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& Sons
The funeral of Charles Henry Topping on Manhattan’s Upper East Side would have been a minor affair (his two-hundred-word obit in The New York Times notwithstanding) but for the presence of one particular mourner: the notoriously reclusive author A. N. Dyer, whose novel Ampersand stands as a classic of American teenage angst. But as Andrew Newbold Dyer delivers the eulogy for his oldest friend, he suffers a breakdown over the life he’s led and the people he’s hurt and the novel that will forever endure as his legacy. He must gather his three sons for the first time in many years—before it’s too late.
So begins a wild, transformative, heartbreaking week, as witnessed by Philip Topping, who, like his late father, finds himself caught up in the swirl of the Dyer family. First there’s son Richard, a struggling screenwriter and father, returning from self-imposed exile in California. In the middle lingers Jamie, settled in Brooklyn after his twenty-year mission of making documentaries about human suffering. And last is Andy, the half brother whose mysterious birth tore the Dyers apart seventeen years ago, now in New York on spring break, determined to lose his virginity before returning to the prestigious New England boarding school that inspired Ampersand. But only when the real purpose of this reunion comes to light do these sons realize just how much is at stake, not only for their father but for themselves and three generations of their family.
So begins a wild, transformative, heartbreaking week, as witnessed by Philip Topping, who, like his late father, finds himself caught up in the swirl of the Dyer family. First there’s son Richard, a struggling screenwriter and father, returning from self-imposed exile in California. In the middle lingers Jamie, settled in Brooklyn after his twenty-year mission of making documentaries about human suffering. And last is Andy, the half brother whose mysterious birth tore the Dyers apart seventeen years ago, now in New York on spring break, determined to lose his virginity before returning to the prestigious New England boarding school that inspired Ampersand. But only when the real purpose of this reunion comes to light do these sons realize just how much is at stake, not only for their father but for themselves and three generations of their family.
434 pages, Hardcover
First published July 23, 2013
About the author
David Gilbert
99 books92 followersDavid Gilbert is the author of the story collection Remote Feed and the novel The Normals. His stories have appeared in The New Yorker, Harper’s, GQ, and Bomb. He lives in New York with his wife and three children.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 911 reviews
January 18, 2024
I believe this will be on a “Best of 2013” book list. Part of my love of this book is the NYC references. I’m not sure if a reader who hasn’t been to NYC would appreciate some of the nuances. It’s a story about a commanding father(Andrew Dyer) and his three sons. It’s narrated by a son(Philip) of one of Andrew’s school chums; the reader soon learns that Philip is a bit of an interloper of the Dyer family. Andrew, (or more publicly known as A. N. Dyer) is a now reclusive author who wrote a novel called“Ampersand” which has become linked as a rival of “Catcher in the Rye” as a classic read of teenage angst. The reader learns that Andrew was an absent father of his first two sons. His third son is a result of an affair he had which destroyed the family and resulted in divorce. Andrew ends up raising the third son, Andy, after Andy’s mother mysteriously passes away. The story opens at the funeral of Philip’s father at which A. N. Dyer is to give the eulogy. Andrew realizes his mortality after the funeral and becomes obsessed with uniting his three sons and making amends. So begins the saga that takes place in 10 days. Gilbert weaves multiple stories in the multiple characters. Richly developed, finely tuned, the characters are flawed humans, yet so lovable. Andrew is lovable in his irascible, caustic way. The two older sons suffer from arrested development; the youngest son suffers teenage angst. Many of the scenes Gilbert writes are hilarious. I LOVED the scene involving Andy and his nephew Emmett at a Hot Dog Stand engaging in a heated debate with the vendor about the perfect pretzel. Larry David (of Seinfield fame) would be envious. There is a preposterous plot twist, but the characters are so flawlessly developed, that Gilbert gets away with it. The ugliness of the human condition comes through strongly in this saga, but with interspersed wit and repartees, this novel is a great read without becoming morbid.
February 26, 2014
If I had to guess, the first time anyone said that you don’t have to like the artist to like the art probably dates back to when cavemen were painting bison on walls. But reminders of that rule seem more frequent lately. We can appreciate Llewyn Davis for his artistic integrity even as we cringe at his lapses in kindness. And I suspect I would still laugh at Broadway Danny Rose, though since the news came out about Soon Yi Previn (even prior to Dylan Farrow) I came to see Manhattan in a different light. Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that the book’s central character, A. N. Dyer, is a writer who we’re told has great talent, but also has a callous disregard for most everyone around him. His magnum opus entitled Ampersand is a modern classic – often mentioned in the same breath with Catcher in the Rye. Both are riffs on the disaffected youth theme. And Dyer, like Salinger before him, is a recluse with an edgy mystique about him.
Evaluating the art independent of the artist is fair, but that should not bias us in favor of something just because a miscreant created it. (Note that I’m no longer talking about Salinger here.) Related to this, I sometimes feel that darker, more cynical art gets a critical free pass because it’s deemed to be honest about our base assholish nature. But isn’t it possible to overshoot? While I wouldn’t trust Walt Disney to get the scene at an elite boys’ prep school right, I’m not sure I trust the portrayal of abject cruelty that Dyer produced either. As Sally said to Harry, just because you have a dark side doesn’t mean you’re deep. Nor does it make you unblinkered. And to paraphrase David Foster Wallace, arch ironists typically give us nothing in place of what they’ve taken down. So no, given the excerpts we see from Ampersand, I did not accept that Dyer had produced great art. I may have had even less regard for him (and it) than Gilbert intended, though that I can’t know. Maybe Gilbert would be fine with a reaction of any sort.
After this prolonged and tangential intro, I hereby step down from the soap box and vow to hurry through the rest. Despite my feelings about Dyer, I did enjoy parts of this. It’s very much a book of its time, with plenty of contemporary references. At some point the cultural stereotyping gained better footing, the animus seemed less contrived, and I settled in for the ride.
The title was undoubtedly meant to evoke the residuum after Ampersand, but it also refers to Dyer’s three sons. The profiles of Richard (the recovering addict, screenwriter and family man), Jamie (the self-knowing avant garde film maker), and their young half brother Andy (the high school kid and reluctant virgin who lives with A. N. [Andrew] near Central Park) were all delivered well. The plot opens at the funeral of Andrew’s friend since boyhood, Charles Topping, who was more faithful to Dyer than he deserved. Andrew agreed to speak at the funeral which caused a lot of excitement since the public had seen so little of him in recent years. Dyer had a mini-breakdown while there and afterwards sought to make up with his two older sons and to bring them closer to Andy. The rest of the book was about their reunion and the various angles that each one was working to capitalize on the Ampersand asset value. There was what many would consider a shark-jumping moment concerning Andy’s paternity, but by then you may feel it’s worth the suspension of disbelief required to get past it.
The narrator was Charles Topping’s son Philip. He knew the older Dyer boys when they were younger, but was never part of their inner circle. That was a tension with potential. However, as a character, Philip was thinly drawn, and as a narrator, he was often unreliable. It irked me when he supplied dialog and thought bubbles to scenes he was nowhere near. I can see why Gilbert would want Philip included for the discoveries he made about his father and Dyer, but his quasi-omniscient storytelling didn’t wash. Nabokov might have pulled it off, but I don’t think Gilbert did.
I’m willing to forgive much if the writing is good. In this case, it falls short of total redemption. His literary aspirations often smacked of trying too hard. To my ear, certain metaphors fell flat (e.g., “a friend approaching like a salesman selling hurry,” or a doorman described to be “like a noncommissioned officer serving the higher ranks, prepared to stop even the best-dressed bullet”). On top of that, words or phrases could seem a bit off (e.g., “an easy Nordic complexion”). But then other times the writing was bright and even funny. I’ll run the risk of a bad metaphor of my own likening Gilbert to the free-swinging slugger who strikes out a lot, but can also drive it deep when he connects. In my view, this one fell roughly midway between Babe Ruth and Mighty Casey.
Evaluating the art independent of the artist is fair, but that should not bias us in favor of something just because a miscreant created it. (Note that I’m no longer talking about Salinger here.) Related to this, I sometimes feel that darker, more cynical art gets a critical free pass because it’s deemed to be honest about our base assholish nature. But isn’t it possible to overshoot? While I wouldn’t trust Walt Disney to get the scene at an elite boys’ prep school right, I’m not sure I trust the portrayal of abject cruelty that Dyer produced either. As Sally said to Harry, just because you have a dark side doesn’t mean you’re deep. Nor does it make you unblinkered. And to paraphrase David Foster Wallace, arch ironists typically give us nothing in place of what they’ve taken down. So no, given the excerpts we see from Ampersand, I did not accept that Dyer had produced great art. I may have had even less regard for him (and it) than Gilbert intended, though that I can’t know. Maybe Gilbert would be fine with a reaction of any sort.
After this prolonged and tangential intro, I hereby step down from the soap box and vow to hurry through the rest. Despite my feelings about Dyer, I did enjoy parts of this. It’s very much a book of its time, with plenty of contemporary references. At some point the cultural stereotyping gained better footing, the animus seemed less contrived, and I settled in for the ride.
The title was undoubtedly meant to evoke the residuum after Ampersand, but it also refers to Dyer’s three sons. The profiles of Richard (the recovering addict, screenwriter and family man), Jamie (the self-knowing avant garde film maker), and their young half brother Andy (the high school kid and reluctant virgin who lives with A. N. [Andrew] near Central Park) were all delivered well. The plot opens at the funeral of Andrew’s friend since boyhood, Charles Topping, who was more faithful to Dyer than he deserved. Andrew agreed to speak at the funeral which caused a lot of excitement since the public had seen so little of him in recent years. Dyer had a mini-breakdown while there and afterwards sought to make up with his two older sons and to bring them closer to Andy. The rest of the book was about their reunion and the various angles that each one was working to capitalize on the Ampersand asset value. There was what many would consider a shark-jumping moment concerning Andy’s paternity, but by then you may feel it’s worth the suspension of disbelief required to get past it.
The narrator was Charles Topping’s son Philip. He knew the older Dyer boys when they were younger, but was never part of their inner circle. That was a tension with potential. However, as a character, Philip was thinly drawn, and as a narrator, he was often unreliable. It irked me when he supplied dialog and thought bubbles to scenes he was nowhere near. I can see why Gilbert would want Philip included for the discoveries he made about his father and Dyer, but his quasi-omniscient storytelling didn’t wash. Nabokov might have pulled it off, but I don’t think Gilbert did.
I’m willing to forgive much if the writing is good. In this case, it falls short of total redemption. His literary aspirations often smacked of trying too hard. To my ear, certain metaphors fell flat (e.g., “a friend approaching like a salesman selling hurry,” or a doorman described to be “like a noncommissioned officer serving the higher ranks, prepared to stop even the best-dressed bullet”). On top of that, words or phrases could seem a bit off (e.g., “an easy Nordic complexion”). But then other times the writing was bright and even funny. I’ll run the risk of a bad metaphor of my own likening Gilbert to the free-swinging slugger who strikes out a lot, but can also drive it deep when he connects. In my view, this one fell roughly midway between Babe Ruth and Mighty Casey.
August 6, 2013
David Gilbert's ambitious & SONS is one hot mess. It's one of those books that will as easily garner 5 stars as one. There's that much to like -- and seriously wonder about. Let's start with the problematic aspects so we can finish on a high note. While the book centers on an aging, J.D. Salingeresque writer named Andrew (A.N.) Dyer and his three sons, it is supposedly narrated by Philip Topping, son of Andrew's best pal Charlie, whose funeral opens the book. Seems innocent enough, but the point-of-view is convoluted. Though he plays a minor role in the 400+ page book, Philip seems to be an omniscient narrator for most of the scenes he is not privy too.
Then, when he's on hand, he's more like a 1st-person POV narrator, a Nick Carraway sort, if you will. Most damning of all, he's a bit creepy in his hero worship of Andrew Dyer and in his hanging around in general. He asks if he can stay at the Dyer home after his dad's funeral and, thanks to the awkward situation, is granted permission even though no one but him took the offer seriously. I'm left to wonder why Philip was included in the first place. The book would have done as well -- or better -- without him.
Another deficiency is Gilbert's tendency to overwrite. There's no digression he's willing to forgo, no back story he's willing to pass on. Instead, he indulges himself, sometimes for dozens of meandering pages. The reader gets a bit lost, brushes back the spider webs, and wonders aloud, "Why am I here again?"
All that said, the book has its merits. First and foremost, Gilbert is an idea man and can grace the page was some eloquent sentences at times -- the kind you stop, reread, and say, "Wish I thought of that." In these moments, you seem willing to forgive the self-indulgence of his digressions because, well, a writer's writer doesn't come along every day.
The book is ambitious, too, which deserves praise for its willingness to take a risk, if nothing else. Gilbert does not play it safe, but instead takes the big leap into the giant thematic miasma we call father-son love-hate relationships, in all their messy glory. There's the patriarch Andrew, of course, and his eldest sons, recovering addict Richard and creative Peter Pan-like Jamie. And then there's the third son, Andy -- supposedly the product of an ill-advised fling, but actually the product of an even more ill-advised plot twist revealed at the halfway point. Yep, it's a bit of an eye-roller and probably as gratuitous as the over-the-Topping narrator, but still, Andrew's special love for Andy has its moments and puts the reader in a more forgiving mood.
Overall, a march through some word-count agony and some word-smithing ecstasy. Some readers will see more of one than the other -- thus the critical gaps in appraisals. It's all about your reading DNA and what you bring to the table, actually. For my part, I'll acknowledge both and split the difference with a middle road assessment.
Then, when he's on hand, he's more like a 1st-person POV narrator, a Nick Carraway sort, if you will. Most damning of all, he's a bit creepy in his hero worship of Andrew Dyer and in his hanging around in general. He asks if he can stay at the Dyer home after his dad's funeral and, thanks to the awkward situation, is granted permission even though no one but him took the offer seriously. I'm left to wonder why Philip was included in the first place. The book would have done as well -- or better -- without him.
Another deficiency is Gilbert's tendency to overwrite. There's no digression he's willing to forgo, no back story he's willing to pass on. Instead, he indulges himself, sometimes for dozens of meandering pages. The reader gets a bit lost, brushes back the spider webs, and wonders aloud, "Why am I here again?"
All that said, the book has its merits. First and foremost, Gilbert is an idea man and can grace the page was some eloquent sentences at times -- the kind you stop, reread, and say, "Wish I thought of that." In these moments, you seem willing to forgive the self-indulgence of his digressions because, well, a writer's writer doesn't come along every day.
The book is ambitious, too, which deserves praise for its willingness to take a risk, if nothing else. Gilbert does not play it safe, but instead takes the big leap into the giant thematic miasma we call father-son love-hate relationships, in all their messy glory. There's the patriarch Andrew, of course, and his eldest sons, recovering addict Richard and creative Peter Pan-like Jamie. And then there's the third son, Andy -- supposedly the product of an ill-advised fling, but actually the product of an even more ill-advised plot twist revealed at the halfway point. Yep, it's a bit of an eye-roller and probably as gratuitous as the over-the-Topping narrator, but still, Andrew's special love for Andy has its moments and puts the reader in a more forgiving mood.
Overall, a march through some word-count agony and some word-smithing ecstasy. Some readers will see more of one than the other -- thus the critical gaps in appraisals. It's all about your reading DNA and what you bring to the table, actually. For my part, I'll acknowledge both and split the difference with a middle road assessment.
May 15, 2020
The bond between father and son is always a complicated affair, and inevitably imbued with a profusion of unresolved disquietude, frustration and despair. & Sons is an intelligent, engaging, and well-written addition to the genre of father/ son relationships, that in sometimes humorous, sometimes tragic ways highlight this ambiguous connection.
Gilbert is no doubt an accomplished writer, and I though I thoroughly enjoyed his assiduous descriptions of NY City, I couldn't help feeling that there were too many opportunities missed to effectively delve into the depth of A.N. Dyer, and the complex multifaceted relationship he has with his three sons. It was almost as if Gilbert didn't trust his main character to anchor the book, and therefore constructed a comprehensive and vivid scaffold around him, that inherently was meant as a supporting structure, but unfortunately ended up obstructing most of the view.
Though I did enjoy the book, I fundamentally wish that Gilbert had been more interested in the core of the story, which without question has inimitable merit, instead of trying so hard to involve so many other elements, that it sometimes felt like the importance of the book was more about the circumstantial rather than the particularized.
I give this three and a half stars
Gilbert is no doubt an accomplished writer, and I though I thoroughly enjoyed his assiduous descriptions of NY City, I couldn't help feeling that there were too many opportunities missed to effectively delve into the depth of A.N. Dyer, and the complex multifaceted relationship he has with his three sons. It was almost as if Gilbert didn't trust his main character to anchor the book, and therefore constructed a comprehensive and vivid scaffold around him, that inherently was meant as a supporting structure, but unfortunately ended up obstructing most of the view.
Though I did enjoy the book, I fundamentally wish that Gilbert had been more interested in the core of the story, which without question has inimitable merit, instead of trying so hard to involve so many other elements, that it sometimes felt like the importance of the book was more about the circumstantial rather than the particularized.
I give this three and a half stars
November 21, 2013
This novel is extremely well-written. Unfortunately, it's extremely well written.
Uh, what?
Well, it starts to dawn on you, after about a 1/4 way into it, that you are seeing more of the author than you are the story, that cleverness of phrase and subtlety of reference is more important than arc. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a genuine pleasure to read this, but I found myself rolling eyes and saying, "Okay. You're clever. Just get on with it, will you?" Now, don't get me wrong again, I much appreciate the writing craft, but there is a point where craft can overwhelm and become just so much self-regard.
And that's a problem because this is a novel about self-regarding people: authors and their smarter-than-thou offspring and long-suffering ex-spouses who are most clever of all, glitterati and literati—both real and pseudo—in the most self regarding universe of all, New York publishing, a world off limits to we Great Unwashed. So, mayhaps the cleverness shoulda been toned down a bit? Because it feels like Gilbert is trying to convince the citizens of that publishing universe that he is one of them, and the tone comes off as that real smart guy you knew in high school who was always trying to act like he wasn't that smart, so you wouldn't feel bad. Didn't you just want to punch him in his condescending nose?
Of course, the biggest problem with a self-regarding novel is that it resorts to tricks to keep your interest. The very confusing shifts in POV is one, so you gotta pay attention here, man (psst, this is a test, to see if you are as clever as the author). And then there is a very excellent plot twist, one that makes you go, "Damn, that's interesting as hell!" and you read on to an event in the last part that renders said excellent plot twist irrelevant. It's like Season 3 of Daunton Abbey; what the heck were Seasons 1 and 2 for?
Anyway, this IS a good read, very funny in places, with some excellent characters, my favorite being Isabel: her chapter is pure poetry. So, enjoy it. And when you're done, that feeling of being patronized without really sure you were? Yeah, you were.
Uh, what?
Well, it starts to dawn on you, after about a 1/4 way into it, that you are seeing more of the author than you are the story, that cleverness of phrase and subtlety of reference is more important than arc. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a genuine pleasure to read this, but I found myself rolling eyes and saying, "Okay. You're clever. Just get on with it, will you?" Now, don't get me wrong again, I much appreciate the writing craft, but there is a point where craft can overwhelm and become just so much self-regard.
And that's a problem because this is a novel about self-regarding people: authors and their smarter-than-thou offspring and long-suffering ex-spouses who are most clever of all, glitterati and literati—both real and pseudo—in the most self regarding universe of all, New York publishing, a world off limits to we Great Unwashed. So, mayhaps the cleverness shoulda been toned down a bit? Because it feels like Gilbert is trying to convince the citizens of that publishing universe that he is one of them, and the tone comes off as that real smart guy you knew in high school who was always trying to act like he wasn't that smart, so you wouldn't feel bad. Didn't you just want to punch him in his condescending nose?
Of course, the biggest problem with a self-regarding novel is that it resorts to tricks to keep your interest. The very confusing shifts in POV is one, so you gotta pay attention here, man (psst, this is a test, to see if you are as clever as the author). And then there is a very excellent plot twist, one that makes you go, "Damn, that's interesting as hell!" and you read on to an event in the last part that renders said excellent plot twist irrelevant. It's like Season 3 of Daunton Abbey; what the heck were Seasons 1 and 2 for?
Anyway, this IS a good read, very funny in places, with some excellent characters, my favorite being Isabel: her chapter is pure poetry. So, enjoy it. And when you're done, that feeling of being patronized without really sure you were? Yeah, you were.
September 2, 2013
I really wanted to like this book. It seemed like it had all the ingredients for a good read--two parallel stories of fathers, one very famous, who had strained relationships with their sons. A.N. Dyer wrote the great American novel but can't relate to his two older sons. The youngest son becomes the object of his obsessions--the revelation of the son's parentage is just too strange in the context of the story. Much of the story is told through the eyes of Dyer's best friend's son, who has an unexplained and strange obsession with the Dyer family. Overall, the book failed for me on many levels. The characters are so self-absorbed it's really difficult to care about any one of them. They are self-destructive and inevitably make the worst choices for their lives. Gilbert asks the reader to suspend disbelief in too many instances and too many events just don't ring true.
Gilbert provides snippets of Dyer's great story titled Ampersand throughout the book, but the story is shallow and there's no reason to believe that this would ever be a great novel. Throughout the book I felt that this novel was supposed to be the equivalent of J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, but the writing is strained and artificial. Gilbert's writing throughout the book is often too complicated and rambling. He spends a lot of time relating events that don't advance the story.
I just can't recommend this to anyone. It was a real disappointment for me especially since it seemed to be receiving a lot of press and recommendations.
Gilbert provides snippets of Dyer's great story titled Ampersand throughout the book, but the story is shallow and there's no reason to believe that this would ever be a great novel. Throughout the book I felt that this novel was supposed to be the equivalent of J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, but the writing is strained and artificial. Gilbert's writing throughout the book is often too complicated and rambling. He spends a lot of time relating events that don't advance the story.
I just can't recommend this to anyone. It was a real disappointment for me especially since it seemed to be receiving a lot of press and recommendations.
October 9, 2013
This is a big, ambitious novel about a J.D. Salinger-like novelist and his three sons, told from the perspective of his long-time (now dead) best friend's son. It's about literature and New York and reclusiveness and Exeter and publishing and Yale and men. A whole lot of men, all of them white. There are four female characters in the novel of any consequence, though you only really feel like you know one of them (and she is pretty interesting, I'll give Gilbert that much); the remaining three have enough dialogue of their own to fill three pages, tops (the book is 434 total). But otherwise this is a book about what men think about their fathers and their childhoods and literature. And in the end, that's just not a book for me.
Gilbert writes really well and there are some really clever plot twists and scenes in this novel, but I also found myself eager to reach the end. It's the kind of novel that reminds me that when a woman writes a book like this, but all the characters are female, no one gives a shit and most people don't take it all that seriously. When a man writes this book, however, it's Literature (did you catch that capital L?) and one must sit up and pay attention (witness all the reviews in all the publications). That's not Gilbert's fault, of course, but it doesn't mean I have to get excited about it.
Gilbert writes really well and there are some really clever plot twists and scenes in this novel, but I also found myself eager to reach the end. It's the kind of novel that reminds me that when a woman writes a book like this, but all the characters are female, no one gives a shit and most people don't take it all that seriously. When a man writes this book, however, it's Literature (did you catch that capital L?) and one must sit up and pay attention (witness all the reviews in all the publications). That's not Gilbert's fault, of course, but it doesn't mean I have to get excited about it.
October 29, 2017
& Sons is a wonderful piece of literary fiction. As you would expect, it is about a father and his sons, in fact I sometimes felt overcrowded by all the men in the book and longed for a significant female character. It is not a light nor a quick read, quite claustrophobic at times but is an extremely well-written novel. I am looking forward to trying something else written by David Gilbert. 4★
March 5, 2014
Apparently, I read something completely different from the majority of reviewers. I thought this book was long, confusing and trying way to hard to be deep and meaningful. And it just wasn't. At all. The letters between chapters were probably important to the plot, too bad they were nearly impossible to read in the book. This book wants to be a classic or wants us to think it's a classic and it is not. At all. I wanted to slap every single character in this book for being self absorbed, whiny, obnoxious and annoying.
And don't even get me started on the big reveal about Andy. Are you kidding me? Why didn't he just have him be the result of being abducted by aliens. It would have made for a better story.
And don't even get me started on the big reveal about Andy. Are you kidding me? Why didn't he just have him be the result of being abducted by aliens. It would have made for a better story.
September 3, 2019
& Sons is an intelligent piece of literature, about art, friendship, family, regret, and what it means to find success, build a legacy, and live in somebody's shadow. Apart from some structural elements that don’t seem fully realised, and a strange choice in character perspective, there’s little to fault in this novel, and much to praise. Gilbert reveals depth, connectedness and universality in his themes, and his prose style is attractive, if occasionally too ambitious. Perhaps the novel’s greatest sin is its quietness; its subtlety. This is not a novel that grabs you, that takes you to unexpected places, either in the story or in the telling. It feels very small, very familiar, and very safe.
November 20, 2014
John Robert Wooden, a retired American basketball coach, quoted about "fathers" as:
“Being a role model is the most powerful form of educating...too often fathers neglect it because they get so caught up in making a living they forget to make a life.”
David Gilbert, is one such American author, who has spun an incredible tale which explores the whole dimension of a father-son relationship in an all new angle, in his latest release, & Sons .
Synopsis:
Told from the first person narrative, Philip Topping unfolds a story about the life and times of his favorite author, A.N. Dyer, who also happens to be his father's best friend. The Manhattan funeral of Charles Henry Topping would have been a minor affair but for the identity of the eulogist: reclusive author A.N. Dyer, whose novel Ampersand stands as a classic of teenage angst. Now Andrew Newbold Dyer takes stock of his own life, the people he’s hurt and the novel that will endure as his legacy. He realizes he must reunite with his three sons before it’s too late. Eldest son Richard is a screenwriter in Californian exile. In the middle is Jamie, who has spent his life capturing the sorrow that surrounds him. And last is Andy, now a pupil at the boarding school that inspired Ampersand. It is only when the hidden purpose of the reunion comes to light do the sons realize what’s at stake – for their father, themselves and three generations of Dyers.
Sounds terrific from the blurb but it was a real challenge for me to read this “brilliant masterpiece” of Gilbert. I wanted to get inside the lives of the characters so much, but it felt like something kept pushing me away from them. Moreover, I felt very, very lost almost in the midway of the book. Following that long, meandering course of history and A.N.Dyer's resentment as a bad father to his sons sometimes bored me a lot and also took me away from the very core of the story. Well, I really wanted to like this epic tale about a father and his sons, but unfortunately, I could make myself like the story even for a bit. Where will I begin!! Let’s break this review in certain points:
• Plot: I'm not any highly acclaimed critic working for the NY Times or Publishers Weekly, I represent the common man and what I understood from the plot is that it is totally going to contradict those sophisticated professional reviewers. The plot was developing/ building at a very nice pace, in the beginning of the book. Even the opening scene of the book- the funeral of Charles Topping, was quite fantastic in the context where we are just going to learn about his self-loathing best friend, Andrew. But unfortunately right after the first chapter, the whole plot started to go downhill along with my attention. I mean tell me what was the role of this Philip Topping, (son of Charles Topping) who narrates the whole story in a vengeful way, although no one in the Dyer family is much bothered with his presence? I wish if Andrew narrated the whole story, it would have got a much better depth to the plot.
• Characterization: Frankly speaking totally awful except the male characters. Okay I get it, from Gilbert's POV, this is a story about fathers and sons and their individual stand and success and fame, but tell me isn't there a woman behind every successful man, and A.N.Dyer is a very popular author- bestselling! So how come we don't get to know about Isabel and her thoughts about her husband? The only women presence in the whole book was that of Isabel's- others were just a flirt here, flirt there! Well they say a strong character building affects the plot a lot and mind it- it did affect it very badly. You can't feed the readers whatever you feel right! If you want then give us some strong logic behind it! You say a simple affair broke the whole marriage between Andrew and Isabel, whereas, you feed us with Andrew's heartache and longing for Isabel, who happened to be happily married now. Tell me will the readers believe the angle you're trying to show- you should have shown us what Isabel felt about the affair and the love-child- Andy and about Andrew after seventeen years later! There was no scope to explore the relationship between Andrew and Isabel! There was one- Jeanie girl, who happens to be the love-interest of Andy's 'virgin' life, Alice- bed-partner of Jamie- the documentary film-maker, Candy- wife of Richard, another struggling film-maker and Eleanor Topping wife of Charles! But don't worry they all play hide-and-seek all throughout the story!
• Twists: The only thing which was the positive point in the whole story. Mind-blowing twist was delivered by the author almost midway through the book and with such a complex and dramatic ending with a funeral makes the tale a bit edgy and in the end, I felt that was a quite brilliant ending, only if the whole journey of reading the book would have been much better. One riveting twist changes the whole course and flow of the story and I really liked that part of the book. And I'm pretty sure; such an unexpected turn will at least make you feel sympathetic to the whole aura of the story.
• Setting/Location: New York Upper East Side- Yes that was the location of the book and not even for a single second, I felt like I was standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Art Museum, or neither did I felt the New York attitude and aristocracy in the whole tale. All I felt was art and literature.
Well there is another fictional story going on in the background and that was called Ampersand- story about teenage angst and which was related to Andy's life somehow. Well this story has pain, hope, resentment, hatred, loss and a lot of weird, funny moments, as a whole it has all the elements to be a great literary novel.
Verdict: If you love Gilbert's flawless prose and exquisite style of writing with all his intricate details, then grab this book for sure.
Courtesy: Thank You TripFiction for the book!
“Being a role model is the most powerful form of educating...too often fathers neglect it because they get so caught up in making a living they forget to make a life.”
David Gilbert, is one such American author, who has spun an incredible tale which explores the whole dimension of a father-son relationship in an all new angle, in his latest release, & Sons .
Synopsis:
Told from the first person narrative, Philip Topping unfolds a story about the life and times of his favorite author, A.N. Dyer, who also happens to be his father's best friend. The Manhattan funeral of Charles Henry Topping would have been a minor affair but for the identity of the eulogist: reclusive author A.N. Dyer, whose novel Ampersand stands as a classic of teenage angst. Now Andrew Newbold Dyer takes stock of his own life, the people he’s hurt and the novel that will endure as his legacy. He realizes he must reunite with his three sons before it’s too late. Eldest son Richard is a screenwriter in Californian exile. In the middle is Jamie, who has spent his life capturing the sorrow that surrounds him. And last is Andy, now a pupil at the boarding school that inspired Ampersand. It is only when the hidden purpose of the reunion comes to light do the sons realize what’s at stake – for their father, themselves and three generations of Dyers.
Sounds terrific from the blurb but it was a real challenge for me to read this “brilliant masterpiece” of Gilbert. I wanted to get inside the lives of the characters so much, but it felt like something kept pushing me away from them. Moreover, I felt very, very lost almost in the midway of the book. Following that long, meandering course of history and A.N.Dyer's resentment as a bad father to his sons sometimes bored me a lot and also took me away from the very core of the story. Well, I really wanted to like this epic tale about a father and his sons, but unfortunately, I could make myself like the story even for a bit. Where will I begin!! Let’s break this review in certain points:
• Plot: I'm not any highly acclaimed critic working for the NY Times or Publishers Weekly, I represent the common man and what I understood from the plot is that it is totally going to contradict those sophisticated professional reviewers. The plot was developing/ building at a very nice pace, in the beginning of the book. Even the opening scene of the book- the funeral of Charles Topping, was quite fantastic in the context where we are just going to learn about his self-loathing best friend, Andrew. But unfortunately right after the first chapter, the whole plot started to go downhill along with my attention. I mean tell me what was the role of this Philip Topping, (son of Charles Topping) who narrates the whole story in a vengeful way, although no one in the Dyer family is much bothered with his presence? I wish if Andrew narrated the whole story, it would have got a much better depth to the plot.
• Characterization: Frankly speaking totally awful except the male characters. Okay I get it, from Gilbert's POV, this is a story about fathers and sons and their individual stand and success and fame, but tell me isn't there a woman behind every successful man, and A.N.Dyer is a very popular author- bestselling! So how come we don't get to know about Isabel and her thoughts about her husband? The only women presence in the whole book was that of Isabel's- others were just a flirt here, flirt there! Well they say a strong character building affects the plot a lot and mind it- it did affect it very badly. You can't feed the readers whatever you feel right! If you want then give us some strong logic behind it! You say a simple affair broke the whole marriage between Andrew and Isabel, whereas, you feed us with Andrew's heartache and longing for Isabel, who happened to be happily married now. Tell me will the readers believe the angle you're trying to show- you should have shown us what Isabel felt about the affair and the love-child- Andy and about Andrew after seventeen years later! There was no scope to explore the relationship between Andrew and Isabel! There was one- Jeanie girl, who happens to be the love-interest of Andy's 'virgin' life, Alice- bed-partner of Jamie- the documentary film-maker, Candy- wife of Richard, another struggling film-maker and Eleanor Topping wife of Charles! But don't worry they all play hide-and-seek all throughout the story!
• Twists: The only thing which was the positive point in the whole story. Mind-blowing twist was delivered by the author almost midway through the book and with such a complex and dramatic ending with a funeral makes the tale a bit edgy and in the end, I felt that was a quite brilliant ending, only if the whole journey of reading the book would have been much better. One riveting twist changes the whole course and flow of the story and I really liked that part of the book. And I'm pretty sure; such an unexpected turn will at least make you feel sympathetic to the whole aura of the story.
• Setting/Location: New York Upper East Side- Yes that was the location of the book and not even for a single second, I felt like I was standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Art Museum, or neither did I felt the New York attitude and aristocracy in the whole tale. All I felt was art and literature.
Well there is another fictional story going on in the background and that was called Ampersand- story about teenage angst and which was related to Andy's life somehow. Well this story has pain, hope, resentment, hatred, loss and a lot of weird, funny moments, as a whole it has all the elements to be a great literary novel.
Verdict: If you love Gilbert's flawless prose and exquisite style of writing with all his intricate details, then grab this book for sure.
Courtesy: Thank You TripFiction for the book!
August 14, 2013
Throughout this book describing the next generation (at least four sons) of a pair of Etonians, I wondered why on earth I was reading it. The experience of their drug-infused, largely unhappy, ridiculously literary lives felt about as captivating as War and Peace the reader's digest version. Maybe I don't understand the male psyche, of which the book was full. Maybe I'm just not part of the club to which all these boring men belong. Maybe I'm just not as interested in sex per se. Certainly I felt that there must be some aspect of all the chatter that I was just simply missing as one would miss the communication happenings in an in-law's family.
Here's a sentence that summed up the whole book for me: "I was sick of being this person but I was trapped and I was too old to change, which is ironic because I felt the same way at fifty and at forty and at thirty I swear, too old to change anything."
Hmmm. Maybe I should go back and remove a star.
Here's a sentence that summed up the whole book for me: "I was sick of being this person but I was trapped and I was too old to change, which is ironic because I felt the same way at fifty and at forty and at thirty I swear, too old to change anything."
Hmmm. Maybe I should go back and remove a star.
September 1, 2014
Disappointed... After all the hype, this turned out to be a pretentious, so in love with itself kind of book. I only finished it because it was an audiobook, read beautifully. One reviewer had said that this author can write great scenes, but no cohesive story. I fully agree. There were plenty of memorable scenes and short stories, like the filming of a dying woman story, or the possible clone story, or the 16 y.o nephew of the 17 y.o. uncle story, or the hopeless quest to lose one's virginity story, or the novel within the novel story....but it never gelled into the "epic" great American novel, that the author seemed to attempt to write. Frankly, I got irritated by the much explored milieu of the "haves" on the Upper East Side, with their summers in the Hamptons, gala parties at the Frick Museum (which I actually love :), schooling at Exeter Academy etc. Most of that had been done to death by much greater writers, such as my favorites John Updike and John Irving.
This was a verbose drivel with a few bright episodes.
This was a verbose drivel with a few bright episodes.
May 20, 2013
I enjoyed this book and will likely force others to read it. It has everything a literary snob needs: an unreliable narrator, daddy issues, letters, great prose about technology, museums, and the gripes of the New York literary world. At its heart, the book is a love note to NYC and the sad reclusive artists who live there.
BUT: without spoiling anything, there is an almost plot twist in the middle of the book that doesn't work for me. I say "almost" because the second half of the book barely concerns itself with said plot point aside from a few discussions. And there is a definite moment where the story could have tied up this point, but instead leaves it to the reader to decide what's true and what's not. It adds to the theme of storytelling and lying, etc, but I just wanted Gilbert to make a choice one way or the other.
Still a great novel about failed communication within a big family of writers/artists.
BUT: without spoiling anything, there is an almost plot twist in the middle of the book that doesn't work for me. I say "almost" because the second half of the book barely concerns itself with said plot point aside from a few discussions. And there is a definite moment where the story could have tied up this point, but instead leaves it to the reader to decide what's true and what's not. It adds to the theme of storytelling and lying, etc, but I just wanted Gilbert to make a choice one way or the other.
Still a great novel about failed communication within a big family of writers/artists.
June 9, 2017
Okay so I haven’t yet finished this book—thought I’d be able to do it this morning, but I stayed up too late last night reading it!—but I can safely say this is one of the best books I’ve ever read and a new instant favourite.
I picked it up because I was in Glasgow and in Fopp they have a 2 for £5 deal, which meant I got 6 books cheaper than one back here in Oslo, and it had a pretty cover and promised to be about NYC and writers. And, not so secretly, I LOVE it when writers write about writing! But that’s the teeny tiniest part of what I ended up receiving. I haven’t gotten a deal this good since I was last in Fopp and picked up Revolutionary Road for the same price!
& Sons is a contemporary novel in a neoclassical style, 3rd person omniscient circumvented by use of a narrator, the son, of the deceased friend, of the novel’s kernel, the author A.N. Dyer. The novel focuses, section by section, on a different character, with touches here and there hinting at the progression of other story strands developed in earlier chapters, circling back to people we’ve met as it goes, and every story strand is compelling! Which is the one complaint I usually have about this style, never used so effectively, building character after character and more and more momentum and denseness, until suddenly you know a whole family and their environs over decades, disbelief entirely suspended as if bobbing on a placid sea of STORY!!
It’s everything other contemporary authors have attempted but failed. Its symphonic in the way Donna Tartt’s novels are described to be, but not a single page of it is turgid; it provides a denseness of life and insight and wisdom in the way Jonathan Franzen’s novels are said to do, but none of it is done to show off (because you can feel that intent: the reader is never locked out, simply invited to partake in the joy of observing these characters, who are presented with all of their flaws but never sneered at or judged, just observed for the joy of what we can learn from them, from how we can learn to treat the people like them that we know, and ourselves); postcards, letters, screenplay excerpts are captured in the writing’s flow so seamlessly that all you can think is, “Of course this is what needs to go here!” each step and leap part of a logical progression, never once degrading into gimmickry as it does instantly in the hands of a Garth Risk Hallberg or stony-faced killjoy, William H. Gass.
Great ideas for screenplays and short stories are summarised in mere paragraphs. Excerpts from A. N. Dyer’s masterpiece Ampersand are believably masterful. And as characters here and there remember what certain scenes and characters did for them in Ampersand, so does the reader build an idea of a novel they’ve never read but basically don’t need to, having heard so many snippets from so many people. Voices are handled immaculately. Fleeting characters from smarmy, superficial Hollywood agents, to a Russian street vendor proselytising his respect for pretzels, never once sound unrealistic.
Instantly these moments became my own memories, its brilliant observations colouring my own. Two paraphrased examples: Over years, the memory of an insult “redshifts” to a compliment. Two brothers stare at the bar, “silence seeming etched into the grooves of its wood.” These descriptions never feel forced, as if a writer thought, “Well, something different and non-cliché needs to go here. Better put in something!” as it seems so often elsewhere.
I’ve tried to articulate some of the truths I see in this book in my own writing, but that too has done nothing but add to my joy. The idea that people who are obsessed with death are simply using it as an excuse for not knowing what to do with their lives, for mishandling the weighty obligation of doing something substantial. The narrator wants so much to be part of a famous family, but once he gets the opportunity to observe them closely, he realises, probably at first with prurient pleasure, that every family is flawed, but then as he tells the family’s story it’s clear he learns to love those flaws in them and in himself. A woman sees a new book of Alice Munro short stories and feels guilty because it feels like something she should read, but struggles to get through one dense paragraph. A son goes for a daily run and imagines his father berating him over the life he’s chosen during such and such a mile, but his thoughts oscillate wildly from one mile to another, until he has no clue what to make of any of them. None of this is told to the reader; everything I mention is an offshoot observation or interpretation I’ve applied to the text, which you may or may not agree with—but the point is there’s space for the reader, who’s always treated intelligently, whose role in the novel, again, is to partake in and add to its joy.
& Sons is a harmonious sensitive novel about the complex ways in which men interact with each other: as brothers, pseudofamily, after periods of time, out of obligation, because they need something from one another, because they’re tone-deaf or young or both… It’s maybe the last thing those in the literary community think they need, but few male authors have within them the talent, insight, wisdom and observational skills to convince the reader that exploring the nuanced ways in which men interact is a worthy pursuit, or that men should be given the benefit of assuming there is nuance and could be even more of it if we offered this assumption more readily, that a lot of how men fail to understand each other or lack the tools to interact with anyone properly is as a result of having been deprived of this assumption—admittedly after too much evidence to support this, but you see how that’s a self-fulfilling negative cycle, right? You might also think of the comical and hamfisted struggles of the characters in Manchester by the Sea, whose ability to cope with what life throws at them is far more courageous than most people’s because they manage without knowing how to communicate properly, and so can you, so you leave feeling reassured that despite your failings, it’s life that ultimately fails to throw more at you than you can handle, and, wow, there’s heroism everywhere!
I think anyone can enjoy this novel. What’s wonderful is how the characters seem to change how they feel about themselves and their relation to one another in different environments. While some authors fail to build single dimensions for their characters, in this book in one instance, two brothers, who have been put back in the same environment out of shared concern for their father (it seems), appear to realise how strong a friendship they could have based on how much they share, all the suffering of their youth and early adulthood no longer seeming a waste, only with the catalyst of a young and clueless actor whom they might once have envied but seem to look after like a child. And I saw that anyone of any adult age is bound to feel like a failure somehow, because that’s what we mostly are, yearning for so many lives as we do but ultimately only living one. As the patriarch says, shame will beget pride eventually, time building an armour of resilience.
Just before bed I spoke to my husband and asked him a question I hadn’t managed to work out how to phrase for months, which led to an honest conversation. Have no doubt: when the writing’s like this, like that Victorian literary goal, it improves you as a person. If only all books were like this, did this to us, we’d none of us doubt why we read, but alas, few writers are up to the task.
Like a true novel, even if you told me what was going to happen at the end, you wouldn’t ruin the journey there. There’s no way you can get me to depart from the insight in this book’s remaining 100 pages. I’m half-reeling over how great it has been so far, and half-dismaying that it will soon end.
I picked it up because I was in Glasgow and in Fopp they have a 2 for £5 deal, which meant I got 6 books cheaper than one back here in Oslo, and it had a pretty cover and promised to be about NYC and writers. And, not so secretly, I LOVE it when writers write about writing! But that’s the teeny tiniest part of what I ended up receiving. I haven’t gotten a deal this good since I was last in Fopp and picked up Revolutionary Road for the same price!
& Sons is a contemporary novel in a neoclassical style, 3rd person omniscient circumvented by use of a narrator, the son, of the deceased friend, of the novel’s kernel, the author A.N. Dyer. The novel focuses, section by section, on a different character, with touches here and there hinting at the progression of other story strands developed in earlier chapters, circling back to people we’ve met as it goes, and every story strand is compelling! Which is the one complaint I usually have about this style, never used so effectively, building character after character and more and more momentum and denseness, until suddenly you know a whole family and their environs over decades, disbelief entirely suspended as if bobbing on a placid sea of STORY!!
It’s everything other contemporary authors have attempted but failed. Its symphonic in the way Donna Tartt’s novels are described to be, but not a single page of it is turgid; it provides a denseness of life and insight and wisdom in the way Jonathan Franzen’s novels are said to do, but none of it is done to show off (because you can feel that intent: the reader is never locked out, simply invited to partake in the joy of observing these characters, who are presented with all of their flaws but never sneered at or judged, just observed for the joy of what we can learn from them, from how we can learn to treat the people like them that we know, and ourselves); postcards, letters, screenplay excerpts are captured in the writing’s flow so seamlessly that all you can think is, “Of course this is what needs to go here!” each step and leap part of a logical progression, never once degrading into gimmickry as it does instantly in the hands of a Garth Risk Hallberg or stony-faced killjoy, William H. Gass.
Great ideas for screenplays and short stories are summarised in mere paragraphs. Excerpts from A. N. Dyer’s masterpiece Ampersand are believably masterful. And as characters here and there remember what certain scenes and characters did for them in Ampersand, so does the reader build an idea of a novel they’ve never read but basically don’t need to, having heard so many snippets from so many people. Voices are handled immaculately. Fleeting characters from smarmy, superficial Hollywood agents, to a Russian street vendor proselytising his respect for pretzels, never once sound unrealistic.
Instantly these moments became my own memories, its brilliant observations colouring my own. Two paraphrased examples: Over years, the memory of an insult “redshifts” to a compliment. Two brothers stare at the bar, “silence seeming etched into the grooves of its wood.” These descriptions never feel forced, as if a writer thought, “Well, something different and non-cliché needs to go here. Better put in something!” as it seems so often elsewhere.
I’ve tried to articulate some of the truths I see in this book in my own writing, but that too has done nothing but add to my joy. The idea that people who are obsessed with death are simply using it as an excuse for not knowing what to do with their lives, for mishandling the weighty obligation of doing something substantial. The narrator wants so much to be part of a famous family, but once he gets the opportunity to observe them closely, he realises, probably at first with prurient pleasure, that every family is flawed, but then as he tells the family’s story it’s clear he learns to love those flaws in them and in himself. A woman sees a new book of Alice Munro short stories and feels guilty because it feels like something she should read, but struggles to get through one dense paragraph. A son goes for a daily run and imagines his father berating him over the life he’s chosen during such and such a mile, but his thoughts oscillate wildly from one mile to another, until he has no clue what to make of any of them. None of this is told to the reader; everything I mention is an offshoot observation or interpretation I’ve applied to the text, which you may or may not agree with—but the point is there’s space for the reader, who’s always treated intelligently, whose role in the novel, again, is to partake in and add to its joy.
& Sons is a harmonious sensitive novel about the complex ways in which men interact with each other: as brothers, pseudofamily, after periods of time, out of obligation, because they need something from one another, because they’re tone-deaf or young or both… It’s maybe the last thing those in the literary community think they need, but few male authors have within them the talent, insight, wisdom and observational skills to convince the reader that exploring the nuanced ways in which men interact is a worthy pursuit, or that men should be given the benefit of assuming there is nuance and could be even more of it if we offered this assumption more readily, that a lot of how men fail to understand each other or lack the tools to interact with anyone properly is as a result of having been deprived of this assumption—admittedly after too much evidence to support this, but you see how that’s a self-fulfilling negative cycle, right? You might also think of the comical and hamfisted struggles of the characters in Manchester by the Sea, whose ability to cope with what life throws at them is far more courageous than most people’s because they manage without knowing how to communicate properly, and so can you, so you leave feeling reassured that despite your failings, it’s life that ultimately fails to throw more at you than you can handle, and, wow, there’s heroism everywhere!
I think anyone can enjoy this novel. What’s wonderful is how the characters seem to change how they feel about themselves and their relation to one another in different environments. While some authors fail to build single dimensions for their characters, in this book in one instance, two brothers, who have been put back in the same environment out of shared concern for their father (it seems), appear to realise how strong a friendship they could have based on how much they share, all the suffering of their youth and early adulthood no longer seeming a waste, only with the catalyst of a young and clueless actor whom they might once have envied but seem to look after like a child. And I saw that anyone of any adult age is bound to feel like a failure somehow, because that’s what we mostly are, yearning for so many lives as we do but ultimately only living one. As the patriarch says, shame will beget pride eventually, time building an armour of resilience.
Just before bed I spoke to my husband and asked him a question I hadn’t managed to work out how to phrase for months, which led to an honest conversation. Have no doubt: when the writing’s like this, like that Victorian literary goal, it improves you as a person. If only all books were like this, did this to us, we’d none of us doubt why we read, but alas, few writers are up to the task.
Like a true novel, even if you told me what was going to happen at the end, you wouldn’t ruin the journey there. There’s no way you can get me to depart from the insight in this book’s remaining 100 pages. I’m half-reeling over how great it has been so far, and half-dismaying that it will soon end.
July 26, 2013
After spending a week with this novel and getting to know A.N. Dyer and his sons, I am finally done with & Sons (And Sons). & Sons is the debut literary fiction novel by David Gilbert and it is quite a treat. & Sons opens at the funeral of Charles Henry Topping, Dyer's oldest and dearest friend. After speaking at the funeral, Dyer pretty much loses it and begins trying to get all his sons together under the same roof so he can make some sort of amends for being a crappy father.
Phillip Toppin narrates the story and even defends his narration by suggesting that Dyer uses his father in his own fiction, so he can do the same. Dyer is a famous author who's debut novel Ampersand, likened to A Catcher in the Rye, has given him fame and fortune. But with death knocking at the door, that doesn't much matter to him. Dyer's fame and fortune doesn't matter to his son Richard who wants nothing to do with the family wealth (except when it's given from Mother). He lives as far away from the Upper Eastside as possible: Los Angeles with his wife, daughter, and son who is close in age to his uncle, Andy. Andy is the youngest (17 years old) of the three Dyer siblings. Andy also seems the most connected with their father and wants to follow in his footsteps. Jamie, besides one good scene where he's in an altercation, is absolutely forgettable. Sorry... but he is.
As a debut effort, this novel is extremely well written, yet approachable for those who are intimidated by the literary label. I usually find some literary fiction to be one blabbering mess that goes nowhere. The absence of a plot seems to give any hack author the right to call their work literary. Thankfully, David Gilbert's & Sons deserves that recognition. He even references, pay homage, to the greats of the past.
What helps make this novel worthy of recommendation is it's character development and themes. Although many of the characters are deeply flawed, I felt that they deserved some sort of redemption. & Sons speaks often about death, friendship, family, and relationships between fathers and sons. I like when the mention of our friends faces never really change regardless of their age. & Sons is poetically written... most certainly.
Overall, I would recommend David Gilbert's & Sons to lovers of intelligent fiction. There is definitely some quirky moments, sad moments, and awe inducing moments. I really enjoyed & Sons. Hopefully Gilbert won't miss with his sophomore effort because I will be waiting for it.
Phillip Toppin narrates the story and even defends his narration by suggesting that Dyer uses his father in his own fiction, so he can do the same. Dyer is a famous author who's debut novel Ampersand, likened to A Catcher in the Rye, has given him fame and fortune. But with death knocking at the door, that doesn't much matter to him. Dyer's fame and fortune doesn't matter to his son Richard who wants nothing to do with the family wealth (except when it's given from Mother). He lives as far away from the Upper Eastside as possible: Los Angeles with his wife, daughter, and son who is close in age to his uncle, Andy. Andy is the youngest (17 years old) of the three Dyer siblings. Andy also seems the most connected with their father and wants to follow in his footsteps. Jamie, besides one good scene where he's in an altercation, is absolutely forgettable. Sorry... but he is.
As a debut effort, this novel is extremely well written, yet approachable for those who are intimidated by the literary label. I usually find some literary fiction to be one blabbering mess that goes nowhere. The absence of a plot seems to give any hack author the right to call their work literary. Thankfully, David Gilbert's & Sons deserves that recognition. He even references, pay homage, to the greats of the past.
What helps make this novel worthy of recommendation is it's character development and themes. Although many of the characters are deeply flawed, I felt that they deserved some sort of redemption. & Sons speaks often about death, friendship, family, and relationships between fathers and sons. I like when the mention of our friends faces never really change regardless of their age. & Sons is poetically written... most certainly.
Overall, I would recommend David Gilbert's & Sons to lovers of intelligent fiction. There is definitely some quirky moments, sad moments, and awe inducing moments. I really enjoyed & Sons. Hopefully Gilbert won't miss with his sophomore effort because I will be waiting for it.
March 29, 2013
This came so close to being a five-star, but the occasional (all right, more than merely "occasional") bout of overwriting and a lack of clarity as to why this was being told by Philip at a remove of several years dropped it down.
The & is important: Ampersand was the brilliant novel written by A.N. Dyer, set at a fictional version of Exeter and loosely based on his friends and experiences. His other novels have also sold well, all seeming to be in the Louis Auchincloss mold of "Upper East Side/St. Grottlesex" lives examined. How this has effected his family (sons Richard, Jamie and Andy) and the son of his best friend, Charlie Topping (the narrator, Philip) is the "sons" part of the title. Clever.
None of the sons is in good shape, Richard is a former junkie, Jamie spends his time filming unwatchable documentaries, Philip has a failed marriage, and Andy (at a mere 17)is aware that he's the reason why A.N. and his wife divorced and that he's mostly tolerated because of his lineage. The first three haven't see each other in years, and Andy has never met his two half-brother. When Philip's father dies, A.N. has a bit of a breakdown and insists that his two older sons come home - he has something to tell them. This sets everything in motion, with several flashbacks to Philip's youth/friendship with Jamie, their relationships with their fathers, etc. As with all these types of books, Deep Truths Are Revealed and Relationships Changed.
Of all the sons, Andy is the most likeable. His combination of insecurity and preternaturally adult wit remind me of many of the boys I've met in the prep school world. The others? We see them negotiating how to be friendly as adults, realizing that they were never really friends as children. It's done well, but sadly, the overwriting at times got in the way. Each section is prefaced with a letter, usually from A.N. to Charlie; because I read this on my Kindle, I couldn't really read the letters (they're handwritten).
ARC provided by publisher.
The & is important: Ampersand was the brilliant novel written by A.N. Dyer, set at a fictional version of Exeter and loosely based on his friends and experiences. His other novels have also sold well, all seeming to be in the Louis Auchincloss mold of "Upper East Side/St. Grottlesex" lives examined. How this has effected his family (sons Richard, Jamie and Andy) and the son of his best friend, Charlie Topping (the narrator, Philip) is the "sons" part of the title. Clever.
None of the sons is in good shape, Richard is a former junkie, Jamie spends his time filming unwatchable documentaries, Philip has a failed marriage, and Andy (at a mere 17)is aware that he's the reason why A.N. and his wife divorced and that he's mostly tolerated because of his lineage. The first three haven't see each other in years, and Andy has never met his two half-brother. When Philip's father dies, A.N. has a bit of a breakdown and insists that his two older sons come home - he has something to tell them. This sets everything in motion, with several flashbacks to Philip's youth/friendship with Jamie, their relationships with their fathers, etc. As with all these types of books, Deep Truths Are Revealed and Relationships Changed.
Of all the sons, Andy is the most likeable. His combination of insecurity and preternaturally adult wit remind me of many of the boys I've met in the prep school world. The others? We see them negotiating how to be friendly as adults, realizing that they were never really friends as children. It's done well, but sadly, the overwriting at times got in the way. Each section is prefaced with a letter, usually from A.N. to Charlie; because I read this on my Kindle, I couldn't really read the letters (they're handwritten).
ARC provided by publisher.
August 19, 2013
This novel had a neat premise. Gilbert imagined the upbringing and life of a famous reclusive author, A.N. Dyer, and his sons. The story is mostly told from the point of view of the son of the author’s close friend, Philip Topping, who alternately felt rage and admiration for the “otherness” of the family.
We are meant to draw parallels between J.D. Salinger and A.N. Dyer, though one knows there are few enough points of overlap. & Sons contains some pages from Dyer’s breakout novel, Ampersand , but beyond the fact that both are coming-of-age novels, Dyer’s work did not resemble Salinger’s in many particulars. I sensed a disturbing cruelty in Dyer’s work that I had no sense of in Salinger’s. And if Ampersand suffered from “emotional claustrophobia,” I am afraid I felt the same coming into the home stretch of & Sons .
Gilbert created some marvelous set pieces for this novel, mainly the book party, fore and aft. A movie actor meets one of Dyer’s sons, a recovering addict, and demands he find some cocaine. He calls his brother, who manages to whip up something special and insert himself into the evening’s festivities. It was a clever piece of imagination, though to my mind it was carried on a trifle long—the jokes got crude and cruel--lessening my fascination.
It is entirely normal to feel a little curious about a person who changes the way we view literature, and I admit to some curiosity at times for the life of Salinger. But I also have a certain sympathy for someone who knows himself/herself well enough to wish to limit the celebrity aspect of their lives. I hope he wasn’t as lonely as he seemed, or as lonely as Gilbert’s parallel figure, A.N. Dyer, seemed to be.
We are meant to draw parallels between J.D. Salinger and A.N. Dyer, though one knows there are few enough points of overlap. & Sons contains some pages from Dyer’s breakout novel, Ampersand , but beyond the fact that both are coming-of-age novels, Dyer’s work did not resemble Salinger’s in many particulars. I sensed a disturbing cruelty in Dyer’s work that I had no sense of in Salinger’s. And if Ampersand suffered from “emotional claustrophobia,” I am afraid I felt the same coming into the home stretch of & Sons .
Gilbert created some marvelous set pieces for this novel, mainly the book party, fore and aft. A movie actor meets one of Dyer’s sons, a recovering addict, and demands he find some cocaine. He calls his brother, who manages to whip up something special and insert himself into the evening’s festivities. It was a clever piece of imagination, though to my mind it was carried on a trifle long—the jokes got crude and cruel--lessening my fascination.
It is entirely normal to feel a little curious about a person who changes the way we view literature, and I admit to some curiosity at times for the life of Salinger. But I also have a certain sympathy for someone who knows himself/herself well enough to wish to limit the celebrity aspect of their lives. I hope he wasn’t as lonely as he seemed, or as lonely as Gilbert’s parallel figure, A.N. Dyer, seemed to be.
August 8, 2013
I'd rate this 3.5 stars.
"Fathers start as gods and end as myths and in between whatever human form they take can be calamitous for their sons."
So says Philip Topping, near the start of And Sons, David Gilbert's emotionally rich if overstuffed novel about familial relations, primarily fathers and sons. The death of Philip's father, Charles Henry Topping, is not much of an event by New York standards—except for the appearance of reclusive write A.N. (Andrew) Dyer, Charles' oldest friend, who is persuaded to deliver his eulogy. But the eulogy deliver doesn't go quite as well as Andrew hoped, and fearing his own impending physical and emotional decline, he decides to make amends with those whom he has harmed, in particular his two older sons, Richard and Jamie.
Andrew summons both sons home to his New York City apartment, to join him and his youngest son, Andy, whose illegitimate birth 17 years ago tore apart their family. Richard, an aspiring screenwriter and full-time drug abuse counselor who escaped to California years before, comes home with his own family in tow, as well as some interesting plans that involve his father's capitulation. Jamie is a wanderer, who has spent many years traveling the world as a documentary filmmaker chronicling human suffering, but his own life is far from steady, as he finds himself haunted by a project involving a former girlfriend. And high school senior Andy is desperate both to understand his father better and lose his virginity (perhaps not in that exact order).
The family reunion, of sorts, brings to light many issues that have remained unsaid through the years, reopens old wounds, and uncovers a secret that Andrew has kept hidden for many years. He is determined to make things right with Richard and Jamie, and try to ensure both his literary and familial legacies are strong. But things have a bizarre way of spinning out of control, in many different ways, as the characters begin to confront Andrew's mortality.
At its core, this is a well-told (albeit somewhat familiar) story that is emotionally compelling, with flawed and not-entirely-sympathetic characters that make you want to keep reading. But Gilbert wasn't content to tell just this story—he had to throw in commentary on the fleeting celebrity of the literary world, a crazy scientific twist that will make you say, "Are you kidding?", not to mention the decision to have the unexciting Philip narrate the book (and share his own life struggles) really bogs the plot down from time to time. It seemed hard to believe this chronicler could always be at the right place at the right time to know what was happening.
The bonds between father and son are complicated ones, and many novels have explored them over the years. And Sons is an interesting and well-written addition to this genre of sorts; I just wish that David Gilbert had stuck more to the core of his story, which had so much merit, instead of trying to throw everything but the kitchen sink into his plot. It almost seemed as if he didn't trust Andrew Dyer to anchor the book as much as the other characters didn't trust him, but that's where the story truly was.
"Fathers start as gods and end as myths and in between whatever human form they take can be calamitous for their sons."
So says Philip Topping, near the start of And Sons, David Gilbert's emotionally rich if overstuffed novel about familial relations, primarily fathers and sons. The death of Philip's father, Charles Henry Topping, is not much of an event by New York standards—except for the appearance of reclusive write A.N. (Andrew) Dyer, Charles' oldest friend, who is persuaded to deliver his eulogy. But the eulogy deliver doesn't go quite as well as Andrew hoped, and fearing his own impending physical and emotional decline, he decides to make amends with those whom he has harmed, in particular his two older sons, Richard and Jamie.
Andrew summons both sons home to his New York City apartment, to join him and his youngest son, Andy, whose illegitimate birth 17 years ago tore apart their family. Richard, an aspiring screenwriter and full-time drug abuse counselor who escaped to California years before, comes home with his own family in tow, as well as some interesting plans that involve his father's capitulation. Jamie is a wanderer, who has spent many years traveling the world as a documentary filmmaker chronicling human suffering, but his own life is far from steady, as he finds himself haunted by a project involving a former girlfriend. And high school senior Andy is desperate both to understand his father better and lose his virginity (perhaps not in that exact order).
The family reunion, of sorts, brings to light many issues that have remained unsaid through the years, reopens old wounds, and uncovers a secret that Andrew has kept hidden for many years. He is determined to make things right with Richard and Jamie, and try to ensure both his literary and familial legacies are strong. But things have a bizarre way of spinning out of control, in many different ways, as the characters begin to confront Andrew's mortality.
At its core, this is a well-told (albeit somewhat familiar) story that is emotionally compelling, with flawed and not-entirely-sympathetic characters that make you want to keep reading. But Gilbert wasn't content to tell just this story—he had to throw in commentary on the fleeting celebrity of the literary world, a crazy scientific twist that will make you say, "Are you kidding?", not to mention the decision to have the unexciting Philip narrate the book (and share his own life struggles) really bogs the plot down from time to time. It seemed hard to believe this chronicler could always be at the right place at the right time to know what was happening.
The bonds between father and son are complicated ones, and many novels have explored them over the years. And Sons is an interesting and well-written addition to this genre of sorts; I just wish that David Gilbert had stuck more to the core of his story, which had so much merit, instead of trying to throw everything but the kitchen sink into his plot. It almost seemed as if he didn't trust Andrew Dyer to anchor the book as much as the other characters didn't trust him, but that's where the story truly was.
March 2, 2016
At its best, & Sons is amazing. Not only does David Gilbert write prose with beautiful construction, but he crafts excellent scenes and interesting characters. Along the way, he travels unexpected avenues, adding twists and turns that may be jarring for some readers; personally I found them to be creative, well-placed, and fun. & Sons is a multi-layered novel, and is probably best enjoyed at a slow pace, among readers who take time to dissect its many meanings. That being said, it can be an overwhelming novel. Had I the time, I probably would've chosen to crack open & Sons further, explore its inner mysteries, but I didn't feel the need. I took it at its face value and considered it a worthwhile experience.
At its worst, & Sons drags on. Personally, I would've elected for tighter editing, though I see why a book such as this might suffer from harsher cuts. Readers needing constant movement may give up on this novel before reaching its end. When & Sons moves, however, it certainly moves. Although the characters and their dynamics are interesting, I do think it is a bit too easy to keep them at a distance. They're interesting, but not necessarily accessible—it was as though they were part of an alien culture I could never understand or relate to.
Overall, I liked & Sons, but I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I thought I might. I believe part of this was the narrative voice of Philip Topping. I won't say the choice of narrator was wrong, but it did make me uncomfortable throughout the story. Every time he referenced himself or jumped into the first person, I was jarred from the otherwise smooth flow. I think Topping was an interesting choice, and certainly added another layer to the story, but his presence did not make for the most pleasant read.
& Sons got significant pre-pub hype, and that can certainly be damaging to a book, especially one that primarily targets the literati. It's a good book, and one you might consider if you're looking for something to read. Ampersand—the fictitious novel at the core of & Sons—is a must read, however. According to many of the characters in & Sons, you're either a fan of Catcher in the Rye or a fan of Ampersand; I am fairly confident I would be in the company of the latter.
At its worst, & Sons drags on. Personally, I would've elected for tighter editing, though I see why a book such as this might suffer from harsher cuts. Readers needing constant movement may give up on this novel before reaching its end. When & Sons moves, however, it certainly moves. Although the characters and their dynamics are interesting, I do think it is a bit too easy to keep them at a distance. They're interesting, but not necessarily accessible—it was as though they were part of an alien culture I could never understand or relate to.
Overall, I liked & Sons, but I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I thought I might. I believe part of this was the narrative voice of Philip Topping. I won't say the choice of narrator was wrong, but it did make me uncomfortable throughout the story. Every time he referenced himself or jumped into the first person, I was jarred from the otherwise smooth flow. I think Topping was an interesting choice, and certainly added another layer to the story, but his presence did not make for the most pleasant read.
& Sons got significant pre-pub hype, and that can certainly be damaging to a book, especially one that primarily targets the literati. It's a good book, and one you might consider if you're looking for something to read. Ampersand—the fictitious novel at the core of & Sons—is a must read, however. According to many of the characters in & Sons, you're either a fan of Catcher in the Rye or a fan of Ampersand; I am fairly confident I would be in the company of the latter.
August 5, 2016
Still trying to slog my way through this rather miserable book about miserable people. Nothing really happens ...people ponder their pasts and their mistakes. All very "cleverly" (not) dropping hints or revealing "truths" about a illegitimate son really being a clone or a long time friendship really being a gay passion on one side. Very contrived ..few nuances...and mindnumbingly long. It reminds me of something written in the 50s as "literature" ..or so very clever. I have had to periodically set it aside and read other things to clear my mind and mental palate. First it was one book...the next time two books. Etc. I keep checking bake with my kindle hoping that perhaps I actualy had finished it but that the actual end made no more impression than the book. No such luck.
An hour later after writing the above review. I went back to see if I could slog my way to the end once and for all. After all Kindle says I am 85% complete. After a few pages I realized what and inferally long sentence I was trapped in. I began to page back to the beginning of the sentence thinking I might type it here as an example of the book. Then I realized I should just count the words in the sentence. At 600 I decided I had better things to do with my life than count the words and finish the book. No, that was not a typo...600 words and it wasn't the end of the sentence. All sorts of devices...5 word quotes and lots of dashes. Still..literary devices aside, I do believe in the value of periods.
Perhaps if the author had used more periods he would have stopped and realized the endless story had no point. The interesting elements..like the film Jamie made..which could have made a wonderful shortstory on its own, was lost in the authors blather about shallow people and shallow relationships...made more shallow by this book.
An hour later after writing the above review. I went back to see if I could slog my way to the end once and for all. After all Kindle says I am 85% complete. After a few pages I realized what and inferally long sentence I was trapped in. I began to page back to the beginning of the sentence thinking I might type it here as an example of the book. Then I realized I should just count the words in the sentence. At 600 I decided I had better things to do with my life than count the words and finish the book. No, that was not a typo...600 words and it wasn't the end of the sentence. All sorts of devices...5 word quotes and lots of dashes. Still..literary devices aside, I do believe in the value of periods.
Perhaps if the author had used more periods he would have stopped and realized the endless story had no point. The interesting elements..like the film Jamie made..which could have made a wonderful shortstory on its own, was lost in the authors blather about shallow people and shallow relationships...made more shallow by this book.
September 23, 2013
A friend recently received a diagnosis from her doctor: "TMB." "TMB?" "Too many birthdays."
I am afflicted with TMB as I try to appreciate this novel. Some of the topics he pursues: strained family relationships, relationship between children of old friends forced into the next generation of pseudo closeness, betrayal within family and between friends, are worth pursuing, and Gilbert has a gift with words, an ability to paint a scene so the participants come alive. In the final section, Gilbert gives us this gem, "Today I am as much a boy as I am an old man!"
But, but, but.
Philip, the narrator, son of A. N. Dyer's best (???) friend, tells the story even though he's not present for much of the actions. More than once I asked myself, "Why is Philip telling the story?"
No, no, no, this narrator doesn't work. Give me Nick Carraway any day.
The decision of Jamie, one of the Dyer sons, to film his old girlfriend at regular intervals as she approaches death, and to continue filming her body in the grave, is a new idea I didn't need to think about. A second reading might help me see the importance of this motif, but no, no second reading.
The childhood notes written by Andrew and Charlie give us the background of their friendship, a nice touch, I guess, but the small handwriting was difficult for me to decipher.
Let me know if you read and like this one. I'm ready for a book that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable.
I am afflicted with TMB as I try to appreciate this novel. Some of the topics he pursues: strained family relationships, relationship between children of old friends forced into the next generation of pseudo closeness, betrayal within family and between friends, are worth pursuing, and Gilbert has a gift with words, an ability to paint a scene so the participants come alive. In the final section, Gilbert gives us this gem, "Today I am as much a boy as I am an old man!"
But, but, but.
Philip, the narrator, son of A. N. Dyer's best (???) friend, tells the story even though he's not present for much of the actions. More than once I asked myself, "Why is Philip telling the story?"
No, no, no, this narrator doesn't work. Give me Nick Carraway any day.
The decision of Jamie, one of the Dyer sons, to film his old girlfriend at regular intervals as she approaches death, and to continue filming her body in the grave, is a new idea I didn't need to think about. A second reading might help me see the importance of this motif, but no, no second reading.
The childhood notes written by Andrew and Charlie give us the background of their friendship, a nice touch, I guess, but the small handwriting was difficult for me to decipher.
Let me know if you read and like this one. I'm ready for a book that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable.
August 7, 2013
I loved this novel, was utterly engrossed from beginning to end. No need to summarize the plot--others have done so--but having worked in New York (in publishing) for nearly 30 years, and lived here briefly (without a spare penny, distant from the world described in this novel), I was delighted by the author's eye and ear for the city. The walk through Central Park, the party at the Frick, the odd erotic obsession of the Pale Male watchers, the delicate negotiations at the Morgan Library, and all the arcania of book publishing are exactingly rendered. And, while fathers and sons can be a deadly earnest subject, David Gilbert manages to keep the most dire circumstances and depressing events aloft with line for line wit and sometimes horrifyingly funny scenes. The most interesting part for me was the narrator: an unreliably omniscient narrator who dips in and out of the plot as a first-person eavesdropper, witness, hanger-on, opportunist, professional mourner, and finally an avenger of sorts.
September 9, 2013
Reading David Gilbert’s “& Sons,” I couldn’t help but think about “The Great Gatsby.” Not that this often digressive novel has much structurally in common with Fitzgerald’s slim masterpiece. Perhaps just as Gatsby brings to mind the shapely flirtatious elegance of the 20’s flapper, “& Sons” owes much to our cultural tendency towards self involved intellectualism. Yes, both are narrated by apparently secondary characters that careful readers will recognize as being at the center of the action. Nick Caraway, however, for all the critics who’ve noted his fly on the wall luck being present for Gatsby’s every intimacy, is left in the dust by “& Sons” Philip Topping. Topping is effectively omniscient. He can report other characters inner longings. He recounts other folks’ post-coital whispers with ease. Whether separated by a thousand mile or before he was born, no part of the story is too distant for his magical eye. No, something else here brought to mind Gatsby.
Recently I’ve reread Susan Bell’s extraordinary work, “The Artful Edit.” Bell devotes considerable attention to the notes Fitzgerald received from his editor, Max Perkins. Several generations of American writers have collectively mourned that they are forced to shoulder on bereft of Perkins’ editorial gifts. Few could have used it as much as Gilbert. With “& Sons” Gilbert is plainly trying to write an important novel. Yet importance as an ends can be the worst of stumbling blocks. While he here tries too hard, one senses that there was perhaps a masterpiece buried somewhere in this roving, often disjointed novel.
A great editor might have helped Gilbert find that masterpiece. Instead, we are left with a novel that starts out on a classic note – reclusive, aged, and misanthropic Salinger-esque author, A. N. Dyer (his great novel, Ampersand, written when he was 27, is read by everyone, is there favorite and has sold 45 million copies with another hundred thousand selling annually) attends the funeral of his closest friend (the father of the narrator, Philip Topping). From the start – if the title wasn’t a giveaway – we know that we are going to get a story of the fraught relations between fathers and sons. Yet as soon as we leave the funeral, the story begins to branch out. Then it branches further. This novel is going so many places at once – and always at terrifying speeds, that one can’t help but wonder where they might find the main trunk.
And off the novel wanders, skipping, teleporting, and turning back upon its own narrative. Not only do we get a diffusion of characters and subplots that often intertwine in dizzying and unbelievable ways, as Gilbert piles on sub-plot after sub-plot terror and dizziness give way to exhaustion. Gilbert writes with a lot of energy, but his no metaphor left behind style seems designed to stagger. Worse still, Gilbert’s singular narrator doesn’t just lack a consistent voice; he possesses four or five. One gets the sense of a novel of ventriloquism – here we see summoned the style of Amis, there DeLillo, then Franzen. And so it goes. Yet one doesn’t read a novel for the author’s imitative gifts; no, readers want to hear the voice of the author.
I’ve little doubt that Gilbert does in fact have such a voice, one well worth reading. For all this novel’s unfortunate labyrinthine plots, at times one gets flashes of pure genius. Many involve the exploits of high school aged Andy, A.N. Dyer’s youngest son (the product of an affair when in his sixties whose appearance destroyed his marriage, though in one of “& Sons” most inexplicable plots, maybe not). Andy roams New York in his tireless pursuit of the sophisticated, older (twenty three!) Jeanie Spokes. Andy considers the mistakes that have left him (in his mind tragically) about to turn eighteen without having lost his virginity. He dashes about Central Park seeking the cart that makes the “perfect” New York hotdog. He attends a book party at the Frick which just sizzles. These scenes don’t just work, they sing with talents. Andy proves that rarest of birds, a perfectly believable extraordinary and intelligent young man who flies high without feeling like an authorial device or a character sketch.
The same cannot be said of the other characters. When first glimpsed, each appears to perhaps have Andy’s potential. Dyer’s son, Jamie, travels to the world’s most dangerous corners shooting film yet producing no films, seeing death and destruction everywhere. Yet Jamie only learns about death and grief when asked to return to the US and document his first love’s death from cancer. The other son, Andrew, having struggled with substance abuse (crack, of course!), has gotten clean decades earlier and fled to the west coast. There he receives an offer to have his screen play produced, yet one with that arrives with too many tangled strings. In the wake of the opening funeral, both sons are summoned home by their acerbic self-absorbed father. Yet despite early signs of potential, neither character ever truly comes to life on the page. To make matters worse, about a third of the way into the novel one senses a potential cliché of an ending on the horizon, dreading the possibility, and then grows sickened when it falls there, dead on arrival.
Gilbert’s talent is such that one cannot read this novel without some appreciation. Yet he uses these talents here with such promiscuity that the reader can rarely guess where he wants to focus. Writing is about making choice. Gilbert choice at times leans towards focusing on everything. Thinking, however, how Fitzgerald’s masterpiece was only born through Perkins’ editorial midwifery, one cannot help but wonder how a talented editor might have aided Gilbert in shaping this over-stuffed work. While we’ll never know, we can all mourn what might have been.
Recently I’ve reread Susan Bell’s extraordinary work, “The Artful Edit.” Bell devotes considerable attention to the notes Fitzgerald received from his editor, Max Perkins. Several generations of American writers have collectively mourned that they are forced to shoulder on bereft of Perkins’ editorial gifts. Few could have used it as much as Gilbert. With “& Sons” Gilbert is plainly trying to write an important novel. Yet importance as an ends can be the worst of stumbling blocks. While he here tries too hard, one senses that there was perhaps a masterpiece buried somewhere in this roving, often disjointed novel.
A great editor might have helped Gilbert find that masterpiece. Instead, we are left with a novel that starts out on a classic note – reclusive, aged, and misanthropic Salinger-esque author, A. N. Dyer (his great novel, Ampersand, written when he was 27, is read by everyone, is there favorite and has sold 45 million copies with another hundred thousand selling annually) attends the funeral of his closest friend (the father of the narrator, Philip Topping). From the start – if the title wasn’t a giveaway – we know that we are going to get a story of the fraught relations between fathers and sons. Yet as soon as we leave the funeral, the story begins to branch out. Then it branches further. This novel is going so many places at once – and always at terrifying speeds, that one can’t help but wonder where they might find the main trunk.
And off the novel wanders, skipping, teleporting, and turning back upon its own narrative. Not only do we get a diffusion of characters and subplots that often intertwine in dizzying and unbelievable ways, as Gilbert piles on sub-plot after sub-plot terror and dizziness give way to exhaustion. Gilbert writes with a lot of energy, but his no metaphor left behind style seems designed to stagger. Worse still, Gilbert’s singular narrator doesn’t just lack a consistent voice; he possesses four or five. One gets the sense of a novel of ventriloquism – here we see summoned the style of Amis, there DeLillo, then Franzen. And so it goes. Yet one doesn’t read a novel for the author’s imitative gifts; no, readers want to hear the voice of the author.
I’ve little doubt that Gilbert does in fact have such a voice, one well worth reading. For all this novel’s unfortunate labyrinthine plots, at times one gets flashes of pure genius. Many involve the exploits of high school aged Andy, A.N. Dyer’s youngest son (the product of an affair when in his sixties whose appearance destroyed his marriage, though in one of “& Sons” most inexplicable plots, maybe not). Andy roams New York in his tireless pursuit of the sophisticated, older (twenty three!) Jeanie Spokes. Andy considers the mistakes that have left him (in his mind tragically) about to turn eighteen without having lost his virginity. He dashes about Central Park seeking the cart that makes the “perfect” New York hotdog. He attends a book party at the Frick which just sizzles. These scenes don’t just work, they sing with talents. Andy proves that rarest of birds, a perfectly believable extraordinary and intelligent young man who flies high without feeling like an authorial device or a character sketch.
The same cannot be said of the other characters. When first glimpsed, each appears to perhaps have Andy’s potential. Dyer’s son, Jamie, travels to the world’s most dangerous corners shooting film yet producing no films, seeing death and destruction everywhere. Yet Jamie only learns about death and grief when asked to return to the US and document his first love’s death from cancer. The other son, Andrew, having struggled with substance abuse (crack, of course!), has gotten clean decades earlier and fled to the west coast. There he receives an offer to have his screen play produced, yet one with that arrives with too many tangled strings. In the wake of the opening funeral, both sons are summoned home by their acerbic self-absorbed father. Yet despite early signs of potential, neither character ever truly comes to life on the page. To make matters worse, about a third of the way into the novel one senses a potential cliché of an ending on the horizon, dreading the possibility, and then grows sickened when it falls there, dead on arrival.
Gilbert’s talent is such that one cannot read this novel without some appreciation. Yet he uses these talents here with such promiscuity that the reader can rarely guess where he wants to focus. Writing is about making choice. Gilbert choice at times leans towards focusing on everything. Thinking, however, how Fitzgerald’s masterpiece was only born through Perkins’ editorial midwifery, one cannot help but wonder how a talented editor might have aided Gilbert in shaping this over-stuffed work. While we’ll never know, we can all mourn what might have been.
April 19, 2020
& Sons centres on recluse author AN Dyer (who seems loosely inspired by JD Salinger), who wants to reunite with his three sons after his best friend passes away.
This was a very ambitious book, with an interesting premise, and while definitely well-written in terms of language, this doesn’t quite achieve what it sets out to do. The POV was convoluted and confusing, supposedly narrated by Philip Topping, AN Dyer’s godson, whose father was his best friend, but incredibly inconsistent and confusing narration.
Mostly this seemed too wordy for the sake of being wordy, and just trying too hard, with too many
unnecessary segways into pages and pages of irrelevant backstories.
This was a very ambitious book, with an interesting premise, and while definitely well-written in terms of language, this doesn’t quite achieve what it sets out to do. The POV was convoluted and confusing, supposedly narrated by Philip Topping, AN Dyer’s godson, whose father was his best friend, but incredibly inconsistent and confusing narration.
Mostly this seemed too wordy for the sake of being wordy, and just trying too hard, with too many
unnecessary segways into pages and pages of irrelevant backstories.
April 3, 2013
I've only made it about halfway through this one, but I think I am going to put it on hold.
A.N. Dyer is a literary giant in the vein of J.D. Salinger. His breakout novel, Ampersand was a classic of adolescent angst comparable to Catcher in the Rye -- in Gilbert's world, you're either a Dyer fan or a Salinger fan much as you're either a Beatles fan or a Stones fan. Dyer has three sons, but he hasn't spoken to Richard or Jamie much since the sudden appearance of their half-brother Andy -- the result of an affair -- tore the Dyer marriage and family apart seventeen years ago. Dyer emerges from a life of Upper East Side seclusion to attend the funeral of his lifelong friend Charlie Topper, where he suffers a very public breakdown. He then summons his two older sons back to New York, along with Charlie's son (and our narrator) Phillip, to sort of settle things as he sees his own twilight approaching.
I find myself reading this in fits and starts, which is never a good sign. The first fifty pages were phenomenal, but as I've continued I find that I'm having trouble connecting to the characters and the writing can be a little verbose and rambly. It doesn't make sense to me, either, why the story is narrated from Phillip's POV but with the perks of a omniscient third-person narrator that gets into each character's head. Still, I think this book would be enjoyable and meaningful for someone who can better relate to the characters. I'm just not that someone. I may come back to it, but I'm moving on for the time being.
A.N. Dyer is a literary giant in the vein of J.D. Salinger. His breakout novel, Ampersand was a classic of adolescent angst comparable to Catcher in the Rye -- in Gilbert's world, you're either a Dyer fan or a Salinger fan much as you're either a Beatles fan or a Stones fan. Dyer has three sons, but he hasn't spoken to Richard or Jamie much since the sudden appearance of their half-brother Andy -- the result of an affair -- tore the Dyer marriage and family apart seventeen years ago. Dyer emerges from a life of Upper East Side seclusion to attend the funeral of his lifelong friend Charlie Topper, where he suffers a very public breakdown. He then summons his two older sons back to New York, along with Charlie's son (and our narrator) Phillip, to sort of settle things as he sees his own twilight approaching.
I find myself reading this in fits and starts, which is never a good sign. The first fifty pages were phenomenal, but as I've continued I find that I'm having trouble connecting to the characters and the writing can be a little verbose and rambly. It doesn't make sense to me, either, why the story is narrated from Phillip's POV but with the perks of a omniscient third-person narrator that gets into each character's head. Still, I think this book would be enjoyable and meaningful for someone who can better relate to the characters. I'm just not that someone. I may come back to it, but I'm moving on for the time being.
August 3, 2013
Every so often the media's hype is loud enough, or a reviewers enthusiasm bursts out like a bottle rocket that you just have to pick up the book and start reading it sooner than now. But if I had just waited a few more minutes I would have noticed that bottle rocket was a dud and just exploded a scant few feet and the excitement was over.
I love the title. I love the hidden title. All the little innuendoes creates a desire to take this book and embrace it like the Catcher cult embraces Salinger. But as you start reading it that excitement ebbs and falls flat.
The problem lies in the characters in the story. It's hard to find any want or need to know more about any of them. From the father, the sons, and to the narrator each one of them has nothing likeable or interesting to keep your interest.
The story tries to pull the shocker near the end, but this still lands with a thud and the final chapter ends up more a formality than a climax. If this story was a mountain freeway, rather then headin downhill from the middle to the end and picking up the speed at the finish resulting in a glorious crash at the checkered flag, this turns off at the rest stop and putters through until you realize it's time to get out.
I love the title. I love the hidden title. All the little innuendoes creates a desire to take this book and embrace it like the Catcher cult embraces Salinger. But as you start reading it that excitement ebbs and falls flat.
The problem lies in the characters in the story. It's hard to find any want or need to know more about any of them. From the father, the sons, and to the narrator each one of them has nothing likeable or interesting to keep your interest.
The story tries to pull the shocker near the end, but this still lands with a thud and the final chapter ends up more a formality than a climax. If this story was a mountain freeway, rather then headin downhill from the middle to the end and picking up the speed at the finish resulting in a glorious crash at the checkered flag, this turns off at the rest stop and putters through until you realize it's time to get out.
June 18, 2013
Really fun read and excellent characters/one-liners throughout the book but I agree with everyone who thought it was overly ambitious for a writer like Gilbert to handle. He drops in big twists related to the plot and characters but then never follows up on them, leaving the reader to wonder why he bothered introducing those concepts/people in the first place. I got @ Sons through a book group and we got to speak with Gilbert about his book - it turns out he was a screenwriter before becoming a novelist and as soon as I learned that the whole thing made sense. There is almost no description in the book - if you're not familiar with NY (let alone the UES) then you will not be able to visualize most of settings, a fact he seemed utterly indifferent to. His answer to why he used a (again, underdeveloped) unreliable narrator was, "I thought it was cool," which fit my suspicion that he was writing at a very surface level, which knocked the book down from masterpiece to 'fun read' for me. I recommend it but don't expect literary genius.
September 1, 2013
This book was awful. Unlikeable characters, dreadful story line with clumsy and ludicrous plot. Especially annoying was starting several chapters with handwritten letters that were basically illegible. Avoid.
June 7, 2016
One of my favorite quotes:
"It was one of those moments, thankfully rare, when you can spot another person's core needs, almost by accident- absolutely by accident since those needs are almost graphic when blatant, like seeing the musculature and tendon required to prop up hope."
This is a family melodrama with nuanced and unstable characters, bookish references, symbolism, details on the arduous writing process, unreliable narrators, and the meaning of life and legacy. New York City is a main character, with it's iconic smoky room/high society lifestyle and literary scene. It takes some analysis, and while initially frustrated at my pace, I was glad that I took my time and absorbed the chapters slowly. I felt my humanity while reading this book- connecting with the realization that, deep down, we are mortal and have a finite time on this earth to accomplish our goals and form meaningful relationships. It's also a fascinating reflection on the futility of fighting the family we are born into, and accepting the circumstances of our relationships while trying to find our own identity.
This book is extremely meaty, and forces you to slow down with the writing, particularly the interspersed cursive letters between Dyer and his friend Charlie. The documentation pulls you into the story unapologetically, falling deeper into the history of these men and their fates. I alternated between being touched at the sentiments, then frustrated by the unspoken and careless treatment of their families. It felt like reading a classic, and I don't mean that in a negative way. The themes and rich language, along with the coming of age aspects (thwarted ambitions and flashes of success) make it feel like a period piece that readers fifty years from now will appreciate.
This was my first Book of the Month club selection! I've heard about it on podcasts for ages and was torn on whether or not to read it. The writing was stellar, and when I read the blurb by the judge who nominated this selection as a May pick, I was finally convinced. I'm glad this club allowed me to leap the hurdle of my initial prejudice. Isn't that the greatest? When all your preconceived notions turn out to be incorrect and you sink into a marvelous story? From the moment I read Andrew musing "They were hopeless without their women", I knew the story wasn't going to be misogynistic as I had feared. Even if females weren't the main characters, the kind acknowledgement was nice. I felt in good hands with the author. This might be controversial, but I don't get furious if men don't write women perfectly. Yes, most authors have a mom, wife, sister, or mentor that should serve as some example. As long as an appropriate attempt is made with respect, I'm usually okay. As women, we are very nuanced creatures- writing a woman well can be extraordinarily hard to do if you haven't walked in our shoes. This doesn't mean I excuse crappy writing. However, I would be curious to read a novel by this author from a female perspective.
I hope this rambling review will convince you to pick up this work of literary fiction. While not incredibly plot heavy, the character study is extraordinary. I think Gilbert is immensely talented, and the interview with Curtis Sittenfeld at the end of my edition further convinced me of his brilliance. Happy reading!
"It was one of those moments, thankfully rare, when you can spot another person's core needs, almost by accident- absolutely by accident since those needs are almost graphic when blatant, like seeing the musculature and tendon required to prop up hope."
This is a family melodrama with nuanced and unstable characters, bookish references, symbolism, details on the arduous writing process, unreliable narrators, and the meaning of life and legacy. New York City is a main character, with it's iconic smoky room/high society lifestyle and literary scene. It takes some analysis, and while initially frustrated at my pace, I was glad that I took my time and absorbed the chapters slowly. I felt my humanity while reading this book- connecting with the realization that, deep down, we are mortal and have a finite time on this earth to accomplish our goals and form meaningful relationships. It's also a fascinating reflection on the futility of fighting the family we are born into, and accepting the circumstances of our relationships while trying to find our own identity.
This book is extremely meaty, and forces you to slow down with the writing, particularly the interspersed cursive letters between Dyer and his friend Charlie. The documentation pulls you into the story unapologetically, falling deeper into the history of these men and their fates. I alternated between being touched at the sentiments, then frustrated by the unspoken and careless treatment of their families. It felt like reading a classic, and I don't mean that in a negative way. The themes and rich language, along with the coming of age aspects (thwarted ambitions and flashes of success) make it feel like a period piece that readers fifty years from now will appreciate.
This was my first Book of the Month club selection! I've heard about it on podcasts for ages and was torn on whether or not to read it. The writing was stellar, and when I read the blurb by the judge who nominated this selection as a May pick, I was finally convinced. I'm glad this club allowed me to leap the hurdle of my initial prejudice. Isn't that the greatest? When all your preconceived notions turn out to be incorrect and you sink into a marvelous story? From the moment I read Andrew musing "They were hopeless without their women", I knew the story wasn't going to be misogynistic as I had feared. Even if females weren't the main characters, the kind acknowledgement was nice. I felt in good hands with the author. This might be controversial, but I don't get furious if men don't write women perfectly. Yes, most authors have a mom, wife, sister, or mentor that should serve as some example. As long as an appropriate attempt is made with respect, I'm usually okay. As women, we are very nuanced creatures- writing a woman well can be extraordinarily hard to do if you haven't walked in our shoes. This doesn't mean I excuse crappy writing. However, I would be curious to read a novel by this author from a female perspective.
I hope this rambling review will convince you to pick up this work of literary fiction. While not incredibly plot heavy, the character study is extraordinary. I think Gilbert is immensely talented, and the interview with Curtis Sittenfeld at the end of my edition further convinced me of his brilliance. Happy reading!
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