Is it fair to compare one writer to another? Is the comparison ever quite right? Blurbs for Lawnboy compared Paul Lisicky to Michael Cunningham (The Hours, A Home at The End of the World, etc.), and the cover even boasted a blurb from Cunningham himself. While certainly flattering, how does Lawnboy compare?Non-straight characters? Check.Coming of age/awakening type plot? Check.Complicated romance? Checkity-check-check.But couldn’t one say this about plenty of other books? Francesca Lia Block also had these things, but Wheetzie Bat and Lawnboy and The Hours are three entirely different books. Then again, it’s been a little while since I’ve read Cunningham’s work. Still, there is one clear way that Lisicky and Cunningham reminded me of each other: It took me the first third of the book to really get into it. That’s not to say I spent the first third uninterested; I just questioned how much I would enjoy the whole thing. Lawnboy is divided into three parts, and by Part 2, I became much more engaged in how things turned out.I enjoyed Lawnboy well enough that I will keep an eye out for Lisicky’s other work. The lingering, awestruck descriptions of physicality, and the unabashed searches for affection were enough to make me want more. It doesn’t matter whether Paul Lisicky writes anything like Michael Cunningham — Let the man stand on his own.(Full review can be found at Glorified Love Letters.)
I read this book in a matter of three days. First of all, I was intrigued by the Title when it was recommended to me. It was Recommended to those who enjoyed THE HOURS by Michael Cunningham. I had LAWNBOY sitting on my bookshelf for a few months until I finally decided to get into it when I noticed a review on the backcover by Michael Cunningham, the reknown author. He described it as a novel of mystery and great beauty. Now that I've finished reading LAWNBOY I can say that I did enjoy it and, more importantly, I learned from it. A few of my favorite lines were: And then, as if in gratitude, the tree released itself, little ~red pieces falling now, coating us, sticking in our hair like blessings.------ I had something. I had power all along and hadn't even known it.------ I saw myself utterly alone in the world, a gleaming wasp inside a bright orange hive, alone with my anguish and raging hot need, and who'd be there to still me?------ The life I'd once taken for granted now seemed decadent and lush, a golden treasure inside a chest.------ I mean, wouldn't it be better not to know anything at all, and die--boom--just like that?------ You have to be able to say, 'I deserve to be with someone who's good to me.
