Another Home Land Rave
Sam Lipsyte’s Home Land continues to draw raves:
I’m sorry if I’m the last dork to show up at the party and I’m telling you things you already know. I don’t know Sam Lipsyte at all. I don’t know anybody who knows Sam Lipsyte at all. But on a recent Sunday morning I picked up his novel Home Land, and then I spent the next 12 hours reading it. It’s funny and sad and cruel and awful. It makes David Sedaris seem a little lightweight. It makes David Foster Wallace seem a little out of touch. It makes Rick Moody seem, well, unnecessarily Moody. It makes one laugh out loud while pondering the ways in which all lives, invariably, go wrong.