"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius"

[Sherrerd]

@Sampiro

I couldn’t get into it. I felt it should have been entitled A SELF ABSORBED WORK OF TOTAL NARCISSISM.

@JKilez

At the risk of being whooshed, that is pretty much what it is titled.

Not really: the title “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” is meant to be taken as ironic. We’re to assume the author is being self-deprecating in a very hip and whimsical and po-mo way.

Whereas the title “A Self-Absorbed Work of Total Narcissism” would contain no irony at all; just description.

[typoink]

Unless I was being whooshed, I believe Eggers has said he doesn’t like the title. He wanted something like “Heartbreaking Work of Unbearable Sadness” but the publisher thought it was too down. “Staggering Genius” was a quick pitch that stuck but he never liked and thought was too glib.

[gallows_fodder]

@elbows

I picked it up, when it first came out, in an airport, about to take a 30+ hr journey. I enjoyed it and did think it was genius. But in fact, I was going through some stuff not unlike the task he takes on, so there was a whole lot of resonance for me.

When a couple of years later I read it being slagged here, I pulled it down and looked over it anew, no longer neck deep in dealing with a difficult day to day struggle, it really did seem a different book to me.

I mightn’t read it today, but it really did speak to me at the time. He quite aptly puts into words some of the onerous ness of sacrificing your own life, to care for another, and the kinds of challenges and interactions that manifest, as a result. A lot of it rang true for me. I could relate, I guess. But maybe it didn’t ring true for others, so much.

Truly enjoyed it at the time though.

This is my experience, too. I first read it in my early 20s, while I was struggling with the responsibilities of adulthood, and was both moved by the story and delighted by all the quirks in the writing and publishing (like the jokes in the colophon).

Then I tried to read it again a couple years ago after my mother died from cancer, hoping it would be a comfort, and I found it so unbearably affected I could only get through 10 pages or so.

I really did love it the first time, though.

[Jimmy_Chitwood]

@typoink

Unless I was being whooshed, I believe Eggers has said he doesn’t like the title. He wanted something like “Heartbreaking Work of Unbearable Sadness” but the publisher thought it was too down. “Staggering Genius” was a quick pitch that stuck but he never liked and thought was too glib.

It’s right in the book:

The author wishes to acknowledge your problems with the title. He too has reservations. The title you see on the cover was the winner of a round-robin sort of title tourney, held outside Phoenix, Arizona, over a long weekend in December 1998. The other contenders, with reasons for failure: A Heartbreaking Work of Death and Embarrassment (true but unappealing); An Astounding Work of Courage and Strength (Stephen Ambrose would have cause for action); Memories of a Catholic Boyhood (also taken, more or less); and Old and Black in America (risqué, some say)…Many of you, particularly those among you who seek out the maudlin and melodramatic, were struck by the “Heartbreaking” part. Others thought the “Staggering Genius” element seemed like a pretty good recommendation. Others thought the “Staggering Genius” element seemed like a pretty good recommendation. But then you thought, Hey, can these two elements work together? Or might they be like peanut butter and chocolate, plaid and paisley – never to peacefully co-exist? Like, if this book is, indeed, heartbreaking, then why spoil the mood with the puffery? Or, if the title is some elaborate joke, then why make an attempt at sentiment?” Which is to say nothing of the faux (real? No, you beg, please no) boastfulness of the whole title put together. In the end, one’s only logical interpretation of the title’s intent is as a) a cheap kind of joke b) buttressed by an interest in lamely executed titular innovation (employed, one suspects, only to shock) which is c) undermined of course by the cheap joke aspect, and d) confused by the creeping feeling one gets that the author is dead serious in his feeling that the title is an accurate description of the content, intent, and quality of the book. Oh, pshaw—does it even matter now? Hells no. You’re here, you’re in, we’re havin’ a party!

Which, from my perspective, is about right, except the book is actually titled that, and why is it actually titled that.

[TruCelt]

At first I liked the Author and disliked the book. The author felt like a stand-up guy who wanted to put down his thoughts and experiences in case they were helpful to anyone else. The book felt amateurish and light, with a desperate need for a decent content editor who could turn it into a thoughtful short story.

By the end I liked the book but hated the author. The book felt like an honest enough account that one could perceive the gulf between the authors youthful impressions of his actions and decision-making even though lacking in any real literary skill. the author felt like a full-on disorder-level narcissist with little or no ability to learn from the pain he was causing to others.

Keep in mind it’s been a very long time since I read it. I recall these impressions, but probably couldn’t provide much more detail into what they are based upon. I do recall their having been further entrenched by this interview: Dave Eggers interview 2004 - YouTube

I also recall finding certain passages being just a painful, disjointed slog through a word morass. The section about playing frisbee comes to mind. I forced myself to read every word of it, but I still have no idea what that was all about.

[Maserschmidt]

I bailed a little less than halfway through, which I thought was a reasonable try. But the writing was so coy, so pleased with its own cleverness, that I did have to stop. It’s the same reason I find most of McSweeney’s unreadable.

I do like David Foster Wallace a lot, on the other hand. There’s something much more human and honest in DFW’s writing, and less verbal stunt pilotry.

[Cartooniverse]

Again, I’m saddened ( no wait, to use the vernacular under examination here,) " I’m stupefied into a molten fudge wading pool of muted acquiescence that can only be devoured by a squealing gaggle of 15 year old anorexics. The source of the aforementioned stupefaction is the image on the cover that reads, ’ Pulitzer Prize Finalist '. Joey Pulitzer is spinning in his grave like a gyroscope purchased at the Sharper Image in the San Francisco Airport as a last-minute, I don’t really give a shit but I know you will be better behaved for a few hours if I give you this gift gift. "

:rolleyes::rolleyes::rolleyes::rolleyes:

[Jimmy_Chitwood]

I’m not really sure what the criticism is there, specifically, but does it help any if I tell you he was nominated for non-fiction, not fiction?

[Cartooniverse]

Nope. I’m hardly alone in my distaste for this book. It’s a bit of a sham(e) that it was even considered.

The lowering of the bar, the lowering of the bar.

[Jimmy_Chitwood]

I know you’re not alone. I didn’t like it either. But it strikes me as unusual to be concerned about the lowering of the bar for nomination as a finalist for the non-fiction Pulitzer. Which works of non-fiction of 2001 were shamefully bypassed?

Maybe Heartbreaking Work of etc. etc. was that much of a drop in quality from Living on the Wind: Across the Hemisphere with Migratory Birds by Scott Weidensaul or The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory by Brian Greene, the previous year’s non-winning finalists, but I sure as hell don’t know.

[Sampiro]

@Maserschmidt

the writing was so coy, so pleased with its own cleverness, that I did have to stop.

This excellently sums up my opinion.