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3.5 stars rounded down for steeply falling off after the midway mark. The first half was real funny, tons of LOLs, totally audacious comedy masquerading as autofiction masquerading as Hamlet-referencing horror. But then the language and insights and humor fell away in favor of just-the-facts one-line-per-paragraph plot execution. Lack of plot in BEE's first three novels totally works -- but this one's self-consciously consumed by its outline (his narrator even refers to the "writer" who would otherwise fill out certain spare plotty bits). Ultimately, a totally audacious, intentionally uneven, easy-reading take on one writer's serious daddy issues (and some good thoughts re: writing, fame, drugs/addiction, kids, and a very funny bit re: bachelorhood etc). A bit of a disappointment for me, but an excellent example of writing that refuses "to embrace the mechanics of East Coast lit conventionality" while nevertheless being published by Random House's high-end literary outfit. Also interesting in terms of how it joyously loads up a tall sacrificial pyre of supernatural, irreal, and metafictional aspects instead of observing the rule to only introduce a single fantastic element and keep everything else realistic, a la Kafka. But in the end, even if pulling off the mask of good writing thematically associates with pulling off masks of fame or notoriety or layers of emotionlessness related to one's angry upbringing, it didn't make for much more than stripped-down reading that made the author's possibly earnest revelations re: family and father and self etc -- no matter how "hard won" or serious -- seem as cheap to me as the intentionally unwriterly language. But, for fans, the first chapter or so where he summarizes his career is deliciously funny and pretty much worth the sticker price.