Freddie DeBoer’s debut novel, The Mind Reels, is about a girl, Alice, who slowly goes crazy, gets medicated, goes crazy again, gets medicated again, etc.
"This is not a book about a person, it’s a book about a type."
This repulses me because I feel like it's what's wrong with a lot of stories in any media these days—character types, the feeling of reading something to experience a different perspective and have the author say, "You know the drill; she's this kind of person."
But your review compels me because I know you know what you're talking about, and if there's one universal truth about writing, it's that there are no universal truths.
As someone who's written about the subjective experience of madness, I'm suspicious of the apparent lack of subjectivity and specificity in this book, and curious to discover its reason for existing. I don't mean a moral reason, but what does one get from it besides brevity and some amusement poked at the failing health system?
Yeah, I’m having trouble parsing this review, which seems to be saying, “The main character is just a type, the locations and situations are generic and sometimes amusing, and it’s brief. Great book!”
It feels like a recommendation, but I don’t see why.
As I explain in the first paragraph, it’s a book about a cycle that’s common in mental illness, where people go crazy, get medicated, go off their medication, go crazy again, and repeat. You read to see if Alice can break free from this cycle. That’s what makes the book compelling. The story is told in general terms, but that enhances its power, because it shows how so many people have this exact same story. So her story stands in for all of them.
I so badly want to continue this, but your easiest response to anything I say is: read the book and see for yourself.
So, knowing you've got that poison dagger, I'll ask: if Alice is a generic "any person," why do I care whether she breaks out of her cycle?
The idea that "so many people have this exact same story" is only true with regard to the general perspective on such a story. Every real "losing one's mind" story is different because the mind concerned is an individual. Witnessing a specific, defined person lose their mind is a fascinating experience in empathy, fear, suspense, hilarity, and sadness precisely because of the commonalities and differences the reader has with said person—which can only be felt through specificity. Or at least they are most deeply felt through specificity.
I acknowledge this is my personal perspective, but as I said above, I'm getting pretty frustrated with stories about "types." We see them everywhere; there's nothing "avant-garde" about them.
So this book is in my list now because I'm aware I'm talking an awful lot about something I haven't read.
Everyone is an individual and everyone is also a type. Some books highlight their subject’s individuality, and others highlight their archetypal qualities. This book does the latter. It’s fine to think that the book won’t interest you! It sounds like our tastes just differ.
> as I noted in my piece about Fisher’s The Home-Maker, literary novels from big imprints are usually careful not to do what Freddie has done here. They try not to make the characters into an avatar of their class.
Yes, but it's so noticeable that they are trying to avoid making their characters into avatars of their class, it ends up paradoxically drawing attention to issues of class & group identity. Something that is so conspicuously missing ends up calling attention to itself, more so than if it had been acknowledged a bit.
Group identity is such a can of worms these days. In the past writers could touch it and then move on. Now if they touch it, readers expect the entire book to stay on it.
What is missing is even-handedness: people aren't all one way, they are both individuals and members of groups.
This idea of The Mind Reels / Why Teach having characters who are more truly "types" than other contemporary fiction is interesting. It gets at something that I've noticed, but haven't quite been able to articulate, where characters in so much modern fiction (particularly those which try to spotlight a social issue) are "flawed," but in a very safe way. Like, yeah, you aren't perfect, but it's because you don't believe in yourself or you can't suffer fools or something else that's actually sort of aspirational. It's less common for these characters to be unlikeable in the sense of actually being cruel to those around them, like Alice in The Mind Reels can be.
Well thank you! It's probably because I don't paywall anything, and Substack deprioritizes non-paywalled publications (or so I've heard), as is their right. To be fair, though, my posting was inconsistent last year -- it wasn't until December that I even got two posts out within a month of each other. I think I've now set myself up for an every-two-weeks schedule.
And then there are those us who labor alone, furiously shy of the mainstream, but a fish in its oceanic waters, banging its head again and again on a dam, an iron dam in the shape of an anvil, and as the bewildering pain and shame of this collision slowly abides, their inner love of the truth's huge enigma slyly whispers, "It's a ship, silly!"
Zona Motel (here on Substack) reviews mostly small press books. I trust their editors and write reviews for the publication, too. They describe themselves as a "BROTHERHOOD" but not in a creepy way; it's animated by a good DIY energy.
As someone who works in publishing, I found Freddie's newsletter on Lost Lambs a bit absurd. No fix was in. Reviewers in mainstream outlets don't get kickbacks from publishers. Mainstream publishers do give bigger publicity pushes to some of their titles than others because they believe those titles are the most likely to succeed. And review editors notice this and make a point of reading or assigning those books. No one really knows for sure what makes a debut novel catch on, but they do try to guess which ones will. Which just means that they try to guess which books a lot of people will like because book publishing is a business and that is their job. There is nothing sinister about that.
I found Lost Lambs unreadable, but a lot of people do seem to love it, so it seems like the book publisher's instincts in this case were not so far off. Unless an author is really well established and a big deal, review outlets just don't cover the new books they dislike. No one was covering Lost Lambs out of some sense of obligation. (To whom?) There is literally no debut novel so big that the media feels obliged to cover it no matter its quality--not unless it's written by a celebrity. Once upon a time that used to be the case, but books coverage is so marginal now those days are long gone.
It’s definitely not the post I would’ve written. I don’t really get worked up about this kind of thing anymore. As you said, book coverage has dwindled so much that you’re just happy anyone is still doing it.
The New Statesman has good books coverage (both fiction and non fiction). Plus they actively pull in new writers and have a good relationship with substack (largely due to George Monaghan).
Please do create a list of book review outlets! The Substackers et al who are talking about books have restored my faith in our collective attention span (and in the future of books). I also like Downtime by Alisha Ramos.
"This is not a book about a person, it’s a book about a type."
This repulses me because I feel like it's what's wrong with a lot of stories in any media these days—character types, the feeling of reading something to experience a different perspective and have the author say, "You know the drill; she's this kind of person."
But your review compels me because I know you know what you're talking about, and if there's one universal truth about writing, it's that there are no universal truths.
As someone who's written about the subjective experience of madness, I'm suspicious of the apparent lack of subjectivity and specificity in this book, and curious to discover its reason for existing. I don't mean a moral reason, but what does one get from it besides brevity and some amusement poked at the failing health system?
Yes. I’m in the same boat as you—I want living, breathing, active characters. Not types.
Yeah, I’m having trouble parsing this review, which seems to be saying, “The main character is just a type, the locations and situations are generic and sometimes amusing, and it’s brief. Great book!”
It feels like a recommendation, but I don’t see why.
As I explain in the first paragraph, it’s a book about a cycle that’s common in mental illness, where people go crazy, get medicated, go off their medication, go crazy again, and repeat. You read to see if Alice can break free from this cycle. That’s what makes the book compelling. The story is told in general terms, but that enhances its power, because it shows how so many people have this exact same story. So her story stands in for all of them.
I so badly want to continue this, but your easiest response to anything I say is: read the book and see for yourself.
So, knowing you've got that poison dagger, I'll ask: if Alice is a generic "any person," why do I care whether she breaks out of her cycle?
The idea that "so many people have this exact same story" is only true with regard to the general perspective on such a story. Every real "losing one's mind" story is different because the mind concerned is an individual. Witnessing a specific, defined person lose their mind is a fascinating experience in empathy, fear, suspense, hilarity, and sadness precisely because of the commonalities and differences the reader has with said person—which can only be felt through specificity. Or at least they are most deeply felt through specificity.
I acknowledge this is my personal perspective, but as I said above, I'm getting pretty frustrated with stories about "types." We see them everywhere; there's nothing "avant-garde" about them.
So this book is in my list now because I'm aware I'm talking an awful lot about something I haven't read.
Everyone is an individual and everyone is also a type. Some books highlight their subject’s individuality, and others highlight their archetypal qualities. This book does the latter. It’s fine to think that the book won’t interest you! It sounds like our tastes just differ.
i enjoyed every word of this insightful and measured review. i feel honored to have been so kindly mentioned in this post i love! thank you for both.
You do great work! It’s nice bc you do negative reviews too, so when you praise a book I am like hmm…at least one person genuinely likes this book.
> as I noted in my piece about Fisher’s The Home-Maker, literary novels from big imprints are usually careful not to do what Freddie has done here. They try not to make the characters into an avatar of their class.
Yes, but it's so noticeable that they are trying to avoid making their characters into avatars of their class, it ends up paradoxically drawing attention to issues of class & group identity. Something that is so conspicuously missing ends up calling attention to itself, more so than if it had been acknowledged a bit.
Group identity is such a can of worms these days. In the past writers could touch it and then move on. Now if they touch it, readers expect the entire book to stay on it.
What is missing is even-handedness: people aren't all one way, they are both individuals and members of groups.
My "not an avatar of my social class" T-shirt has people asking a lot of questions that are answered by my shirt :')
You win the internet for today, lol.
This idea of The Mind Reels / Why Teach having characters who are more truly "types" than other contemporary fiction is interesting. It gets at something that I've noticed, but haven't quite been able to articulate, where characters in so much modern fiction (particularly those which try to spotlight a social issue) are "flawed," but in a very safe way. Like, yeah, you aren't perfect, but it's because you don't believe in yourself or you can't suffer fools or something else that's actually sort of aspirational. It's less common for these characters to be unlikeable in the sense of actually being cruel to those around them, like Alice in The Mind Reels can be.
Also - thanks for the shoutouts!
You’re welcome! I trust your opinion, which is why I read the book :)
I still don’t understand why the algorithm has not yet favored T. Benjamin White!
He is a really sharp reviewer! I love his write-ups. I think his moment will come :)
Well thank you! It's probably because I don't paywall anything, and Substack deprioritizes non-paywalled publications (or so I've heard), as is their right. To be fair, though, my posting was inconsistent last year -- it wasn't until December that I even got two posts out within a month of each other. I think I've now set myself up for an every-two-weeks schedule.
And then there are those us who labor alone, furiously shy of the mainstream, but a fish in its oceanic waters, banging its head again and again on a dam, an iron dam in the shape of an anvil, and as the bewildering pain and shame of this collision slowly abides, their inner love of the truth's huge enigma slyly whispers, "It's a ship, silly!"
Zona Motel (here on Substack) reviews mostly small press books. I trust their editors and write reviews for the publication, too. They describe themselves as a "BROTHERHOOD" but not in a creepy way; it's animated by a good DIY energy.
I looooooove your literary criticism
Thank you! Miss your posts, but I guess you’ve got to be hitting those books :)
As someone who works in publishing, I found Freddie's newsletter on Lost Lambs a bit absurd. No fix was in. Reviewers in mainstream outlets don't get kickbacks from publishers. Mainstream publishers do give bigger publicity pushes to some of their titles than others because they believe those titles are the most likely to succeed. And review editors notice this and make a point of reading or assigning those books. No one really knows for sure what makes a debut novel catch on, but they do try to guess which ones will. Which just means that they try to guess which books a lot of people will like because book publishing is a business and that is their job. There is nothing sinister about that.
I found Lost Lambs unreadable, but a lot of people do seem to love it, so it seems like the book publisher's instincts in this case were not so far off. Unless an author is really well established and a big deal, review outlets just don't cover the new books they dislike. No one was covering Lost Lambs out of some sense of obligation. (To whom?) There is literally no debut novel so big that the media feels obliged to cover it no matter its quality--not unless it's written by a celebrity. Once upon a time that used to be the case, but books coverage is so marginal now those days are long gone.
It’s definitely not the post I would’ve written. I don’t really get worked up about this kind of thing anymore. As you said, book coverage has dwindled so much that you’re just happy anyone is still doing it.
The New Statesman has good books coverage (both fiction and non fiction). Plus they actively pull in new writers and have a good relationship with substack (largely due to George Monaghan).
Please do create a list of book review outlets! The Substackers et al who are talking about books have restored my faith in our collective attention span (and in the future of books). I also like Downtime by Alisha Ramos.
Really can't be doing with a baggy book.
Nice piece. Pretty sure Freddie knows whereof he writes...