Stan Lauryssens
Auteur de Dali & I: The Surreal Story
A propos de l'auteur
Œuvres de Stan Lauryssens
In de schaduw van de feniks 4 exemplaires
De Flandriens 2 exemplaires
Oeuvres associées
Étiqueté
Partage des connaissances
- Date de naissance
- 1946
- Sexe
- male
- Nationalité
- België
- Lieux de résidence
- Antwerp, Belgium
London, England, UK
Membres
Critiques
Listes
1970s Narratives (1)
Prix et récompenses
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Auteurs associés
Statistiques
- Œuvres
- 35
- Aussi par
- 1
- Membres
- 366
- Popularité
- #65,730
- Évaluation
- 3.1
- Critiques
- 37
- ISBN
- 50
- Langues
- 9
- Favoris
- 1
I picked it up randomly at the library in a rush because I am hyperfixated on Surrealism and Dalì, particularly his early work, at the moment and thought this was more of a biography/ memoir, rather than what it actually is. I haven't enjoyed it from the jump, but I forced myself to keep reading because I knew Dalì actually becomes a central figure, eventually. As much as I adore his work, I can't help be morbidly curious about how much of much his self aggrandising and general dickheadery increased exponentially as he aged.
What this actually is: the bargain version of something like The Wolf of Wall Street (not a film I even liked), but without any of the charm and skill that Scorsese and the cast bring to the endeavour. It's just a nouveau riche bourgeois yuppie bragging about how much money he made, fucking people over (who admittedly are rich, so LOL), and alternating between telling you how much he does or doesn't like the rich guy stuff he starts doing.
I fucking hate this guy. He's executive wanker in an 80s movie-coded. Like, I support securing the bag and it's always fun to see people with more money than sense get ripped off, but there's just no way to enjoy that or be anything but repulsed by a guy who instantly becomes more of an entitled prick than any of the people he's actually fleecing.
The whole book feels like constant shitty flexing. Maybe there is supposed to be an attempt to play it straight, no remorse in the moment, as with The Wolf of Wall Street, but the author, and presumably ghost writer, just don't have the chops to do that kind of subtlety. But, more, than anything, it just reads like a pathetic guy flexing.
The writing is terrible. It's readable and chuggable, but there isn't a scrap of artistry or soul in it. It just feels like life vanity, cash grab, airport book crap. If I had a long flight and absolutely nothing else to do this book would be a godsend, but otherwise I want nothing to do with it and wish I had gone with my gut.
Oof. I really don't normally go this hard, especially on such an early DNF, but I really did hate this book.… (plus d'informations)