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The End Of Mr. Y (2008)

The End of Mr. Y (2008)

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Genre
Rating
3.8 of 5 Votes: 3
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ISBN
1847670709 (ISBN13: 9781847670700)
Language
English
Publisher
canongate books

About book The End Of Mr. Y (2008)

What a bloody waste of a good idea! First off, the concept behind this book is brilliant. An eighteenth century writer and metaphysicist writes a book which contains within it an alchemy-like recipe which will allow the reader to enter the realm of disembodied thought. Cool! And it's full of philosophy and bizarre adventures. Double cool!AND THE AUTHOR (and her protagonist) ARE COMPLETELY UP THEIR OWN ARSES. FAIL!!!!Now, maybe you can get past vomit-inducingly bad sentences like this:"Sometimes, on these January afternoons, the sun squats low in the sky like an orange-robed Buddha in a documenary on the meaning of life."Which is good, because they're everywhere. But can you get past an author who spends an entire novel trying to convince you that she's "the smartest one in the room"? Ms Thomas is so impressed by her own wit and intelligence, so thoughtless of her reader, that she sees fit to name-drop Derrida and "differance" and Flatland and whatever else in nearly every chapter, not in a way that draws the curious reader into these concepts but in a way designed -- like those people who name-drop in conversations without ever bothering to ask their listeners if they know what the heck they're talking about -- to exclude nearly everyone.Now, I've read Derrida and Flatland. I've read "Simulacra and Simulation" and "The Outsider" and Husserl and Heidegger. Maybe this is why I found all of her constant referencing so annoying. Because **she doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about**. Her plotline about the mental videogame and mousesex or whatever has very little to do with the idea of a simulacrum. The name-dropping is an excuse for lack of real thought -- it's exactly what undergrad students of philosophy do in order to gain purchase and lend credibility to themselves when really, what they have to say is really not all that deep or interesting at all. Because the name dropping is enough to snap all of the lesser posers into place, because it's not meant to excite someone about new ideas, it's meant to exclude (and make the excluded clambor puppy-like towards inclusion, meaning be damned!).Yes, you can say differance is about no reference ever being completely shared and meaning being infinitely delayed and blah-de-blah -- but the fact remains that Derrida's work is based on a well-considered conceptual framework (whether you buy it or not), and this is pretty shoddily thought-out work -- underneath all of the critical theory hoo-ha and esoteric subculture claptrap. Someone should tell Ms Thomas that associating oneself with great minds does not make one's own mind great. I'd like to see anyone with any real understanding of philosophy read pages 283 - 287 and not laugh and laugh.There are also long chunks of text, which have nothing to do with the story really, where Ms. Thomas waffles on about random pseudo-philosophical topics, the way a high school student does after they've seen The Matrix for the first time. I mean, this woman really thinks she's smarter than nearly all of her readers, and is convinced she can make you think that too. And as much as I like learning interesting facts (only elephants understand about death? That's pretty cool.) -- interesting facts do not a believable and engrossing fictional universe make. And the only thing worse than Ms Thomas is her main character, Ariel Manto, who is, in a word -- repulsive. She is unemotional, unlikeable, unbelievable --- and her author seems to be on a mission to convince us that she is "cool", by expounding on her troubled rebellious childhood and iPod art radio-listening habits.I'm not even going to get into the cold, empty, obsessive, and rather disgusting treatment of sex.So again, what a waste. I prefer smart books that are designed to bring their readers into the fold, not books that put on a show of being smart to try and dazzle you into thinking they have something to say. The End of Mr. Y has nothing interesting to say. It is a sham and -- I challenge you to dispute this after reading the idiotic ending -- a complete waste of time.

What a load of old cobblers that was. I recognized right away the standard British plot with a not-very-successful plodder at a university where things aren't going well and she has no money and she just keeps on with the I-shouldn't-be-doing-this habits, and OF COURSE she spends the last of her money on a book. Someone from about 80 years ago ought to get royalties whenever this tired old plot framework is used. Thomas has made a bit of an effort to modernize the book. Our heroine has an iPod, wow, and isn't opposed to using sex to get what she needs. She's experimented with cutting and pain sex. Sorry, we left that behind with Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Then we get the Derrida and Heidegger, and right away I thought, "Oh, no, here we go, a long boring plot that's going to end by disappearing up its own nether orifice." I've never been so unpleased to be right. Then the homeopathy. Always a good basis for moving a "science fiction" story ahead. Yeah. Makes alchemy and magic look so complicated and wasteful. Even if they are MORE LOGICAL AND RIGOROUS -and indeed, just as effective. And don't even get me started on the epilogue. GAAAAAHHH! If you thought The Matrix stuck too closely to logic and reason, you'l love this book. Soon I'm off to the library to see if I can persuade them to reclassify this steaming pile of that-which-is-good-for-the-garden to New Age Philosophy where it belongs.Or maybe I'll mix some water with water and see if I can go into a space where I can jump through time and space via mice until I can persuade the author not to write this book.

Do You like book The End Of Mr. Y (2008)?

Undoubtedly exciting and brimming with ideas about identity and philosophy, the novel is a little slow to start but then takes off into Matrix territory as Ariel Manto is pursued by sinister agents trying to stop her using the knowledge she has discovered by finding a cursed bookUltimately it did leave me a little cold and addmittedly a lot of the specualtion went over my head. But it's that rare thing, a book full of ideas that also keeps you gripped as a thriller. It's light years better than the Da Vinci Code with a very clever title too.
—Doogyjim

I really, really loved roughly the first two-thirds of this book, and it might have been a five-star read had the final portion (and the ending in particular) not turned out to be such a disappointment. I've never been a huge fan of fiction that strays too far into fantasy (I never finished reading The Amber Spyglass for this reason) and I felt The End of Mr Y became so detached from any recognisable world that I stopped caring what happened. The further Ariel ventured into the Troposphere, the more ridiculous the story became - the last few chapters almost felt as though Scarlett Thomas was bored of writing the novel and couldn't wait to get it finished. It's a shame since overall the book is so accomplished - highly intellectual but equally accessible, probably my favourite type of writing. I'd still recommend it to everyone, but I just wish the conclusion of the book could have been, like its beginning, firmly grounded in reality.
—Blair

Libro cervellone per aspiranti cervelloni senza una vera attrattiva.É importante inserirsi bene nei libri: è come alloggiare in un albergo di qualità infima che ti fa rimpiangere il tuo bel lettuccio a casa o, al contrario, alloggiare in un albergo a quattro o cinque stelle che ti fa dire "ma se potessi, mi prolungherei la vacanza". Questo libro è un alberghetto in periferia a due stelle. Ha un'insegna sgargiante - Che fine ha fatto Mr Y, bel titolo, e 'mazza che figa la copertina, e oh, la trama intrippa pure - ma meglio fuori che dentro.Dentro c'è un'atmosfera a tratti squallida, m'immagino i cessi lerci e il materasso che fra gnec quando ci sali sopra o ti giri da un lato all'altro, la luce è debole e il personale non è un personale con cui chiacchiereresti volentieri a colazione dopo il risveglio e, in questo caso, un bel mal di schiena. Il personale esibisce una volgarità gratuita che non sembra essere dettata da nessuna necessità, visto il tipo d'albergo, e riveste la propria sede di un'artificialità tutta cervellotica e intellettualoide che non si conquista il lettore, anzi, lo rende distaccato. A tratti sembra quasi irreale: questa continua presenza della discussione intelligente su tematiche assolutamente contorte come il principio di indeterminazione o il gatto di Schrodinger, e in qualunque occasione, eh: appena si instaura qualsiasi tipo di conversazione il tema verte sempre sullo stesso settore, sarebbe anomalo che prendessero e dicessero "we, come stai? e il gatto? e tua madre?", no, loro partono in quinta dicendo "ehi, il pensiero è materia e la materia è pensiero?". Il mondo costruito in questo libro fa presupporre che sarebbe addirittura normale che, a fermare un passante qualsiasi, lui ti sciorini tutto ciò che pensa della teoria della relatività. Certo, c'è modo e modo di avvicinare il lettore ignorante alla scienza, alla fisica, ma non è il modo della nostra dirigente "alberghiera" Scarlett Thomas, che vedo che non si è poi tanto accattivata il pubblico italiano con questa uscita.Non si può dire che la sua sia una trama che non regga, per quanto in certi punti la nostra capa al personale, Ariel Manto, abbia delle uscite assurde che non sono normalmente concepibili in ciò che lei dovrebbe essere come persona.(vedete, questo libro mi fa diventare ancora più contorta di quanto non lo sia già)Ma, ecco, si tratta di saperla porre nel modo giusto, si tratta di saper arredare le proprie basi e di saper dare una buona luce alle stanze e dei letti meno gnec-gnec, si tratta di costruire un personale se non simpatico, almeno interessante, affascinante, con un perché. C'è qualcosa che non convince in tutta la storia, una calamita che funziona male e si riprende solo a colpetti - il cui effetto è talmente breve, che è meglio risparmiarsi anche le forze -, questo squallore di personaggi che sono tutto meno che simpatici, e naturalmente le dinamiche finali fra loro sono quanto di più affrettato possa permettersi una scrittrice che si salva proprio a un passo dal limite che confina la sua definizione.(madonna, liberatemi dalle elucubrazioni mentali di Ariel Manto, è tutta colpa sua)Non è un trama che scatta in tutta la sua potenzialità, ci sono degli elementi che frenano di continuo dall'allacciare un vero legame, la giusta scintilla, tant'è vero che nelle ultime decine di pagine sembra quasi di tirare avanti per l'ultima mezz'ora di una conferenza che comincia a pesare sull'attenzione dei propri ascoltatori. Sembra quasi una trama da videogioco di serie più b che a, appesantita da continui interventi con il difetto della mazzata del professore che vaga per i banchi col libro in mano alle otto del mattino decantando leggi su leggi. Che fine ha fatto Mr Y? non farà una buona figura sulla mia personalissima guida Michelin, se siete nei paraggi..cambiate albergo!
—Anastasia

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