An essay-writing Brooklyn academic who feels he has hit bottom discovers just how much further he can fall.
This novel attempts an exquisite balancing act between the farcical and the devastatingly sad and between the political polarities its protagonist sets out to address. The present moment is most certainly out of joint for Paul, who is in the midst of writing his first book in perhaps his last gasp toward relevance. He has titled it The Luddite Manifesto, and it attempts to connect the contemporary culture’s addiction to screens with the election of a president whom he finds abhorrent. The novelist plainly has sympathy for Paul, his positions, and his plight, yet he also presents him as a sad sack—self-important, oppressively judgmental, a divorced dad now living with his own mother, demoted by his college English department from lecturer (with benefits) to adjunct. Somehow he must navigate his way through the modern world, supplementing his income by driving for a ride-share, which requires him to get one of those smartphones he despises. Soon he finds himself sharing his opinions on a political website where he becomes desperate for “likes.” Having established a character who is both sympathetic and ridiculous, the novel must find something for him to do; he maneuvers through his daughter’s decreasingly enthusiastic sleepovers, a #MeToo accusation from one of his few prized students, and a chance encounter with the producer of a right-wing TV commentary show to which his mother is addicted. Paul makes a last grandiose attempt to establish himself as a “great man,” and it’s a doozy.
The novel generates plenty of dark humor from its serious issues and predicaments.