The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature : The Complete Neal Pollack Recordings

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Summary: He is Mr. T: A Powerful Man
Review: About 3 months ago, I was visiting a site that I always visit. It was Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency. However, on this visit, discussions were being held about a plan to institute a publisher under the name of McSweeneys Books. Their plan, they noted, was to start a company that could publish the best writers in America who don't usually get the shot they deserve. Neal Pollack is the first author to be published under this new imprint. And he is great. In 'The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature', every story is packed with vivid language that provides for the greatest book on the face of this earth. If you don't but this book, you are making the biggest mistake of your life. I am serious. Even the hand installed red satin page marker provides for an emotional reading experience. You will become part of this book. You will cry when you see this book. You will weep tears of joy when you lay your eyes on this beautiful work of literature and book design. Feast your eyes on this and buy it. Neal Pollack is Mr. T, and the A-Team is all up in the literature world. Look out for this man and the great works soon to be coming from McSweeney's, as well.

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Summary: The REAL facts about Eggers rumor, plus a review.
Review: First of all, about the writer. I have read reviews that state that Neal Pollack is actually a pen name of Dave Eggers. I want to tell you once and for all: Neal Pollack is a real person. I talked to him, and as a matter of fact his mother is my Spanish teacher. So, stop speculating! What could be said about this book? At first glimpse, it is a collection of mostly dirty, related short stories about a writer with an oversized ego and his sexual and political escapades. From page one, it is evident that these are some of the funniest short stories to be read; with gut wrenching laughs coming from all sorts of double entendres. But the deeper you read into the book, the more you appreciate the underlying satire. While in some parts it is hard to tell what is being satirized, at least for younger readers like myself, other satire is bitingly clear and adds to the enjoyment of the book. The satire is what shows that this is a carefully thought out work, rather then a book based solely on sex jokes. So, if you are a part of the intelligent crowd, you will enjoy this book for the satire, and if you have never been deep in analyzing literature, then you will love this book for the sex jokes, although there will be people who would hate this book and be offended. Read at your own risk.

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Summary: spinal tap for modern lit
Review: im not in the book-selling biz, but The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature is the funniest f-ing thing ive read since 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" twenty years ago. Its a spinal tap for modern lit. It begins with this introduction:

"Recently, as I entertained a variety of friends and acquaintances (many of whom are employed in publishing and the arts), at my modest yet comfortable summer estate in Malta, it occurred to me that I am almost definitely the greatest writer of my time. I strained to think of others who could challenge my position, but they were too provincial,too tweedy, or too dead. No. I towered above the corroded wreckage that is American letters."

he exquisitely violates every level of literary sense - his leads are so bad theyre classic, his metaphors so tired they "glisten like a glistening jewel" -- this book not only makes me howl when i see vanity fair, or gore vidal, or norman mailer or oliver stone, or a couple of local friends anymore, it makes me nervous about including myself in my own writing - and best of all if one were to strip the style convention from the 'tome' the stories are roaringly ridiculous - this book accomplishes everything bret easton ellis tries to do - without all the posing

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Summary: Egotistical White Male Writers Will Never Be the Same!
Review: Neal Pollack has written a splendid, hilarious, and badly needed parody of self-centered white male authors. His targets range from credible authors such as Gore Vidal and Hemmingway, to more minute members of the species such as Sebastian Junger. And while Pollack may not be aware of it, he has splendidly managed to ridicule the hubris, egotism, and total lack of talent of more obscure "all about me" writers such as Thomas Beller.

Many critics have argued that Pollack's joke was too narrow to warrant the number of pages contained in this modest sized volume. While it is true that some of the parodies are not as funny as others, the book remains, diverse, interesting, and consistently funny. In "The Albania of My Existence", Pollack (clearly imitating Sebastian Junger) discusses what war torn Albania means to his identity and his accomplishments. In "I Am Friends with a Working Class Black Woman" he mirrors countless White guys who believe they are cool enough to understand and to be accepted by poor black people. In "It is Easy to Take a Love in Cuba", Pollack... well, you get the idea. This book is hilarious. It strips egotistical, White male authors and puts them on display. There is no reason why we can't enjoy the writing of some of those authors and also enjoy the skillful manner in which Pollack roasts them.

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Summary: Good, but the same old McSweeney's
Review: Since neither the McSweeney crowd nor their fans have shown the slightest interest in providing anything resembling an informative description of Pollack's book (I guess that would be missing the point), I thought I would at least try, without giving away too much. What we have here is a slim volume of twenty or so parodies of journalistic hubris, most of them shameless confessional profiles ("I marveled at what a different person I'd turned out to be than my grandfather, he the world's largest manufacturer of tube socks and low-grade nuclear weapons, me a free-lance magazine writer, published writer, founder of an experimental kindergarten in the Bronx, and male fashion model.") told by the ubiquitous Gonzo hack, Neal Pollack. There's Pollack in Paris ("Unfortunately, as usual, the waiter didn't speak English, but I communicated to him by rubbing my stomach and clawing insanely at my bloodshot eyes."), in Cuba ("I have been in Cuba for eight days now, and have had sex with 65 different women . . . [One] became my slave for a day after I gave her my copy of The New Yorker's summer fiction issue."), and on "Oprah" with Toni Morrison ("Well, we must form a mutual admiration society. I almost quit writing after I read "Beloved," and I still love "The Pinkest Eye"). But he's at his best on the subject of his own talent: "As for my flaws, my writing is often so damn good that I have a hard time following my own act. Nevertheless, I usually succeed." Nothing original here; Pope did this sort of thing back in the 1740's in "Martinus Scriblerus," as did Irving in "Salmagundi" (perhaps "McSweeney's" earliest NY predecessor) in the early 1800's. At least Pollack knows that this sort of satire works best when it's brief. That said, the best things about the book are the title and the cover. As for the Pollack/Eggers rumor: I think Pollack's new in-laws in Nashville (a very unMcSweeney place) would be suprised to learn that their new son-in-law is really Dave Eggers.

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Summary: Study Questions for Neal Pollack's Collection
Review: Yes, you should buy this book. Sure the premise wears a little thin, but that doesn't happen until a month or so after you've finished the book, so you'll get more than your money's worth. The same thing was true of Woody Allen's early slender volumes, after all, although admittedly those pieces didn't begin to wear thin until well after college.

But in this age of lost privacy and foregone responsibility, in which writers gladly shed their skin to pay the price of fame's ticket, and the finger has been removed farther from the button than Musil ever dreamed, we should ask ourselves about Pollack's literary persona, briefly, and only half-seriously.

So: Genuine literary device, or cloak to mask an indefensible cynicism? As an excuse for shameless self-promotion: lighthearted, or disingenuine? Reply here, in the form of a review, of course.

But buy the book already. How can you answer these questions for yourself if you don't buy the book? Plus, Neal could use the support. For although we wish Neal the very best, there's every possibility this book will mark the apex of his fame: His next project is a CD of musically-accompanied poems.