or classic like a band of adventurers on a quest to destroy a ring or a group stuck together on one side against a group on the other side who are led by the smiling man. The good versus evil or black and whiteness or us and them is not present in the story as there is no sides.
It's a story about people, like all great stories are about people, and this one seems to focus more on humanity without clouding it with extraordinary circumstances that might make a great adventure movie. Instead, it makes a great book for people to read.
A great book to read telling a story about people. You couldn't ask for more.
Review of 'A visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
4 stars
Time.
Midway through the book, I've realized what the seemingly esoteric title was for. "Time is a goon" said the fat, obsolete rocker. His misery is not only his. It is shared by a multitude of characters who are all victims of time, and what's equally marvelous is the fact that they share in an industry where time is, indeed, the most cruel goon of all. Music.
Keeping with Jennifer Egan's writing is not as difficult as I anticipated. The story was easy to follow. The structure, however, is a complete gem. Her creative shifts of POV in between chapters, and the within the chapters themselves create an atmosphere of modernity. It kept me in dumbfounded attention to both her style and story.
Goon Squad is a story told in impeccable style that doesn't forego understanding. For me who usually associates with the classics of literature by virtue of both …
Time.
Midway through the book, I've realized what the seemingly esoteric title was for. "Time is a goon" said the fat, obsolete rocker. His misery is not only his. It is shared by a multitude of characters who are all victims of time, and what's equally marvelous is the fact that they share in an industry where time is, indeed, the most cruel goon of all. Music.
Keeping with Jennifer Egan's writing is not as difficult as I anticipated. The story was easy to follow. The structure, however, is a complete gem. Her creative shifts of POV in between chapters, and the within the chapters themselves create an atmosphere of modernity. It kept me in dumbfounded attention to both her style and story.
Goon Squad is a story told in impeccable style that doesn't forego understanding. For me who usually associates with the classics of literature by virtue of both narrative depth and virtuoso storytelling, A Visit from the Goon Squad is a revelation amid the many of the lesser fictions plaguing our bookshelves today.
Review of 'A visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
I read this as a library loan on my Kindle (for iPad). Kindle adds something called "Xray" - a cross-reference for all the characters in the story and when they appear. I found this tremendously helpful to keep track of when characters enter and exit, their relationships and the overall plot.
Review of 'A visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
The characters were interesting and likeable, I loved the way their stories were told, and the nonlinear style made it all fascinating. The way people's lives came together at certain points reminded me a little of a Quentin Tarantino movie, and there were also times when the writing put me in mind of David Foster Wallace.
Review of 'A Visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
I can see why this won awards — it's brilliant. Whether you call it a novel, or related short stories, it sweeps you along with fascinating characters. In one chapter, a child uses Powerpoint slide format to produce a brilliant story — now, that's not something the average writer can pull off.
Review of 'A Visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Storygraph'
2 stars
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on …
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on his tongue. Bennie tried not to think of the money. The truth was, he’d spent eight thousand dollars on gold in the past two months. A coke habit would have cost him less. Chris sucked on the gold and closed his eyes. “Dad,” he said. “It’s, like, waking me up from the inside.”
...and:
“Talk to me, Scotty,” Bennie said. “You have a demo tape you want me to hear? You’ve got an album, a band? Songs you’re looking to have produced? What’s on your mind.” He was leaning against the front of the black lozenge, ankles crossed—one of those poses that appears to be very relaxed but is actually very tense. As I looked up at him, I experienced several realizations, all in a sort of cascade: (1) Bennie and I weren’t friends anymore, and we never would be. (2) He was looking to get rid of me as quickly as possible with the least amount of hassle. (3) I already knew that would happen. I’d known it before I arrived. (4) It was the reason I had come to see him.
The interpersonal moments are the best in this book. The author's reflections aren't as up-to-speed. And then you have a few funny bits, like:
“So,” Kitty said, “is this where you bury the bodies?” The general glanced at her, not understanding. Arc stepped quickly forward, as did Dolly. Lulu came too. “Do you bury them here, in pits,” Kitty asked the general in the most friendly, conversational voice, “or do you burn them first?” “Miss Jackson,” Arc said, with a tense, meaningful look. “The general cannot understand you.” The general wasn’t smiling anymore. He was a man who couldn’t abide not knowing what was going on. He’d let go of Kitty’s hand and was speaking sternly to Arc. Lulu tugged Dolly’s hand. “Mom,” she hissed, “make her stop!” Her daughter’s voice startled Dolly out of a momentary paralysis. “Knock it off, Kitty,” she said. “Do you eat them?” Kitty asked the general. “Or do you leave them out so the vultures can do it?” “Shut up, Kitty,” Dolly said, more loudly. “Stop playing games.” The general spoke harshly to Arc, who turned to Dolly. His smooth forehead was visibly moist. “The general is becoming angry, Miss Peale,” he said. And there was the code; Dolly read it clearly. She went to Kitty and seized her tanned arm. She leaned close to Kitty’s face. “If you keep this up,” Dolly said softly, “we will all die.” But one glance into Kitty’s fervid, self-annihilating eyes told her it was hopeless; Kitty couldn’t stop. “Oops!” she said loudly, in mock surprise. “Was I not supposed to bring up the genocide?” Here was a word the general knew. He flung himself away from Kitty as if she were on fire, commanding his solders in a strangled voice. They shoved Dolly away, knocking her to the ground. When she looked back at Kitty, the soldiers had contracted around her, and the actress was obscured from view. Lulu was shouting, trying to drag Dolly onto her feet. “Mommy, do something, do something! Make them stop!” “Arc,” Dolly called, but Arc was lost to her now. He’d taken his place beside the general, who was screaming with rage. The soldiers were carrying Kitty; Dolly had an impression of kicking from within their midst. She could still hear Kitty’s high, reaching voice: “Do you drink their blood, or just use it to mop your floors? “Do you wear their teeth on a string?” There was the sound of a blow, then a scream. Dolly jumped to her feet. But Kitty was gone; the soldiers carried her inside a structure hidden in the trees beside the landing pad. The general and Arc followed them in and shut the door. The jungle was eerily silent: just parrot calls and Lulu’s sobs.
The best moments are quoted above. The worst are the ones where you feel the author has recognised a brain-wave when writing this book, and thought "Oh! This will throw them!" - and yes, it all sadly did. Instead of this, let me recommend Kevin Sampson's "Powder" (for the music) or Chuck Palahniuk's "Rant" (for truly innovative time-warped writing) instead, for more revelatory and shining moments.
Review of 'A Visit from the Goon Squad' on 'Goodreads'
2 stars
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on …
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on his tongue. Bennie tried not to think of the money. The truth was, he’d spent eight thousand dollars on gold in the past two months. A coke habit would have cost him less. Chris sucked on the gold and closed his eyes. “Dad,” he said. “It’s, like, waking me up from the inside.”
...and:
“Talk to me, Scotty,” Bennie said. “You have a demo tape you want me to hear? You’ve got an album, a band? Songs you’re looking to have produced? What’s on your mind.” He was leaning against the front of the black lozenge, ankles crossed—one of those poses that appears to be very relaxed but is actually very tense. As I looked up at him, I experienced several realizations, all in a sort of cascade: (1) Bennie and I weren’t friends anymore, and we never would be. (2) He was looking to get rid of me as quickly as possible with the least amount of hassle. (3) I already knew that would happen. I’d known it before I arrived. (4) It was the reason I had come to see him.
The interpersonal moments are the best in this book. The author's reflections aren't as up-to-speed. And then you have a few funny bits, like:
“So,” Kitty said, “is this where you bury the bodies?” The general glanced at her, not understanding. Arc stepped quickly forward, as did Dolly. Lulu came too. “Do you bury them here, in pits,” Kitty asked the general in the most friendly, conversational voice, “or do you burn them first?” “Miss Jackson,” Arc said, with a tense, meaningful look. “The general cannot understand you.” The general wasn’t smiling anymore. He was a man who couldn’t abide not knowing what was going on. He’d let go of Kitty’s hand and was speaking sternly to Arc. Lulu tugged Dolly’s hand. “Mom,” she hissed, “make her stop!” Her daughter’s voice startled Dolly out of a momentary paralysis. “Knock it off, Kitty,” she said. “Do you eat them?” Kitty asked the general. “Or do you leave them out so the vultures can do it?” “Shut up, Kitty,” Dolly said, more loudly. “Stop playing games.” The general spoke harshly to Arc, who turned to Dolly. His smooth forehead was visibly moist. “The general is becoming angry, Miss Peale,” he said. And there was the code; Dolly read it clearly. She went to Kitty and seized her tanned arm. She leaned close to Kitty’s face. “If you keep this up,” Dolly said softly, “we will all die.” But one glance into Kitty’s fervid, self-annihilating eyes told her it was hopeless; Kitty couldn’t stop. “Oops!” she said loudly, in mock surprise. “Was I not supposed to bring up the genocide?” Here was a word the general knew. He flung himself away from Kitty as if she were on fire, commanding his solders in a strangled voice. They shoved Dolly away, knocking her to the ground. When she looked back at Kitty, the soldiers had contracted around her, and the actress was obscured from view. Lulu was shouting, trying to drag Dolly onto her feet. “Mommy, do something, do something! Make them stop!” “Arc,” Dolly called, but Arc was lost to her now. He’d taken his place beside the general, who was screaming with rage. The soldiers were carrying Kitty; Dolly had an impression of kicking from within their midst. She could still hear Kitty’s high, reaching voice: “Do you drink their blood, or just use it to mop your floors? “Do you wear their teeth on a string?” There was the sound of a blow, then a scream. Dolly jumped to her feet. But Kitty was gone; the soldiers carried her inside a structure hidden in the trees beside the landing pad. The general and Arc followed them in and shut the door. The jungle was eerily silent: just parrot calls and Lulu’s sobs.
The best moments are quoted above. The worst are the ones where you feel the author has recognised a brain-wave when writing this book, and thought "Oh! This will throw them!" - and yes, it all sadly did. Instead of this, let me recommend Kevin Sampson's "Powder" (for the music) or Chuck Palahniuk's "Rant" (for truly innovative time-warped writing) instead, for more revelatory and shining moments.
Review of 'A Visit from the Goon Squad' on 'LibraryThing'
2 stars
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on …
This was quite the rollercoaster book, as the Americans might put it; yes, in the sense that it throughout the first 20% was quite dull and linear, the later 30% made me go on from some elegant sentences - structure, punchline - and the following 50% bored me completely. Bar the graphical chapter. You'll know what I mean. That was good.
Too bad Egan's introductory quote from Marcel Proust was so self-condemning without her knowing it:
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success."
There are some funny, Sam Lipsyte-ish moments in the book, bar the puns. Example:
His son took a fat pinch of gold flakes and put them on his tongue. Bennie tried not to think of the money. The truth was, heâd spent eight thousand dollars on gold in the past two months. A coke habit would have cost him less. Chris sucked on the gold and closed his eyes. âDad,â he said. âItâs, like, waking me up from the inside.â
...and:
âTalk to me, Scotty,â Bennie said. âYou have a demo tape you want me to hear? Youâve got an album, a band? Songs youâre looking to have produced? Whatâs on your mind.â He was leaning against the front of the black lozenge, ankles crossedâone of those poses that appears to be very relaxed but is actually very tense. As I looked up at him, I experienced several realizations, all in a sort of cascade: (1) Bennie and I werenât friends anymore, and we never would be. (2) He was looking to get rid of me as quickly as possible with the least amount of hassle. (3) I already knew that would happen. Iâd known it before I arrived. (4) It was the reason I had come to see him.
The interpersonal moments are the best in this book. The author's reflections aren't as up-to-speed. And then you have a few funny bits, like:
âSo,â Kitty said, âis this where you bury the bodies?â The general glanced at her, not understanding. Arc stepped quickly forward, as did Dolly. Lulu came too. âDo you bury them here, in pits,â Kitty asked the general in the most friendly, conversational voice, âor do you burn them first?â âMiss Jackson,â Arc said, with a tense, meaningful look. âThe general cannot understand you.â The general wasnât smiling anymore. He was a man who couldnât abide not knowing what was going on. Heâd let go of Kittyâs hand and was speaking sternly to Arc. Lulu tugged Dollyâs hand. âMom,â she hissed, âmake her stop!â Her daughterâs voice startled Dolly out of a momentary paralysis. âKnock it off, Kitty,â she said. âDo you eat them?â Kitty asked the general. âOr do you leave them out so the vultures can do it?â âShut up, Kitty,â Dolly said, more loudly. âStop playing games.â The general spoke harshly to Arc, who turned to Dolly. His smooth forehead was visibly moist. âThe general is becoming angry, Miss Peale,â he said. And there was the code; Dolly read it clearly. She went to Kitty and seized her tanned arm. She leaned close to Kittyâs face. âIf you keep this up,â Dolly said softly, âwe will all die.â But one glance into Kittyâs fervid, self-annihilating eyes told her it was hopeless; Kitty couldnât stop. âOops!â she said loudly, in mock surprise. âWas I not supposed to bring up the genocide?â Here was a word the general knew. He flung himself away from Kitty as if she were on fire, commanding his solders in a strangled voice. They shoved Dolly away, knocking her to the ground. When she looked back at Kitty, the soldiers had contracted around her, and the actress was obscured from view. Lulu was shouting, trying to drag Dolly onto her feet. âMommy, do something, do something! Make them stop!â âArc,â Dolly called, but Arc was lost to her now. Heâd taken his place beside the general, who was screaming with rage. The soldiers were carrying Kitty; Dolly had an impression of kicking from within their midst. She could still hear Kittyâs high, reaching voice: âDo you drink their blood, or just use it to mop your floors? âDo you wear their teeth on a string?â There was the sound of a blow, then a scream. Dolly jumped to her feet. But Kitty was gone; the soldiers carried her inside a structure hidden in the trees beside the landing pad. The general and Arc followed them in and shut the door. The jungle was eerily silent: just parrot calls and Luluâs sobs.
The best moments are quoted above. The worst are the ones where you feel the author has recognised a brain-wave when writing this book, and thought "Oh! This will throw them!" - and yes, it all sadly did. Instead of this, let me recommend Kevin Sampson's "Powder" (for the music) or Chuck Palahniuk's "Rant" (for truly innovative time-warped writing) instead, for more revelatory and shining moments.
