Deleted member 30764
Is it worth it purchasing this book? And, yes I know that it has a notoriously bad reputation.
I almost have to believe that’s what he set out to achieve with this book.It depends what you are looking for. There are a few glimmers of Morrissey's old lyrical genius here and there, largely within the first 20 pages, but it swiftly becomes an almost unreadable chore, because it's just so badly written. Highly purple prose, mangled syntax, and a rambling narrative that goes precisely nowhere - by the end I felt embaressed for Moz that it had been published, and the publisher didn't have the balls to tell him 'no'. Every character is clearly a mouthpiece for Morrissey, so there may be some interest in reading between the lines to get some of his views, though you might not like what you discover (the attitude displayed towards women throughout is pretty loathsome and misogynistic). The sex scenes are genuinely hilarious though, and worth reading just for the LOLs.
I came out of it with less respect for the author than I had going in, but it's all part of the jigsaw that is Morrissey, so for better or worse you might as well give it a bash. It's a terrible novel, but if nothing else it's an intruiging and revealing insight into his psyche.
I almost have to believe that’s what he set out to achieve with this book.
All the things you just listed, seem to me, like he did that entirely on purpose.
It might be complete wishful thinking on my part? The way his eccentric sense of self and humor are, almost leads me to believe, he actively wanted to write a book completely panned by critics and even his own fans.
I don't think he's eccentric enough to write something deliberately awful, just to troll people. I suspect this is simply a case of what happens when a star believes their own publicity. After years of being described as one of the greatest living lyricists, I suspect his ego was large enough that he really thought he was the new Oscar Wilde - this is someone who demanded his autobiography by published as a 'Penguin Classic', and posed with signs saying he should be the new Poet Laureate. When you get to that level of stardom, you are just surrounded by yes-men, and no one who will give an honest opinion about anything. Clearly, 'List of the Lost' was published under the proviso that it was a work of genius, and no editor should touch a word of it. I'm sure he was genuinly shocked when it became a laughing stock. He probably still thinks it's great, and it's just the evil 'mainstream media' out to get him.The way his eccentric sense of self and humor are, almost leads me to believe, he actively wanted to write a book completely panned by critics and even his own fans.
Oh god I'd forgotten about that review, it's genius. Even for sarcastic little asides like:Here's a review, which is an absolute riot and probably longer than the novel itself.
Morrissey Novel - Morrissey -that one- wrote an abysmal novel entitled List of the Lost in 2015, and it got The Reducer treatment this week.www.balls.ie
Look, this book is not bad because it’s a bit pretentious or slightly wanky, or merely a bit weird on matters of relationships or sex, or even just because it’s filled with hundreds of unprompted lectures about Morrissey’s hobby horse subjects. Sure it's weird that every single character is from Boston, but has the same exact personality and tone of voice, and the same fascination with the British Royal family and the evils of judges and the meat industry. But mainly, it’s bad because it is genuinely near-unreadable. In real terms. In every sense. From the grammar upwards. Not simply in style, or sensibility, or plot. Morrissey is a bad writer in the way that someone might be a bad cook. It’s all the wrong ingredients, in all the wrong order. Forever. If you list all the bad things about this book, you list every single thing in this book. Yes, the style, its sensibility and plot, but also the grammar, spelling, sentence structure, even the f***ing names of the characters. There are never-ending paragraphs that rumble and tumble awkwardly until they come to an abrupt hard-stop, or else career recklessly forward into the next grab bag of cold, wet nonsense. For pages and pages and pages.