I know you shouldn't start judging a work until you've finished reading it, which is pretty much why I do it. I like to see some issues as I read. Sorrentino's book is kicking ass at this point in my reading, about a quarter of the way thru. he does indeed have the sort of story in a story in a story frame that Flann O'Brien used. as he urges the story along he's commenting on the contaption that is the novel, the occasionally silly demand of plot and characterization. sometimes it reads like a roman a clef, other times the characters just seem like types. Sorrentino reaches a snide hilarity, prickly and indiscreet. rather relentlessly so, you might think Smollett. it feels like he decided as he wrote to trash his characters rather than just paint them. I'm fine with that, tho I did earlier note my discomfort with authors who don't like their characters. I guess if the author can unfurl an acid tongue as well as Sorrentino, it's okay. tho really, he lets the characters skewer themselves. I hate the attitude of keen portraiture in fiction, the sort of refiend work that wins awards. authors of such seem so uninvested when they effort such precision, as if the author can't get dirty. even Proust gets dirty, because he's so crazily focused on the people of his milieu, focused, curious, envious, and enamoured of. this book isn't as wild as Love and Fame in New York by Ed Sanders, with which it shares similarities. Sanders cranks invention by setting the story slightly in the future. Sorrentino ushers current types (circa 60s) thru his book. so much so that the book at times feels dated. I don't know all references, but even those that I do sound of a period. references to WCW, for instance, sound like what references to Creeley must sound today, an accepted master yet still vigourous (the writing at least). soon the honourifics will tone down with Creeley and emphasis will be given more to his human frailities. I mean, drunken fistfights with Pollock sound cool now, but when the big critical bio appears, we'll be treated to a pattern. this is an important step in the bio industry. that and What's this I hear about Creeley and the American Nazi party?. but I digress. Sorrentino seems lighthearted (in a grouchy way) about the process and procession of the novel. the novel as a form suffers so many plangencies, especially the one where you're supposed to feel better, learn more about the human condition, etc etc, GAH!!! like a poem, the novel does not want to be directed. as Sorrentino comments and footnotes, he allows lateral movement on the path. that is, he shifts his gaze away from that pinpoin goal THE THEME, you know: Moby Dick is about Man's Inhumanity to Man. please, let us all eschew straight lines.