Through this Friday, all available back issues of Wholphin are half off—10 bucks apiece for countless warm evenings of rare films, featuring Miranda July, Paul Rudd, Donald Trump, and a monkey-faced eel. - - - - |
- - - - Copyright NowCulture
- - - - Lemon: A Review By Ernest Hilbert A startling and exhilarating first novel from from playwright Lawrence Krauser . . . Made available to an unsuspecting public by the book-publishing arm of the advancing McSweeney's empire, Lemon displays Krauser's whimsical and keen grasp of the bizarre range of human emotions linked to obsession. Lemon centers on a young New Yorker, recently dumped by his girlfriend, who develops a grotesque but fully sincere attachment to, yes, a lemon. One might question: why a lemon? After reading the novel, the more obvious question appears to be: what other than a lemon? Krauser successfully makes the case for the lemon as the most divine and effortlessly worshiped of fruits. The prose, absolutely original and unique, floats through frames of emotional distraction and focus: jumps, deflates, and then sings. Comparisons to Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Notes from the Underground and Nikolai Gogol's "Diary of a Madman" may seem appropriate, but they are probably too close to the point. Krauser's sweeping inflections of Franz Kafka and James Joyce, even John Barth, are set against robust ironic anglings reminiscent of Thomas Pynchon, William S. Burroughs, and a shaker-full of Hunter S. Thompson. Lemon is a must-read this summer, perhaps with a glass of lemonade or a stronger drink made radiantly sour with the bright juice of the lemon. - - - -
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