OurColony.net

"I'll Have A Gibson"

Customer Rating:
I didn't really think I'd enjoy this book because it was advertised in the New Yorker. Shallow reasoning eh? But anyhow a very good friend gave me a copy of Gibson's book for my birthday and so I felt I had to read it. Well let that be a lesson to me, from now on I will scour the New Yorker looking at all its ads, for this particular book, a cross between a memoir and a novel, turned out to be very good. I could not put it down, even though I had a zillion other things to do. I just kept reading as the day wore on and the sun went down and I had to fumble with the lamp to switch it on without diverting my attention from the page.

I felt I had to know what was happening with John, and what was up with Alan, and what was going to happen to Wesley once the full dimensions of John's illness became obvious. It isn't that the plot is so strong, indeed, hardly anything happens, so don't come to this book looking for Clive Cussler style action. No, it is Gibson's wonderful insight into all the little crazy things we humans do, that make the book so compelling. I feel not so much as that after reading his book I know Wesley Gibson, but rather that through some magical gift of X-ray vision into the heart, he knows me.

I used to live in New York so I'm familiar with the rat race of trying to find somewhere decent to rent. And who hasn't lived through the misery of having someone die on you; even if you aren't in love with them, it still knocks you on your ass. With his love of language and his discernment and humility, Wesley Gibson brings all these things right to the surface, the place where the reader and writer extend hands and touch fingertips.

Don't waste your time

Customer Rating:
Maybe a requirement of reviewing a book is actually finishing it - but I just couldn't get through this one. The book basically details a gay man moving to New York and attempting to make it..... I thought it would be a great book, but I was mistaken. The author's language was obtuse... the phrase: TRYING TOO HARD comes to mind.... I'm sorry Mr. Gibson if I am being unfair - I'll try to finish your next one.

Very touching story of a gay man in New York City

Customer Rating:
This book is generally good. I liked it and am glad I purchased it new. The problem is that it's almost like Gibson wrote this novel like a session on a psychologist's couch, with every little detail of every person he ever met and everything he ever experienced - without full regard for what the reader would like to hear. There are some details in here I find too graphic and disgusting, such as when he helped a morbidly obese neighbor off a toilet.

The book gets a lot better halfway through, and continues to become more moving through the end. The story of Wesley's roommate John and his eventual death from lung cancer paints a beautiful picture of human frailty and the bonds that exist between us.

I am enraptured of New York City and like to read people's accounts of it. I am also a writer like him. Gibson did not disappoint.

Get over yourself.

Customer Rating:
I read "You Are Here" as a recent vacation read... the cover design alone was inticing. I'm not sure I had an expectation of the book, but I found it to be dull and uninspired. Like the author, I moved to New York right out of college, but a lot of his experiences seemed more whiney and priviledged than pithy or universal. Can't live well in New York at a young age? Join the human race! Most people don't live well at that age. At times he seems grandiose, such as in passages where he talks about being depressed that he isn't a published author yet. Considering that his writing isn't much better than a lot of aspiring writers, his egotism (which may just be poorly expressed irony) detracts from his storytelling.

All in all, "You Are Here" reads like the memoirs of some guy who lucked into a publishing contract. David Sedaris, breathe easy.

Disappointed

Customer Rating:
I did not find this book as good as other reveiwers made it sound. Most problematic for me was the too frequent use of tortured and cute metaphors and similes. More editing should have been done. Unless you can read "my heart hummingbirded in my chest". . ."I rolled my dewy Coke against my cheek". . ."platters of tuna melt the size of satellite dishes" and many, many more of such passages without a wince, you are better off with David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs.