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Rontel
We now enter: Total Isolation
Rontel is the story of one man’s odyssey through Chicago. Follow him as he attempts to go to his last day of work. Follow him through the subway as he considers stealing chips from a dancing baby. Find him being threatened by a homeless man holding board games. Take his hand as he considers building a hydraulic cocoon for his cat out of a complimentary duffel bag. Walk the streets of Uptown as a cop-killer takes hostages to the roof of an apartment building. Meet his friends. Just kidding! Follow him to his neighbor’s apartment where he gets paid in pumpkin pie to watch a baby. Follow him through through the dull pains of never quite becoming an adult. Sit back, laugh, smile, hold your breath, because not even he knows how it ends.
“Funny as hell, searingly honest, and urgently real, Sam Pink’s Rontel puts to shame most modern fiction. His writing perfectly captures the bizarre parade that is Chicago, with all its gloriously odd and wonderful people. This book possesses both the nerve of Nelson Algren and the existential comedy of Albert Camus.� � Joe Meno
Rontel is the story of one man’s odyssey through Chicago. Follow him as he attempts to go to his last day of work. Follow him through the subway as he considers stealing chips from a dancing baby. Find him being threatened by a homeless man holding board games. Take his hand as he considers building a hydraulic cocoon for his cat out of a complimentary duffel bag. Walk the streets of Uptown as a cop-killer takes hostages to the roof of an apartment building. Meet his friends. Just kidding! Follow him to his neighbor’s apartment where he gets paid in pumpkin pie to watch a baby. Follow him through through the dull pains of never quite becoming an adult. Sit back, laugh, smile, hold your breath, because not even he knows how it ends.
“Funny as hell, searingly honest, and urgently real, Sam Pink’s Rontel puts to shame most modern fiction. His writing perfectly captures the bizarre parade that is Chicago, with all its gloriously odd and wonderful people. This book possesses both the nerve of Nelson Algren and the existential comedy of Albert Camus.� � Joe Meno
87 pages, Paperback
First published November 5, 2012
28 people are currently reading
1,348 people want to read
About the author
Sam Pink
60Ìýbooks802ÌýfollowersSam Pink is the author of The No Hellos Diet, Hurt Others, I Am Going to Clone Myself Then Kill the Clone and Eat It, Frowns Need Friends Too, and the cult hit Person. His writing has been published widely in print and on the internet, and also in other languages. He lives in Chicago, where he plays in the band Depressed Woman.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 147 reviews
July 28, 2014
This book is... amazing. It had me in hysterics, most often while I was walking around reading it in public places where I felt very conspicuous.
I think I relate too much to this insane character.
This is highly readable, enjoyable, experimental literature. Some scenes might rub you the wrong way, though (e.g. the episode with the vulgar gay roommates... I just don't see them befriending our hero at all, but what do I know... and are they too 'typed'? Or is this just a reflection of overall discomfort with the world combined with the purely superficial nature of all his interactions?)
I can't say it's perfect, there were some parts that didn't entirely fly with me, but... maybe it is perfect, I don't know. If I put it away for five months, read it again, and then laugh and enjoy it just as much the second time, then I might declare it an eternal classic of world literature.
It's a tad short. Apparently all the author's works are. ('A tad' means 'very'). I'd like to see what this author would do with a five hundred page novel.
Meanwhile, I feel pretty confident I'm going to read all of Sam Pink's books.
"Who would see that there are hot styles, and then not just immediately go there?"
I think I relate too much to this insane character.
This is highly readable, enjoyable, experimental literature. Some scenes might rub you the wrong way, though (e.g. the episode with the vulgar gay roommates... I just don't see them befriending our hero at all, but what do I know... and are they too 'typed'? Or is this just a reflection of overall discomfort with the world combined with the purely superficial nature of all his interactions?)
I can't say it's perfect, there were some parts that didn't entirely fly with me, but... maybe it is perfect, I don't know. If I put it away for five months, read it again, and then laugh and enjoy it just as much the second time, then I might declare it an eternal classic of world literature.
It's a tad short. Apparently all the author's works are. ('A tad' means 'very'). I'd like to see what this author would do with a five hundred page novel.
Meanwhile, I feel pretty confident I'm going to read all of Sam Pink's books.
"Who would see that there are hot styles, and then not just immediately go there?"
July 14, 2013
This is a stream of consciousness, slice-of-life novella about a depressed guy with suicidal tendencies walking around Chicago for a day. Oh, and it has nothing resembling a plot. Nearly all the “action� of the piece takes place in the main character’s head. And, yet, despite all of this, it’s a highly entertaining and funny read. Recommended to those who aren't put off by anything written in the first few sentences of this review.
September 11, 2017
Very few writers can tell an engaging story where nothing really happens, but Sam Pink has mastered the skill. I've read a few of his books, and they've all been meandering journeys in the daily lives of assorted misfits. In this one, our hero is about to go to his last day on the job, but then changes his mind. Instead, he wanders around, observing people and roadkill and whatever else he happens to notice on the streets of Chicago. He goes home and plays with his cat, Rontel, and later goes with his girlfriend to a class on beekeeping.
Pink's stream-of-conscious style has a Zenlike quality to it, a detachment that simply observes things for what they are; there's no judgement when he thinks about stealing a little kid's bag of chips, or eavesdrops on the aggressive banter of a fellow train rider. Nothing is resolved by the end, but there was never really anything to resolve to begin with. If you enjoy the first few pages, you'll enjoy the rest, but don't keep reading expecting something to happen. (This might be true for any of his books.)
Pink's stream-of-conscious style has a Zenlike quality to it, a detachment that simply observes things for what they are; there's no judgement when he thinks about stealing a little kid's bag of chips, or eavesdrops on the aggressive banter of a fellow train rider. Nothing is resolved by the end, but there was never really anything to resolve to begin with. If you enjoy the first few pages, you'll enjoy the rest, but don't keep reading expecting something to happen. (This might be true for any of his books.)
March 15, 2013
i loved every page and every moment of this book. it's beautiful and frightening and touching and sad and also probably the funniest book i've read since . the fact that junot diaz is famous and this guy is not really just makes me want to blow up the world.
Forever, as a feeling that takes place inside of time.
Forever, as a feeling that takes place inside of time.
March 17, 2013
Reading RONTEL, the most recent novel by Sam Pink, and the first of his works for me, I'm hopeful. The book is funny. Thoughtful. Funny, again. But what draws me to it is its rejection of good writing. Not that RONTEL is bad writing. It's not. It's different writing. And I'm so tired of "good" writing that has little originality, feels almost locked to a template and is safe, safe, safe. Pink feels sincere, channeling his unique voice without much care for tradition. RONTEL's rambling plot took a while to click for me, because the book isn't about plot. It's about Chicago. It's about the voice and tone of its first-person narrator. It's a Grand Guignol of characters and flights of anti-social fantasies that are like slapstick without a point, but still somehow sharp. It's sad and oddly hopeful. And it made me laugh, if I wasn't clear on that before. Laughter gets no respect in literature, unless it's not funny laughter, the kind of laughter that a reader forces out of a tight-lipped grin. It doesn't sound like laughter, more a swallowed cough. I'm compelled to say, "God bless you." With Pink I say, "Thank you."
March 13, 2013
from publisher
Read 3/2/13 - 3/10/13
3.5 stars - Recommended to readers who don't mind a few kitty cat neck sizzles.
87 pages
Publisher: Lazy Fascist Press (print) / Electric Literature (eBook)
Release Date: March 2013
Sam Pink is a little bit like a teenager trapped in a man's body. He's full of piss and vinegar, finds fascination in the silliest and strangest things, and wants everybody and everything to suck his dick.
In Rontel (as with most of Pink's novels), our narrator finds himself immersed in the humdrum of everyday life - hating his job so much that he simply calls off and never shows back up, hating cell phones so badly that he finds humor in torturing the salesman with ridiculous questions when purchasing a replacement, killing time shooting the shit with Chicago's homeless, and borderline bullying his brother and their excellently tempered kitty cat named, yes, Rontel. The things that poor poor cat has to put up with. Tsk.Tsk.
How this dude has managed to score himself a girlfriend and not die of malnutrition or some insanely unhygienic disease is beyond me. He lives in filth, showers only when he can smell himself through his cologne or is sweating like a dog, and has been known to live in the same pair of pants for nearly a month before giving them a good wash.
He gets pissed off at places when they don't call him in for interviews, even though he turns in the applications half filled out. He enjoys fucking with people and spends a lot of time pondering weird shit like how great it would be to give people "the business" and how long it would take him to use up 18 bars of soap and whether we will even be using soap when he gets down to his last bar. He even daydreams about buying a new video game and locking himself inside his apartment until he beats the thing.
With each novel that Sam Pink pens, I worry more and more about his mental state. He's like a present day Holden Caufield, all grown up, only... not. It's like puberty hit and took up permanent residence in his body. He's like a lost boy, all nasty energy and no idea how to release it. While he's completely bent on being miserable and making everyone around him miserable, I somehow find myself drawn to his arrogant and ridiculous nature and I can't help but think that the real Sam Pink is just like this. Or at least, has been like this at some point in his life.
I know that I will continue to read whatever new novel Sam Pink writes. I suppose I am glutton for punishment. Dude keeps it real, again and again... and I have mad respect for that.
Read 3/2/13 - 3/10/13
3.5 stars - Recommended to readers who don't mind a few kitty cat neck sizzles.
87 pages
Publisher: Lazy Fascist Press (print) / Electric Literature (eBook)
Release Date: March 2013
Sam Pink is a little bit like a teenager trapped in a man's body. He's full of piss and vinegar, finds fascination in the silliest and strangest things, and wants everybody and everything to suck his dick.
In Rontel (as with most of Pink's novels), our narrator finds himself immersed in the humdrum of everyday life - hating his job so much that he simply calls off and never shows back up, hating cell phones so badly that he finds humor in torturing the salesman with ridiculous questions when purchasing a replacement, killing time shooting the shit with Chicago's homeless, and borderline bullying his brother and their excellently tempered kitty cat named, yes, Rontel. The things that poor poor cat has to put up with. Tsk.Tsk.
How this dude has managed to score himself a girlfriend and not die of malnutrition or some insanely unhygienic disease is beyond me. He lives in filth, showers only when he can smell himself through his cologne or is sweating like a dog, and has been known to live in the same pair of pants for nearly a month before giving them a good wash.
He gets pissed off at places when they don't call him in for interviews, even though he turns in the applications half filled out. He enjoys fucking with people and spends a lot of time pondering weird shit like how great it would be to give people "the business" and how long it would take him to use up 18 bars of soap and whether we will even be using soap when he gets down to his last bar. He even daydreams about buying a new video game and locking himself inside his apartment until he beats the thing.
With each novel that Sam Pink pens, I worry more and more about his mental state. He's like a present day Holden Caufield, all grown up, only... not. It's like puberty hit and took up permanent residence in his body. He's like a lost boy, all nasty energy and no idea how to release it. While he's completely bent on being miserable and making everyone around him miserable, I somehow find myself drawn to his arrogant and ridiculous nature and I can't help but think that the real Sam Pink is just like this. Or at least, has been like this at some point in his life.
I know that I will continue to read whatever new novel Sam Pink writes. I suppose I am glutton for punishment. Dude keeps it real, again and again... and I have mad respect for that.
March 4, 2013
Pink has killed it this time. I don't have to (shouldn't have to) tell you that Sam Pink is the verifiable man in every way. Rontel is like all the other Sam Pink books but better, smarter, funnier, more grown up, more juvenile, more emotionally unstable, more thought provoking.
I've read too many reviews already which begin by stating how Rontel is autobiographical or about Pink 's life. Ignore these fools. This is irrelevant. There is no plot. Or maybe there is BUT THE PLOT SIMPLY ISN'T THE POINT. Pink goes to his girlfriend's and then to a bee keeping...whatever.
It doesn't matter.
What matters is what is going on inside Pink's fucked up head. His thoughts are ever present and comprise the majority of the narrative. Here's the real story right here. Pink is totally nuts in this genius and entertaining way. He writes perfectly those little tangents that we always go off on yet suppress when reading the back of a box of cereal or hear some wierdo on the street saying something incomprehensible. Pink takes these urges and runs with them, goes off into his own world, takes them to their logical and emotional ends. These ends are agonizing and painful and hilarious and ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL. It's almost unfortunate that Pink has to write these things on paper rather than inject them directly into our heads (though it may, at his best times, feel like he is doing this). His writing is so naive, so easy and flowing; so unaffected and bare and pure. He stays away from unnecessary words of all types and gets across exactly what he wants to say.
I was struck by how Pink touches on beauty and love often in this book, maybe I missed it in his previous works but it pops up at least twice and it gives me hope for the world. Of course here, as in past books, the narrator interacts with the downtrodden, homeless and insane of Chicago's streets. He fits right in and at no point does he exploit, make fun, or act cruel. He just gets in there and speaks with the weirdos on their own terms and shows us this world that anyone with a right mind generally shies away from and abhors And it is amazing.
The pacing of the book is quick and always in the moment. There are very few references to any events that have occurred previously in the book or to events which will happen after and this gives the book a moving, running, urgent texture that is so satisfying and freeing. In fact everything about this book seems a bit more manic than his previous works. More charging and churning than brooding and contemplation.
This book also feels more personal than the earlier ones, and this makes it hard to review. It almost feels like reviewing a friend of yours, which is simply impossible. This book is just too unique, too 'itself' for qualifiers to have much of an affect. Put simply: this book (and most of Pink's other stuff) will do that magical thing which few other books (or works of art in general) do, why ultimately art is made and what it's true goal is: Rontel will make you feel like there is some substance to the world, some soul or spirit that is outside you and vibrating and interacting with this will give you a brief glorious solace.
I've read too many reviews already which begin by stating how Rontel is autobiographical or about Pink 's life. Ignore these fools. This is irrelevant. There is no plot. Or maybe there is BUT THE PLOT SIMPLY ISN'T THE POINT. Pink goes to his girlfriend's and then to a bee keeping...whatever.
It doesn't matter.
What matters is what is going on inside Pink's fucked up head. His thoughts are ever present and comprise the majority of the narrative. Here's the real story right here. Pink is totally nuts in this genius and entertaining way. He writes perfectly those little tangents that we always go off on yet suppress when reading the back of a box of cereal or hear some wierdo on the street saying something incomprehensible. Pink takes these urges and runs with them, goes off into his own world, takes them to their logical and emotional ends. These ends are agonizing and painful and hilarious and ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL. It's almost unfortunate that Pink has to write these things on paper rather than inject them directly into our heads (though it may, at his best times, feel like he is doing this). His writing is so naive, so easy and flowing; so unaffected and bare and pure. He stays away from unnecessary words of all types and gets across exactly what he wants to say.
I was struck by how Pink touches on beauty and love often in this book, maybe I missed it in his previous works but it pops up at least twice and it gives me hope for the world. Of course here, as in past books, the narrator interacts with the downtrodden, homeless and insane of Chicago's streets. He fits right in and at no point does he exploit, make fun, or act cruel. He just gets in there and speaks with the weirdos on their own terms and shows us this world that anyone with a right mind generally shies away from and abhors And it is amazing.
The pacing of the book is quick and always in the moment. There are very few references to any events that have occurred previously in the book or to events which will happen after and this gives the book a moving, running, urgent texture that is so satisfying and freeing. In fact everything about this book seems a bit more manic than his previous works. More charging and churning than brooding and contemplation.
This book also feels more personal than the earlier ones, and this makes it hard to review. It almost feels like reviewing a friend of yours, which is simply impossible. This book is just too unique, too 'itself' for qualifiers to have much of an affect. Put simply: this book (and most of Pink's other stuff) will do that magical thing which few other books (or works of art in general) do, why ultimately art is made and what it's true goal is: Rontel will make you feel like there is some substance to the world, some soul or spirit that is outside you and vibrating and interacting with this will give you a brief glorious solace.
February 20, 2013
This is Chicago at the beginning of a very hot summer, where it is 90 degrees even at night. And no one has air conditioning. And you just sweat all day and all night, even after and during a shower. It’s Chicago and it is terrible. There are homeless people and hockey video games from 1997. Ride the bus and train around the city. Witness a hostage situation in Uptown. And play with Rontel.
Sam Pink’s books perfectly capture what it is like to live in Chicago. The people you see on the bus and train. The people you are forced to interact with on a daily basis. I was reading this on the train and I felt like I was part of some secret, like I was special and no one else on the train knew what was going on or what this is about.
Sam Pink’s books are good. They are funny and depressing and they make me feel things. Which is what I guess books are supposed to do.
Read his books, feel things, take beekeeping classes. This is life.
Sam Pink’s books perfectly capture what it is like to live in Chicago. The people you see on the bus and train. The people you are forced to interact with on a daily basis. I was reading this on the train and I felt like I was part of some secret, like I was special and no one else on the train knew what was going on or what this is about.
Sam Pink’s books are good. They are funny and depressing and they make me feel things. Which is what I guess books are supposed to do.
Read his books, feel things, take beekeeping classes. This is life.
February 12, 2013
"And yeah if people had access to my thoughts and feelings, I'd be asked to live on a rock in outer space--one with a long tether to a building in Chicago if any of my friends (just kidding) wanted to come visit."
See you in outer space. Climbing that tether in a spacesuit is going to be a bitch.
See you in outer space. Climbing that tether in a spacesuit is going to be a bitch.
March 19, 2013
HOT STYLES!
Read
February 19, 2013This book is hilarious and profound. Every few pages I laughed out loud and, about as frequently, was reminded that inside every moment, there are possibilities that have not been considered—and they should be considered. I'll never order a sandwich the same way again.
Who else could make me so thoroughly enjoy a story about walking around a city doing pretty much nothing but thinking about everything he sees, no matter how mundane, and twisting it into a world I never knew existed?
Who else could make me so thoroughly enjoy a story about walking around a city doing pretty much nothing but thinking about everything he sees, no matter how mundane, and twisting it into a world I never knew existed?
January 18, 2014
Fucking golden. Everything Pink does is incredibly appealing to me. I bought the Electric Literature 'e-book' version only because it came with an exclusive free valentine's day sext from Sam Pink! Well worth the $$$
June 7, 2020
A sentence from this novella sums up my response to it:
...it's not terrible, I won't be dramatic, but it's something that, if offered, I'd say, "Nah."
Maybe my rating isn't fair. Maybe I'm too old for the latest in post-modern American literary fiction. Maybe, like YA novels aimed at teenaged girls, this sort of story falls within a genre such as "20-something Contemporary American Nihilistic Male Lit" or simply "Nihi-Lit", and I left that demographic behind years ago (though I was once one myself).
The narrative follows an underachieving 29-year-old guy through a somewhat meaningless day and a half drifting around Chicago chattering to himself, beginning with his not showing up for his last day of work, and ending (spoiler alert; though I really don't think this is a spoiler) on a sidewalk standing beside his girlfriend, with whom he has a thoroughly vacuous relationship, while she ignores him and talks to her sister. Requisite ironic, raised-eyebrow observations (as well as numerous literal raised eyebrows) permeate the passages inbetween, some of which were mildly interesting, but in the end had little consequence. The narrator comes close several times to posing questions about meaning in his life, then deliberately sidesteps those questions.
I was interested in a theme the author inserted, of the narrator's diminishing minutes on his pre-paid phone card as a metaphor for his own life. And though I usually cringe at phonetically-rendered dialect, the author manages it with humor, yet without a trace of ridicule.
If you're curious to sample cutting-edge American fiction, this novella is easy to follow and won't take long to read. If you're an under-30 American male, you might actually enjoy it. Or you might flick an eyebrow (twice) and say "Nah."
...it's not terrible, I won't be dramatic, but it's something that, if offered, I'd say, "Nah."
Maybe my rating isn't fair. Maybe I'm too old for the latest in post-modern American literary fiction. Maybe, like YA novels aimed at teenaged girls, this sort of story falls within a genre such as "20-something Contemporary American Nihilistic Male Lit" or simply "Nihi-Lit", and I left that demographic behind years ago (though I was once one myself).
The narrative follows an underachieving 29-year-old guy through a somewhat meaningless day and a half drifting around Chicago chattering to himself, beginning with his not showing up for his last day of work, and ending (spoiler alert; though I really don't think this is a spoiler) on a sidewalk standing beside his girlfriend, with whom he has a thoroughly vacuous relationship, while she ignores him and talks to her sister. Requisite ironic, raised-eyebrow observations (as well as numerous literal raised eyebrows) permeate the passages inbetween, some of which were mildly interesting, but in the end had little consequence. The narrator comes close several times to posing questions about meaning in his life, then deliberately sidesteps those questions.
I was interested in a theme the author inserted, of the narrator's diminishing minutes on his pre-paid phone card as a metaphor for his own life. And though I usually cringe at phonetically-rendered dialect, the author manages it with humor, yet without a trace of ridicule.
If you're curious to sample cutting-edge American fiction, this novella is easy to follow and won't take long to read. If you're an under-30 American male, you might actually enjoy it. Or you might flick an eyebrow (twice) and say "Nah."
April 17, 2013
Sam Pink has a unique voice and a pretty crushing outlook on life, but beyond the occasional pull-able aphorism and the clever personification of Chicago's slummy sides, this book was difficult for me to get through. I wanted more: more plot, more happenings, more depth of character. If you already like Pink, you'll love this. But if you've never read him, I'd start instead with You Hear Ambulance Sounds and Think They Are for You (Lit Pub Book, 2010 / Lazy Fascist Press, 2011), which I still contend is his best.
March 5, 2013
The idea of laughing while you read a book by yourself seems like the most bullshit claim in the entire world. I want to kill every reviewer who says that they laughed while reading a book. Except with Rontel, it's legitimately true. You would have to be a fucked up person to not laugh at least once while the protagonist talks about playing video games with his brother, "sizzling" his cat's ears, or ordering deli sandwiches. This book is too good.
May 1, 2013
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)
I picked up this short novel because Sam Pink is part of that whole hipster-lit crowd I've mentioned here before -- a Brooklyn/Chicago circle of friends that includes Tao Lin, Jordan Castro, Heiko Julien and more -- who I'm fascinated by because they are literally the first group of young artists in my life who make me feel legitimately old and out of touch, and I find something really interesting about trying to figure out why that is. This newest by Pink, for example, is similar to Lin's work in that neither really have a three-act plot to speak of; this is simply a rambling look at a few random days in the life of a random slacker artist, as he travels across the city to visit a girlfriend, hangs out with his brother and their cat in their crappy apartment, and interacts with the other lumpen proletariats of the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago where he lives (and where, by the way, I live too -- in fact, I'm pretty sure the main character's place is supposed to be just a few blocks from my own apartment). And then if this wasn't enough, Pink was also recently accused by a prominent critic of being racist when it came to his portrayal of these Uptown down-and-outers; and that has led to one of those famed curse-laden full-out flame wars that will spill over into four or five different blogs and Tumblr accounts and Twitter feeds, and that has brought a newfound notoriety to this book that didn't exist before.
So is Rontel racist? No, not really -- it's just that Pink did a bad job with the phonetic spelling of these characters' dialogue, which is why I always urge writers to skip writing phonetic dialogue whatsoever. (Trust your audience -- they'll know what you're trying to accomplish with your regional dialogue, even without such excruciating lines as, "When y'have beewd-uh, don't haffa cut ew face in duh mo'nin.") No, the real problem is that Pink simply doesn't have much of interest to actually say; for while this is competently written, it just really doesn't add up to much by the end, and since he's not really that good yet at building deeply complex characters either, he doesn't have the excuse for skipping a plot like the masters of character-heavy novels have. This is the part of the whole situation that makes me feel out of touch -- because all of the writers just mentioned are like this, which as a heavy reader I just don't find very compelling, yet these meandering, hyper-bland, pop-culture-infused books are the revered darlings of such heavy-hittting intellectual organizations like HTMLGiant, which means there simply must be something there that my 44-year-old ass is not seeing. Although I enjoy checking out the work of all these writers, I encourage them to really dig within themselves and find some much more substantial things to write about in the future; because funny clothes and Twitter wars can only get an artist so far, and one day when they wake up and realize they're no longer young and sexy and funny and go out a lot and drink a lot, their audience is suddenly going to have no more tolerance for their flighty plotless stories, which as a veteran of the poetry slam in the 1990s is something I know a little bit about, believe me. Rontel comes recommended, but it's only a limited recommendation today, a short read but one you should take with a grain of salt, from a writer who's talented enough to tackle deeper and more significant work and now needs to sit down and actually do so.
Out of 10: 8.0
I picked up this short novel because Sam Pink is part of that whole hipster-lit crowd I've mentioned here before -- a Brooklyn/Chicago circle of friends that includes Tao Lin, Jordan Castro, Heiko Julien and more -- who I'm fascinated by because they are literally the first group of young artists in my life who make me feel legitimately old and out of touch, and I find something really interesting about trying to figure out why that is. This newest by Pink, for example, is similar to Lin's work in that neither really have a three-act plot to speak of; this is simply a rambling look at a few random days in the life of a random slacker artist, as he travels across the city to visit a girlfriend, hangs out with his brother and their cat in their crappy apartment, and interacts with the other lumpen proletariats of the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago where he lives (and where, by the way, I live too -- in fact, I'm pretty sure the main character's place is supposed to be just a few blocks from my own apartment). And then if this wasn't enough, Pink was also recently accused by a prominent critic of being racist when it came to his portrayal of these Uptown down-and-outers; and that has led to one of those famed curse-laden full-out flame wars that will spill over into four or five different blogs and Tumblr accounts and Twitter feeds, and that has brought a newfound notoriety to this book that didn't exist before.
So is Rontel racist? No, not really -- it's just that Pink did a bad job with the phonetic spelling of these characters' dialogue, which is why I always urge writers to skip writing phonetic dialogue whatsoever. (Trust your audience -- they'll know what you're trying to accomplish with your regional dialogue, even without such excruciating lines as, "When y'have beewd-uh, don't haffa cut ew face in duh mo'nin.") No, the real problem is that Pink simply doesn't have much of interest to actually say; for while this is competently written, it just really doesn't add up to much by the end, and since he's not really that good yet at building deeply complex characters either, he doesn't have the excuse for skipping a plot like the masters of character-heavy novels have. This is the part of the whole situation that makes me feel out of touch -- because all of the writers just mentioned are like this, which as a heavy reader I just don't find very compelling, yet these meandering, hyper-bland, pop-culture-infused books are the revered darlings of such heavy-hittting intellectual organizations like HTMLGiant, which means there simply must be something there that my 44-year-old ass is not seeing. Although I enjoy checking out the work of all these writers, I encourage them to really dig within themselves and find some much more substantial things to write about in the future; because funny clothes and Twitter wars can only get an artist so far, and one day when they wake up and realize they're no longer young and sexy and funny and go out a lot and drink a lot, their audience is suddenly going to have no more tolerance for their flighty plotless stories, which as a veteran of the poetry slam in the 1990s is something I know a little bit about, believe me. Rontel comes recommended, but it's only a limited recommendation today, a short read but one you should take with a grain of salt, from a writer who's talented enough to tackle deeper and more significant work and now needs to sit down and actually do so.
Out of 10: 8.0
February 17, 2013
Maybe I didn't get Sam Pink before. Maybe I thought Person was too lyrical. Maybe I get twitter now, which is how Pink's writing feels. A really good twitter feed.
Rontel is one of the funniest books I've read in a long time. There were moments that I was laughing out loud and shaking the bed and scared that my wife would wake up and ask me what was funny and I'd have to explain that he's talking about a cat (Rontel) in a suit made out of a duffel bag with bionic arms that keeps malfunctioning and bumping the cat's head against the walls. It kind of makes you feel crazy to read it like that.
I liked the genuine affection the narrator has toward homeless people (and babies), who appear frequently throughout the narrator's day(s). There's no condescension, no patronizing or glorification. I think these moments really ground the story, especially compared to the minutia the narrator has to endure when interacting (aversely) with anyone else.
Rontel is one of the funniest books I've read in a long time. There were moments that I was laughing out loud and shaking the bed and scared that my wife would wake up and ask me what was funny and I'd have to explain that he's talking about a cat (Rontel) in a suit made out of a duffel bag with bionic arms that keeps malfunctioning and bumping the cat's head against the walls. It kind of makes you feel crazy to read it like that.
I liked the genuine affection the narrator has toward homeless people (and babies), who appear frequently throughout the narrator's day(s). There's no condescension, no patronizing or glorification. I think these moments really ground the story, especially compared to the minutia the narrator has to endure when interacting (aversely) with anyone else.
July 15, 2019
I am not sure, I was about to review this with 3 stars but then I remembered that it had me laughing alone on the beach and that it made me feel the uncomfortable feeling of absence from your own self and I was still not sure. But then I thought of it as a retake on Ulysses, but twisted and turned and flattened by modern capitalism (in reality I imagined someone depressed and crazed by the heatwave of a modern metropolis, grasping the tome of Ulysses and tearing it apart leaving only sentences behind, the bare fish bones, an unpleasant day of an unpleasant suicidal person in downtown Chicago and then I thought it was properly made and decided on the 4 stars).
March 29, 2013
"My girlfriend said, 'Oh I forgot to tell you, my sister's pregnant.'
I listened to her talk about her pregnant sister.
But I was thinking about dogs.
I want a German Shepherd--I thought.
And I imagined myself dressed in some type of ceremonial robe, standing with both my arms out, palms upward.
And above one palm floats the fully-enclosed fetus of my girlfriend's sister's future baby, and above the other palm floats the fully-enclosed fetus of my future German Shepherd.
And my face is emotionless.
And above my head there's a fire but it's clear and just looks like the air is waving."
I listened to her talk about her pregnant sister.
But I was thinking about dogs.
I want a German Shepherd--I thought.
And I imagined myself dressed in some type of ceremonial robe, standing with both my arms out, palms upward.
And above one palm floats the fully-enclosed fetus of my girlfriend's sister's future baby, and above the other palm floats the fully-enclosed fetus of my future German Shepherd.
And my face is emotionless.
And above my head there's a fire but it's clear and just looks like the air is waving."
February 20, 2013
I just finished reading Rontel, and I think it is my favorite book by Sam Pink thus far. I can't say this with 100% accuracy unless I reread all of his other books, but it is 1:20am and I was planning on watching some Garfield and Friends and maybe eating some pizza rolls, so I'll just have to say I am 80% sure that Rontel is my favorite book by Sam Pink. And I am 100% sure that you should read it.
March 19, 2014
I love a book that makes me smile.
Rontel is set in present-day Chicago and follows a young man anyone can relate to. Rontel has no plot whatsoever, but its groundbreaking stream-of-consciousness narrative allows the reader to take a highly enjoyable and absorbing ride inside the alienated mind of the protagonist. I was disappointed that the ride did not last longer.
Rontel is set in present-day Chicago and follows a young man anyone can relate to. Rontel has no plot whatsoever, but its groundbreaking stream-of-consciousness narrative allows the reader to take a highly enjoyable and absorbing ride inside the alienated mind of the protagonist. I was disappointed that the ride did not last longer.
May 11, 2013
I'm amazed how entertained Pink can keep me without really having to have anything happen. It reminds me of Beckett in a way, though Pink writes totally differently. I think I still liked "Person" a little more, but I dug this one too quite a bit. Pink really demonstrates that though plot and character change are elements of many novels, they aren't required to have a novel work.
March 9, 2013
Awesome, weird read that I thoroughly enjoyed.
Read
February 19, 2016I'll be honest, I didn't think I'd like this book. But I did! Some Kotwzwinkle's "Fan Man" quality to it charmed me over. And I'm totally miserable and feel like a ghoul so I read it at the best, most sympathetic time. I'll quote a passage that shows how it can be both funny and annoying, though:
------------------------------------------------
I looked up and saw a sign hanging from the ceiling.
It had two columns, indicating the location of things.
It listed things like "Men" and "Boys" and "Girls."
One of the things listed was "Hot Styles."
I wanted to walk up to an employee and say, "Excuse me, could you tell me where the hot styles are. Oh, nevermind, they're they are."
Why would anyone want anything other than hot styles.
Who would see that there are hot styles, and then not just immediately go there.
I envisioned a sign I'd make for the store.
And the sign was bigger.
And it only had "HOT STYLES" written on it in big letters.
And there were arrows all around it, pointing out all the areas in the store.
I stood behind my girlfriend, staring at myself in the mirror.
I repeatedly thought-Hot styles/these are hot styles here-until I felt calm.
Girlfriend said, "How about this one-no?"
"I said, "These are some hot styles."
"The hottest styles," she said.
I said, "I'm looking around and it's just, all hot styles."
She didn't say anything.
She kept repeating this cycle of poses in front of the mirror.
I said "I want you to call me 'Hot Styles' from now on. Call me that or I won't answer, ok."
The kid who was standing in the shopping cart rolled by, his mom pushing.
Still standing, staring at me like I was hot styles.
----------------------------------------
Everything in this passage is funny, but the conversation between the narrator and his girlfriend is a bit grating, a little too self-knowing and snarky. But then the last bit connecting hot styles with a kid we've seen earlier is funny again. A lot of this book is funny, then annoying, then funny again.
From a writer's ego perspective, I think Pink and I share the same deadpan style, and it was interesting to see how even though this was rambling and plotless it still kept my interest because the writing was crisp and engaging and imaginative and FUN. Something to remember. FUN.
------------------------------------------------
I looked up and saw a sign hanging from the ceiling.
It had two columns, indicating the location of things.
It listed things like "Men" and "Boys" and "Girls."
One of the things listed was "Hot Styles."
I wanted to walk up to an employee and say, "Excuse me, could you tell me where the hot styles are. Oh, nevermind, they're they are."
Why would anyone want anything other than hot styles.
Who would see that there are hot styles, and then not just immediately go there.
I envisioned a sign I'd make for the store.
And the sign was bigger.
And it only had "HOT STYLES" written on it in big letters.
And there were arrows all around it, pointing out all the areas in the store.
I stood behind my girlfriend, staring at myself in the mirror.
I repeatedly thought-Hot styles/these are hot styles here-until I felt calm.
Girlfriend said, "How about this one-no?"
"I said, "These are some hot styles."
"The hottest styles," she said.
I said, "I'm looking around and it's just, all hot styles."
She didn't say anything.
She kept repeating this cycle of poses in front of the mirror.
I said "I want you to call me 'Hot Styles' from now on. Call me that or I won't answer, ok."
The kid who was standing in the shopping cart rolled by, his mom pushing.
Still standing, staring at me like I was hot styles.
----------------------------------------
Everything in this passage is funny, but the conversation between the narrator and his girlfriend is a bit grating, a little too self-knowing and snarky. But then the last bit connecting hot styles with a kid we've seen earlier is funny again. A lot of this book is funny, then annoying, then funny again.
From a writer's ego perspective, I think Pink and I share the same deadpan style, and it was interesting to see how even though this was rambling and plotless it still kept my interest because the writing was crisp and engaging and imaginative and FUN. Something to remember. FUN.
May 20, 2013
Sam Pink first caught my attention when his publisher launched an unusual promotion for his book Rontel this Valentine’s Day: "Order Sam Pink’s new eBook and he’ll sext you on February 14!" I’m not saying whether Sam Pink sexted me or not, but I will say that I totally loved this book. Its meandering narrative follows a 28-year-old protagonist as he wanders the streets of Chicago desperately trying to hate everything, only to be thwarted by cute things like cats and dancing babies. It’s a tiny little novel that yearns to uncover what it means to be a "real man" in 2013, and I imagine it's what Charles Bukowski and Albert Camus would've written had they teamed up and been like, "Hey, let’s write a comedy together!" Sam Pink also has an incredible eye and ear for the streets of Chicago, and he knows how to turn out a damned funny product review, too: "We all know paper towels are a whiz in the kitchen. But did you ever think they’d be so great to dry yourself off? I say � beep beep � go ahead."
April 13, 2013
Many moons ago I lived on the far north side of Chicago for over a decade. I’ve pounded the pavements of Uptown, Edgewater, and Andersonville (before it got so trendy). I’ve experienced the oddball characters. I witnessed the illegal activities on the sidewalks. I stepped over the homeless sleeping on Broadway. I suffered through heat waves without air conditioning in my studio apartment. I *know* the world that Sam Pink portrayed in Rontel and he did a pretty good job bringing it to life.
November 12, 2014
Loved this. It was like cliff notes to a bag of mushrooms. Hilarious book. Clear, percise writing. But also a book that doesn't skirt away from the big ol' feeling of "ahhh man, I hate the muf'fuckin erfff". I think in lesser hands, Rontel would have become a cartoon. Instead, the book turned into this voyage through the regular streets of Chicago, but told through the eyes of somebody who might as well be doing jumping jacks on the moon. Added this to my pile of books to read once a year. Hope I live for 60 more years so I can read this 60 muf'fuckin times.
April 17, 2013
Two good things to say about this book: it's short so you don't have to waste a lot of time reading it; it proves anybody can write a book, although I have to wonder what sleazy favors had to be granted in order to get it published. It is a rambling, nonsensical display of whatever comes into the character's head gets on the page, ala Naked Lunch, only Naked Lunch was a little better. Maybe I just don't get it.
March 8, 2013
Great sentences, sloppy sometimes and kind of genius. I'm usually not so aware of sentences when I read a book. I guess other books are made of them too, but Sam Pink makes them seem like a new thing that he just invented, and I'm pretty impressed.
June 10, 2018
i think it's officially safe to say i like sam pink. infinitely relatable and very funny. appreciate that i can read a whole book of his in like two hours tops. looking forward to whichever one i read next. whatever it is i'm sure it'll give me the business.
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