Another brilliant comic sature, but Niven's most accessible yet.
Kennedy Marr is a novelist from the old school. Irish, acerbic, and a borderline alcoholic and sex-addict, his mantra is drink hard, write hard and try to screw every woman you meet.
He's writing film scripts in LA, screwing, drinking and insulting his way through Californian society, but also suffering from writer's block and unpaid taxes. Then a solution presents itself -- Marr is to be the unlikely recipient of the W. F. Bingham Prize for Outstanding Contribution to Modern Literature, an award worth half a million pounds. But it does not come without a price: he must spend a year teaching at the English University where his ex-wife and estranged daughter now reside.
As Kennedy acclimatises to the sleepy campus, inspiring revulsion and worship in equal measure, he's forced to reconsider his precarious lifestyle. Incredible as it may seem, there might actually be a father and a teacher lurking inside this 'preening, narcissistic, priapic, sociopath'. Or is there...
Straight White Male is a no-holds-barred look into the mid-life crisis and the contemporary male sexual psyche. It is a brilliant new satire from one of Britain's sharpest writers.
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JOHN NIVEN was born in Irvine, Ayrshire. He is the author of six novels including Kill Your Friends and The Second Coming. He lives in Buckinghamshire.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
With pub fighting, as in all the creative arts, it was crucial to avoid cliché. You had to come at it from strange angles and oblique perspectives. Your opening had to be strong and unexpected. Then, scene by scene, you had to make your point quickly and get the fuck out of there. In this last respect pub fighting was very much like the bitch Kennedy had betrayed the novel for. It was like screenwriting, where economy was king. (Chapter 1, p. 6)
They went to Le Orpheus in Beverly Hills, where Kennedy- a known tipper of preposterous magnitude- was greeted by the maître d’ in very much the manner of a priest welcoming Christ himself to a Sunday-morning service. And the comparison was apt – for lunch was the closest thing Kennedy Marr had to church: a sacred institution, with its own arcane rituals that had to be observed. (Chapter 6, p. 39)
He wandered through to his bedroom where, thankfully, all signs of Saturday night’s atrocity had been erased by the cleaners. Women – they lived on their own and you had, what? Full fridges. Cleanliness. Paid bills. Fresh clothes neatly folded and stacked in drawers. Men? Unless you did what Kennedy did and threw money and staff at the situation you had chaos. Squalor. The rafts of T-shirts and pyjama bottoms stuffed down the back of the bed, gradually transitioning from bedwear to spunk rags to science experiments. Final demands and a radioactive carton of Chinese food sharing shelf space with a jar of mustard. If only, he reflected, and not for the first time, he could hire cleaners for his mind. That’s what his mind needed. Staff. (Chapter 12, p. 72)
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Descripción William Heinemann, 2013. Hardcover. Estado de conservación: New. book. Nº de ref. de la librería 0434022861
Descripción William Heinemann, 2013. Hardcover. Estado de conservación: New. Nº de ref. de la librería P110434022861