Torture the artist : a novel
MacAdam/Cage Pub. 2004
Summary (Library Journal Review):
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you will never be happy.” So opens this surprisingly funny, anything-but-predictable story about a hapless, perpetually miserable young artist named Vincent and Harlan Eiffler, the manager being paid to make sure he stays that way. Foster Lipowitz, the ailing CEO of the world’s biggest media conglomerate, feels guilty about his company’s hand in churning out dreck disguised as entertainment. Dying from a slow cancer, Lipowitz tries to redeem himself by inventing an experimental company called New Renaissance.
I looked at the cover of this book and got that churning feeling in the pit of my stomach. This churning was reminiscent of the churning I experienced right before Marsellus Wallace had the misfortune of un-willingly being made into a pawn star. What kind of world would I be plunged into within these pages?
Here’s what kind of world: “Depressed by the bad weather, you cry yourself a little river but the tears evaporate and form into another cloud that rains on you even more. You can’t win”. It’s an angst-y world. The writing is pretty good, I just don’t think I can it give more than a cursory glance, me being a reformed pessimist and all. It’s billed as comedic, but any more of Lipowitz’s (the mentor/manager in the book) doom and gloom pep talks (to Vincent the mentee) and I’d be off the wagon again.