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‘Less’ offers more in Andrew Sean Greer’s follow-up to his Pulitzer-winning novel

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‘Less’ offers more in Andrew Sean Greer’s follow-up to his Pulitzer-winning novel

Much less is Misplaced, by Andrew Sean Greer

Little, Brown


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Why can we underrate comedy once we want it so badly? When Andrew Sean Greer’s novel Much less gained the Pulitzer Prize in 2018 there was a dismissive shrug on the a part of some critics. In spite of everything, the Pulitzer is normally awarded to a novel that is not as a lot enjoyable to learn as Much less was.

A satire of the pretensions of the literary world, Much less chronicled the efforts of its hero — the white, homosexual, American, minor author, Arthur Much less — to outrun his impending fiftieth birthday and the marriage of his former associate by accepting each invitation to each literary convention, junket, author’s retreat and competition that got here his manner. Naturally, when information of a sequel to Much less was introduced, extra dismissive shrugging ensued, as if nobody remembered acclaimed sequels written by the likes of John Updike, Philip Roth and Hilary Mantel.

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Much less is Misplaced picks up with Arthur Much less now dwelling with that aforementioned associate, Freddy Pelu, who left his new husband to return to Much less. You’d suppose that demonstration of affection could be sufficient, however Much less is a chronically unsure particular person, liable to what Freddy, who acts as our occasional narrator, calls a “clumsiness of the guts.” The dying right here of Much less’ old flame, the well-known poet Robert Brownburn, solely deepens Much less’s uncertainty, because it seems that Much less owes a decade of again hire on the San Francisco bungalow he is been dwelling in that was owned by Brownburn.

Happily, for a author so minor he is usually confused with one other minor author of the identical title (although the opposite man is African American), Much less has these days been receiving a surprisingly excessive variety of invites for profitable literary gigs — public lectures, shiny writing assignments, and the like. So Much less hits the highway once more — this time within the U.S. Each he and Freddy assume {that a} separation could make clear their relationship.

Much less’ first task is in Palm Springs, the place he’ll write a profile of the science fiction author H.H.H. Mandern, who appeared within the first novel. This is Greer’s skewering description of Mandern:

A bestselling writer since his first e book, Incubus, got here out in 1978 … H.H. H. Mandern immediately turned a towering determine on this planet of books, with … his striped Vincent Worth beard … [and] rock-star conduct akin to  … setting cash on fireplace. … However nothing stopped his output: a novel, generally two a 12 months, and never simply any novels however six-hundred-page portraits of interstellar battle and alien empire-building that may take a traditional human being a 12 months simply to sort.”

Mandern, at all times cranky, makes use of the profile as a bargaining chip to make Much less drive him and his pug canine in a decrepit camper van by means of the Mojave desert for a reunion along with his estranged daughter. Thus begins a travelogue by means of the West and South the place, amongst different misadventures, Much less is repeatedly greeted by the proprietors of RV parks with variations on this query, right here requested by a woman in Louisiana:

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“Now, you are not from round listed below are you, honey?” …

“No. …” [answers Less]

“See, I believed from the way you sounded, you was from the Netherlands.

Much less, we’re instructed, “is aware of what this implies. … and he has by no means identified what to say. As a result of the query [this woman] is absolutely asking, with out in any respect figuring out she is asking it, with out that means something on this planet besides that she detects a linguistic flourish, is Are you a gay?”

The query you might be asking at this level is: Is Much less Is Misplaced pretty much as good, as humorous, as poignant as its predecessor? To which I might fortunately reply: Sure, at the very least!

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There are prolonged comedian passages right here about Much less’ Walloon ancestry and a mediocre homosexual males’s refrain singing Leonard Cohen songs that I learn aloud, laughing, to anybody I may waylay. However comedy additionally arises out of ache and Greer easily transitions into the profound, akin to on this rumination by Much less concerning the empty encounter he has on the journey along with his long-lost father:

The second holds neither disappointment nor delight. Realizing we’re not in love is just not the heartbreaking sensation we think about once we are in love — as a result of it’s no sensation in any respect. It’s a realization made by a bystander.

Greer has mentioned in interviews that this sequel is the tip of Much less. That might be a disgrace. Greer ought to add much more to Much less’ saga and take him so far as he can go.

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Lifestyle

The songs that define America : Consider This from NPR

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The songs that define America : Consider This from NPR

C.J. Gunther/AFP via Getty Images

Shadows of musicians from the Boston Symphony Orchestra fall on the American Flag during a performance at a prayer and song ceremony in Boston 14 September 2001 held in honor of the victims of the 11 September terrorist attack on US soil.

C.J. Gunther/AFP via Getty Images

Independence Day means different things to each of us. On this 249th birthday for America, we spend some time looking at different definitions of America by revisiting NPR’s 2018 series: American Anthem — which had the simple goal of telling 50 stories about 50 songs that have become galvanizing forces in American culture.

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For sponsor-free episodes of Consider This, sign up for Consider This+ via Apple Podcasts or at plus.npr.org.

Email us at considerthis@npr.org.

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L.A. Affairs: I dated all kinds of complicated guys. Would L.A. men be any different?

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L.A. Affairs: I dated all kinds of complicated guys. Would L.A. men be any different?

Sitting on a plane from Budapest to Los Angeles — a journey I was familiar with — felt different this time. I was visualizing my new startup job in sunny Manhattan Beach, thinking through onboarding and first impressions. But mostly, I was excited to meet my new colleagues and make the most of my three-week stay in California.

On a whim, I messaged an old Hungarian friend I hadn’t seen in 10 years. We’d completely lost touch, and I wasn’t even sure he’d reply. But he did.

I landed in L.A. on a bright Monday afternoon at the end of September, full of curiosity and optimism. Our office was just steps from the ocean, and when I caught my first glimpse of the Pacific on the way to work, I thought: Is this really my life now?

I had no idea just how much more it would change.

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That weekend, my friend Gabor and I planned a little road trip to Long Beach. He picked me up from my hotel, and we spent the day catching up, making scenic stops along the coast.

Palos Verdes left me speechless. I envy anyone seeing it for the first time. But it was Long Beach and Crystal Cove that truly stole the show.

On the drive back, Gabor casually mentioned his friend Adam, a fellow Hungarian who lived in Marina del Rey and had a boat. “We could go for a little cruise tomorrow,” he said. I had time. So sure. Why not?

Sunday arrived. I still remember seeing Adam from afar. He was tall, tanned, wearing shorts and flip-flops, and cracking jokes before even saying hello. Oh, dear God, I thought. He thinks he’s funny.

Spoiler alert: That was the day I met my future husband.

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Adam started the engines and off we went. He was playful, effortlessly cool, a bit too cool for my taste. But the sun was shining, and the ocean breeze was soft. I had a cool job in my pocket and I was cruising the Pacific while escaping autumn in Europe. I couldn’t have cared less about anything else.

Suddenly, Adam turned to me and said, “Want to drive?”

“What?” I laughed. Was he serious? He just met me! Why would he hand over control of this … vessel? Still, I jumped at the opportunity.

With his guidance, I drove a yacht for the first time, an unexpectedly empowering moment.

I’ll remember that moment forever. That small, genuine gesture — offering control — meant so much to me.

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Here’s the thing: I’ve always struggled with men. I was previously married, dated all kinds of complicated guys and had been single for eight years. Most of them tried to control me, made me feel like I was too much or not enough, never fully accepting the strong, fearless, curious, ambitious and adventurous woman I am. So I wasn’t looking.

But being in Adam’s presence felt different. It was respectful, natural, effortless. No games.

Still I was leaving in two weeks. No reason to overthink anything.

Before I knew it, we exchanged numbers. Adam kept reaching out. He made an effort, something I wasn’t used to. We had dinner, ran errands (yes, including doing laundry — romantic, I know), and when Gabor bailed on weekend plans, Adam proposed something bold: “Do you like road trips? Let’s explore California a bit.”

“Absolutely,” I replied without hesitation. (What was I thinking though?)

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He didn’t know that travel and road trips in particular were my love language — nature too.

It was another surprising sign that maybe we had more in common than just being Hungarian. He planned everything: the itinerary, the stops, the accommodation. My contribution? A good playlist and a packed bag. For once, I wasn’t the one orchestrating it all. It felt amazing to be cared for by a capable man. And I was impressed — it was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We hit the road. Santa Barbara first, then Solvang for Danish pastries and strong coffee (what a gem!), then continued on to Sequoia. I was enchanted by the ancient trees and the mystical forest. The vibe between us? Electric. I half-expected a kiss, but it never came. Well, never mind.

While convincing myself we’d never become a thing, we took the scenic route back to L.A., talking openly about our pasts and dreams. The whole time, a quiet voice inside me whispered: I like the version of me next to him.

Something shifted. Suddenly, I felt a sting of sadness, knowing my final week in California was about to begin. We said we’d stay in touch. But no expectations.

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Then something unexpected happened: A week that was supposed to be packed with meetings started clearing up. One by one, things got canceled, and suddenly I had time. And I knew exactly who I wanted to spend it with. I texted Adam.

In his usual casual way, he replied: “Want to go for a sunset cruise?” Yes. Always yes.

That evening was pure magic. The sea, the light, the feeling of being completely at ease.

Afterward, we had dinner at a tiny Thai place in Venice Beach. It was just us. No distractions.

While sipping wonton soup under the California sky, I realized I was falling in love. I saw the same thing in his eyes.

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The next night, he took me to the beach in El Segundo. He packed a blanket, grapes, cheese and crackers. We watched the sunset, and I was wrapped in his arms. His kisses warmed me more than the sun ever could. (I know — cheesy. But true.)

Friday came, my last full day. He planned everything: a trip to the Getty, hand-in-hand laughter, sweeping city views. For the first time, I saw L.A. not just as a place to visit but as a place to stay. We had dinner in Venice and walked the pier. It was perfect.

The next morning, he drove me to Los Angeles International Airport.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

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But here’s the thing: Sometimes life surprises you when you least expect it.

I did come back. He did propose. And I said the easiest yes of my life.

I found the love of my life at 42, in the most unrealistic way, place and time. This month, we’re celebrating our first anniversary, happily living in Marina del Rey.

Since that first cruise, we’ve had many more — each one different, but one thing never changes: our love for each other. If you don’t believe in true love or in angels, maybe you haven’t been to L.A.

This city gave me more than a new job, a new view or a new chapter. It gave me him. And now, it’s home. Happily ever after.

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The author lives in Marina del Rey. She works in people strategy and leadership development and moved to L.A. from Budapest last year.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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Actor Michael Madsen, known for 'Kill Bill' and 'Reservoir Dogs,' dead at 67

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Actor Michael Madsen, known for 'Kill Bill' and 'Reservoir Dogs,' dead at 67

Actor Michael Madsen was found unresponsive Thursday morning, following a cardiac arrest.

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Michael Madsen, the actor known for his collaborations with director Quentin Tarantino, has died. He was found unresponsive in his Malibu home Thursday morning after a cardiac arrest. He was 67 years old.

The news was confirmed by his managers, Susan Ferris and Rob Smith, and publicist Liz Rodriguez, who sent a statement stating, “Michael Madsen was one of Hollywood’s most iconic actors, who will be missed by many.”

Madsen had more than 300 credits to his name – across film, television and video games. But he was maybe best known for his role in Quentin Tarantino’s 1992 directorial debut, Reservoir Dogs. As Mr. Blonde, he was soft-spoken yet terrifying – exemplified by the now-classic scene involving a straight-razor and an ear.

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He worked with Tarantino multiple times in Kill Bill and The Hateful Eight.

According to the statement from his representatives, Madsen was “looking forward to the next chapter of his life.” He has multiple feature films upcoming, and he was preparing to release a new book, titled Tears for My Father: Outlaw Thoughts and Poems.

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