tomburkulosis

Continuing the trend established in last week’s Book It Tuesday, I’m going to recommend another novel set in Los Angeles. This one is a little bit tamer than Less Than Zero, but it shares the common theme of the protagonist living a shiftless existence in the City of Angels: The Average American Male by Chad Kultgen.

I recommend it because, well, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past several days and it’s what I plan on doing for the next several more (i.e., until I start working). It’s a highly credited course of existence. If you are following a similar course (no matter where you are), this novel could fit neatly into it: it’s a quick, straightforward read that you can easily bang out in a couple of poolside afternoons.

Pull it up on Amazon and give it a shot if you like what you see… Let me know what you think, and check in next week for a more substantial selection.

Remember Book It? You know you do. It was that dank program you did in elementary school where you got free Pizza Hut for reading books. Those were the days… Back when you thought Pizza Hut was palatable and you could read ten Goosebumps for a personal pan pizza (or whatever). Anyway, as part of my effort to become a more consistent blogger—an effort that includes the award-winning Manly Movie Mondays—I’ll be recommending a new book every Tuesday. Because even if you don’t get free pizza, you should still read a book every once in a while. Mainly because if you don’t, you probably aren’t very interesting.

Introduction aside, this week’s reading material is Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis’s debut novel. Why? Because this week, I’m heading back to Los Angeles, and this book is filled with reasons to hate Los Angeles. And I’m not talking about the clichéd reasons that tourists like to spout—too much traffic, too little culture, etc. I’m talking real shit: This is a profoundly disturbing novel. I found it much more upsetting than American Psycho, mostly because I found myself seriously wondering whether, if I had been raised in a different place and time, I could find myself among the depraved cast of characters. I imagine that most twentysomethings would have a similar reaction.

I remember feeling empty for about three days after reading this. I’m really selling it, aren’t I? Oh well. I still recommend it very highly, because even if it’s depressing and exhausting, it’s actually a quick read and it’s very entertaining. And being depressing and exhausting aren’t necessarily negative qualities in a book, either—a good piece of fiction should probably make you feel something. Otherwise, why bother?