In this desperately honest and savagely funny “fictional memoir,” Frederick Exley portrays himself as one of life’s real losers; by all accounts, it’s an unflinching self-portrait. Drifting, during his twenties and thirties, in and out of work and through several stints in a mental hospital, “Ex” is a heavy-drinking would-be writer who never actually manages to put down on paper the Big Book that would make him famous. For all the misbehavior and bizarre characters Exley embraces with abandon, the sentences he composes in the shadow of “that long malaise, my life” are filled with an energy and rueful humor that are infectious and unforgettable. They fully earn him the roar of the reading crowd.
Who says protagonists have to be likeable to be interesting? I couldn't stand the "hero," but I couldn't help being beguiled by his misadventures.
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