I got two more reviews of my new book A Dead Bat In Paraguay to share. The first is via email…
First and foremost: The honesty of the book shines through very brightly. The book is fearless. Embarrassment, shame, humiliation, rejection, self-doubt (and not the cool, hip kind you’d see on TV, but the kind that’s like a thorn in your confidence): It’s all there, not gussied up in the slightest. I don’t think I’d have the courage to write this book.
Because of that, the book is actually inspiring. Not stare-up-at-the-stars inspiring, or dramatic-comeback inspiring – those are just masturbation. Your acceptance of the kind of pains that can erode a person’s moxy until he is tiny and petty, and your persistence through that pain with an eh-fuck-it attitude, comes off as more genuinely masculine than anything I’ve seen or read in a very long time. It reminded me of Luke in “Cool Hand Luke.” I actually wanted to go get rejected all night at a bar after reading this, just to think afterwards, “I’m as tough as Roosh.”
That’s mixed in with a lot of humorous and insightful commentary.
If I had to complain, I would say the prose comes off as too simple sometimes, and the frankness of the book occasionally undercuts the storytelling. I know that contradicts what I said earlier, but I guess what I mean is this: In reality, sometimes the hero slips and falls in the shower and so the villlain wins, or vice versa. When you find out that’s what happens, you think, “Well, shit, that was anti-climactic,” but afterwards it will stay with you longer because it’s more relevant to your life than a shoot-out in an abandoned factory in bullet-time. That’s like your book.
Also, the price was right.
The second review is from Brooklyn Boy…
Admit it. You want to travel. See the world. See the sights. See everything you’ve never gotten the chance to. It will change you. That Eat, Pray, Love book has become a phenomenon … or so you hear. It worked for her, it can work for you. That’s how these things go.
Except it isn’t. There are parasites and half-day bus rides and no part of your path that feels uninfluenced by Lonely Planet. The native girls challenge your once-bulletproof advances and the backpackers that don’t seem every bit as vapid as the stateside ones who bored you. You will get robbed. And you will return to a hometown that seems locked in step with six-month old footprints.
You can read his entire post here.