4.5 stars. Incredible writing, hilarious and oftentimes taking a joke right up to the boundary between hilarity and "uh-oh" -- docked half a star by (probably unfairly) comparing this to The Instructions, which I thoroughly enjoyed. There were just a few areas where I sped through the text to get through it, but I was glad to read another Adam Levin novel with a shorter turnaround between Bubblegum and Mount Chicago than there was between The Instructions and Bubblegum.

I gave it a try for quite a while, but it was just too much. Loved the premise. Didn’t love what the author was doing.

The characters were interesting, and the connecting event was fascinating. But the main character was simply too insufferable.

Levin is really capable of some amazing sentences. Some truly incredible writing. He is also very funny and there's some sharp satire in here. It's long, but if you like literature in the David Foster Wallace vein, the length shouldn't scare you off. Give it a try!

Thanks to Netgalley for providing me a copy of this book in return for a review.

Published by Doubleday on August 9, 2022

Mount Chicago is a wild novel, spinning off in so many directions that it often seems on the verge of spinning out of control. The novel is at times infuriating, but mostly in a good way — in a way that amuses and entertains. One of the three significant characters, a parrot named Gogol, adds a playful element to a story that is already goofy. Gogol’s musings about freedom and dependence might be meant to illuminate human experiences of similar conditions, parrot logic being no less tenuous than human logic. Perhaps the parrot’s thoughts are intended to spotlight his owner’s emotional state as deduced from the impact those feelings have on Gogol. Maybe it is best to think of Gogol as a neurotic but philosophical character who indulges in the same fruitless search for meaning and contentment as humans but with a greater emphasis on preening.

The novel is set in Chicago, where a sinkhole destroyed Millennium Park and a wing of the Art Institute. The mayor prefers the term terrestrial anomaly to sinkhole because who wants to live in a city that is developing sinkholes? A dense cone arose in the middle of the sinkhole, apparently made from the remains of everything that was destroyed, including a significant number of tourists. The mayor decides to name the cone Mount Chicago and to surround it with a memorial to those who died, like (in the mayor’s words) Auschwitz but less depressing. Then the mayor decides there should be a Wall of Survivors, broadly defining survivors as everyone in Chicago who didn’t die, and perhaps newborn children who were affected by their parents’ emotional trauma while still in the womb.

Gogol’s owner, Solomon Gladman, is the second primary character. The third is Apter Schutz. Apter becomes obsessed with Gladman after discovering videos of his rare comedy club performances. Gladman was a psychotherapist before he became a successful novelist and occasional comedian. Learning more about Gladman motivates Apter to study social work (an education that gives Adam Levin the opportunity to explain and critique various forms of therapy). Apter made a significant amount of money by developing a product that took advantage of witless Trump supporters, then worked as a psychotherapist (a gig that made him adept at manipulating others) before accepting a position with Chicago’s mayor. That job that puts him in charge of a music festival to raise funds for the memorial. Perry Farrell, who is donating the services of Jane’s Addiction to the festival, would like to have Gladman perform. The mayor isn’t sure that’s a good idea, since he’s heard that Gladman’s humor is antisemitic. Gladman isn’t sure it’s a good idea for reasons of his own, but the invitation gives Apter a chance to meet the man he has always idolized.

The story leads to a climax involving a key character who was devastated by the death of people close to him who did not survive the sinkhole. The plot follows a winding path, a path made of detours and digressions, before arriving at the climax. Dozens of additional pages cause the story to fizzle out after the climax. The novel’s value lies in its journey rather than its mildly disappointing destination. A shortcake baked into the shape of the letter e becomes the focal point of a retelling of Gogol’s “The Overcoat.” David Mamet explains to Chicago’s mayor, back when he was an alderman, why the alderman is a jagoff. Gladman invents a longish fable about a future Chicago ruled by penguins who lead beavers that enslave ducks and a penguin king who is embarrassed by the boners his grandson (an adopted duck) can’t control. All of this is quite funny even if it is entirely unnecessary to the plot, which unfolds over a small percentage of the book’s word count.

Still, there are times during Mount Chicago when I thought Levin was a little too in love with his own humor, times when jokes or funny stories or amusing anecdotes lost some of their edge because they extended several pages beyond the point at which a punch line or climax would have been welcome. Some of the humor is too obvious to be effective. Levin mocks political correctness early in the novel, sometimes making a good point — the misuse of the word “survivor” to describe anyone who had an unpleasant experience, the mischaracterization of language the listener doesn’t appreciate as “violent” — but he does so selectively, making clear that he believes some groups are mockable and others, although just as egregious in their extremism, are not.

Levin occasionally uses the postmodern technique of speaking directly to the reader, reminding the reader that the book, after all, is just a work of fiction, not a true story. Since I like getting lost in books, imagining the stories to be true for as long as the illusion can be maintained, I’m not a big fan of the technique. After beginning the novel with an introduction that insists Levin should not be confused with any of the characters, Levin takes a break from the loose plot at roughly the one-third point to bring the reader up to speed on events that have transpired in his real life since he began writing the novel. Later in the book he discusses alternative ways in which the story might have unfolded. Okay, you’re postmodern, we get it.

These are not necessarily consequential gripes about a book that scores points for consistently provoking chuckles and an occasional belly laugh. Levin may have intended the novel as a serious exploration of grief, but it is too unfocused to be taken seriously (although it does make the point that we each grieve in our own ways). Even if the whole is less than the sum of its parts, I appreciated the novel as a celebration of storytelling. Gladman’s stories, whether presented in the form of fables or standup bits, and Apter's stories about the five significant events in his life, grab the reader’s attention, even when they extend beyond a reasonable stopping point. Whatever Levin’s intent might have been, the result is an absurdist comedy fest that merits a recommendation — and almost a strong recommendation — for the stories within the story.

RECOMMENDED

Mount Chicago: On Love, Loss, and Meeting Your Heroes (and Their Birds)

For the past few years, when people asked me what I thought of something I didn’t like, I’d try to say “it’s not for me.” I don’t feel comfortable labeling the goodness or badness of a piece of media, both because I’m not an expert and because I have preferences. There are great movies I’ll never watch because I don’t like horror, and books I won’t read because I’ve had my fill of accounts of the Holocaust. I think Bill Burr is a sharp and talented comic, but his delivery has always rubbed me the wrong way. I know his jokes are excellent, but I can’t get past the whatever-it-is about the way he tells them. Like all comics, Burr’s joke-telling style is a crucial part of his stage persona, and thus his work.

All this to say that are things I don’t like about Adam Levin’s Mount Chicago, and I point them out not because I think they reflect an objective badness of the work, but because I think they reflect that Mount Chicago is a book that invites readers to think about the choices the author made. I think the book could have been shorter, but I understand that the meandering way some of Levin’s characters unspool their thoughts is intentional and part of their voices, and there were times that I enjoyed the journey on which I was being taken. Levin has a knack for writing characters I would despise if I met them at a party but whose pursuits in this novel I followed attentively. Perhaps it is a sign of great work that this novel kept me reading it almost in spite of itself.

Levin inserts himself as sort of author-character in the novel by addressing the reader directly at intervals and updating them on his writing process. He kibbitzes about his characters, acknowledging them as his creations and inviting you to engage with them as products of his own life and imagination. Levin almost explicitly asks the reader to engage with Mount Chicago through the lens of Levin’s authorship rather than doing so tacitly through his characters and prose. Levin is the one telling you this story, and he’s going to tell it his way. If you don’t like it, he seems to be saying, put this novel down and kindly go fuck yourself.

The events of the novel revolve around a “terrestrial anomaly,” which seems like a cross between an earthquake and a sinkhole in downtown Chicago and which kills thousands of people, including the entire family of the protagonist, a neurotic writer, and bird owner named Solomon Gladman. Apter Schutz, who Levin describes as “more than just a foil” to Gladman, works for the mayor who has to handle the fallout of the event. This mayor and the bird, a Quaker parrot named Gogol, also have portions of the book written in their perspectives. Gladman used to perform stand-up as an over-the-top Jewish character named Bernie Pollaco, of whom Apter Schutz remained a fan throughout his life, to such a degree that he modeled his education and career after Gladman’s. But the relationship between Apter and Gladman is more complex than that of a fan and idol or even mentor and protege. Their paths cross when Apter asks Gladman to perform at a post-anomaly fundraiser on behalf of the mayor’s office.

Mount Chicago is a very Jewish novel. I took a course in college called “Jewish Humor” about the way Jews shaped stand-up comedy, and many experts on the subject posited that Jews have a unique voice because they are, uniquely, always outsiders, even when they’re physically on the inside. Perhaps the novel feels Jewish to me because it’s written by a Jewish author about mostly Jewish characters. Maybe I’m projecting because I’m Jewish.

Apter struck me as an outsider who used that position to his advantage, whether for profit or to advance in his career. He was able to observe people and see what made them tick without involving himself in their affairs. Levin makes it clear that this is a combination of Apter’s Jewishness and something inherent to Apter, some way that he’s wired.

The Jewishness that is central to Mount Chicago is not represented as strongly in the chapters from the mayor’s point of view. When I first read them, I found his voice a little annoying, maybe too conversational, and full of (usually pretty funny but too frequent) malapropisms, upon revisiting these sections it almost feels like Levin is putting on a deliberately excessive goyishe diction. It’s all just too much to be funny, and I found these sections almost difficult to get through. If you’ve ever had to tell someone that they’d dragged a joke past its use-by date, you know how I felt in these moments. On the other hand, it is possible that this is an accurate portrayal of some politicians. I’ve never worked in a political office, but from the testimonials I’ve read, Levin could be on to something.

By contrast, Gogol’s portions were deeply interesting and moving. I get the feeling that this could have been deliberate— Gogol shows and is shown more regard than some human characters. Here, as in Gladman and Apter’s parts, the conversational tone is more manageable, and the voice, even though Gogol is the only nonhuman character, feels less forced. Even in an Apter or Gladman chapter, the parts about Gogol are less inhibited by authorial pretense. These are the least cynical parts of the novel, which made them a pleasure to read.

The framing of cancel culture and political correctness in Mount Chicago at turns frustrated and compelled me. Do liberals squabble over surface-level issues that don’t matter while the right racks up votes and profits? Sure. Is college a farce of pronouns and sensitivity discourse? I don’t think so, and I grow frustrated at the suggestion that nonbinary social justice crusaders are making Normal Americans feel afraid to express themselves in public. People have always censored themselves in public, or what some might refer to as “mixed company.” Public figures and celebrities have always been lambasted in the press for remarks ranging from clumsy to outright hateful. The difference now is all down to framing. Levin is clever in the way he lays out a lot of real societal ills, but the specter of cancel culture took me out of things. At one point, Levin writes about America, “Donald Trump is still president. The comedian Louis CK is still canceled.” Let’s dig into that a little. In his video essay on the subject, Michael Hobbes uses Fox News’s definition: “When individuals or groups are removed from platforms or lose their livelihoods because their opinions are deemed offensive.”

But is that what happened to Louis CK? He was ‘canceled’ after confirming that sexual assault allegations made against him were true, writing in November 2017, “These stories are true.” The comedian then made his return to stand-up comedy less than a year later with a surprise performance in August of 2018. Levin’s remark comes in an interlude which he says he wrote in February 2019. Is a year a long enough cooldown period after someone admits to (and apologizes for) sexual misconduct? Is losing professional opportunities because you admitted to (and apologized for) sexual misconduct the same thing as being ‘canceled’? This metric for where we are as a country— who’s the president and who’s ‘still canceled’— strikes me as distractingly narrow in an otherwise shrewd novel. I also think it’s pretty disingenuous to refer to CK as merely ‘canceled,’ when it might be fairer to say that he admitted to repeated sexual misconduct and his career was impacted (for less than a year!).

Mount Chicago is a decent novel that I might have called great if it was about a hundred pages shorter. Levin acknowledges that his writing gets away from him and accepts it as part of his artistic voice, which I respect but don’t have to like. I think the segments of the novel fretting about cancel culture could have been cut entirely, but I think I can guess what Levin would have to say about that.

Extremely erudite, hilarious, digressive metafiction. Methinks the digressions are a tool for Levin to explore happiness in the age of screeeeeeeens and isoooooaaaationnnn and the plaaaagueeeee (bleh, hurts to say because those buzzwords are thrown around so much, but they’re real shit that affects everyone and makes up modern life). Adam does some smart metatextual play, he does some empathy, and he does some BIRD! Good god i love Gogol! The bird! Levin has heart, this book has heart, this book is long. These three things are true. The length weighed on me a little bit but i have ADHD anyways so every book weighs on me a little bit. Thanks Levin for the light in some darkness.

Absolutely hated this book. So obnoxious and not funny. It's supposed to be autofiction with dystopian qualities and it's boring. This writer is awful and I couldn't get past the first fifty pages. Had to put it down.

This book has the premise of a disaster that strikes downtown Chicago, leaving a number of people dead, including the family members of the protagonist, Gladman, a Jewish comedian. Alternating with his struggles to get on with his life, we see the efforts of Chicago’s mayor and his Jewish top aide, a sort of Stephen Miller, to exercise control over the spin and recovery.

Throughout the story, the author uses the opportunity to riff on what interests him in a way that is clever, but which I also found to be offensive and not at all funny. Levin reminds me a bit of the late works of Philip Roth - yeah, you can’t deny his brilliance, but you could do without the scatology, crudeness, and what I took to be a self-hating sort of antisemitism.