Here's a thing about Mark Leyner and his books, which are becoming increasing idiosyncratic even as his plotting becomes more focused and his skills more honed. The Venn diagram of readers that enjoy the slightly transgressive tales-told-out-of-school story-telling of David Sedaris, as well as the metafictional pyrotechnics of David Foster Wallace at his most precious, and the whimsy of somebody like Terry Gilliam, is vanishingly small, one suspects.

That said, if one is there for it, then Leyner nails it.

Parts are laugh-out-loud funny, and it is weirdly propulsive for such a strange "autobiographical" project that is almost the opposite of a traditional biography in that it lets you know many things about the mind of the author, but very little about what he has actually done.

"Brilliant, but not for everyone." undersells both sides of that sentence. ( )

3.8 stars ( )

Mark Leyner is a fascinating experimentalist. In his early writing, I thought of him as a comic absurdist, such as in his amazing short stories in My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist. And there is still some of that lingering in his work, there are moments of humor no doubt, but now they are embedded within a larger, weirder context that is pushing the boundaries of meaning in fiction.

Gone with the Mind reminded me in some ways of The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. Both novels purport to be about to present to you the full autobiography or memoirs of the main character (in this case, it's "Mark Leyner") and in both cases, the book never gets to where it's going. Tristram never actually tells us about his life. "Mark" is about to read from his "non-fiction" autobiography, Gone with the Mind, but instead he rambles digressively about primarily insignificant aspects of his fictional life. I say fictional, because most seem ridiculous and constructed nonsense rather than actual aspects of his life. Some, perhaps, may be real, I can't know but most digressions are radically insane and bizarre, such as his obsession with a beloved writing assistant who he conjured out of cracks in the tile of the bathroom floor as he was taking a crap.

The novel begins with a long run-on story by his fictional mother that was pretty honestly amazing because it sounded hella like my own mother. I mean, legit old school Jew from New York City who JUST. WON'T. STOP. TALKING. And mostly about meaningless details. Well, that and bodily failure and relatives or friends that you have never met. It was amazingly believable in style.

At times, Gone with the Mind is alienating. As in Sugar Frosted Nutsack, I think intentionally so. Such as the incredibly awkward Oedipal implications in the Leyner character's relationship with his mother. And while it was amusing to have the faux reading, which comprises the entire story, take place in a deserted mall food court, I found the brief interactions with the fast-food employees ignoring him to be rather unnatural. Everything is contrived here and that's part of the point. The story of our self is a contrived one. We lie to ourselves as much as we lie to others. Or are simply oblivious. As a story of autobiography gone wrong, Gone with the Mind is quite a treat. Certainly not as humorous as his earliest work, but he has other intentions these days, such as seeing how far he can explore pushing the boundaries of fiction. ( )

http://msarki.tumblr.com/post/145574640303/gone-with-the-mind-by-mark-leyner

This was my first exposure to Mark Leyner. His novel concept was refreshing, and the opening chapter with his mom making the l-o-n-g and digressing introduction for Leyner's reading at the mall is priceless.The only novel I have read even remotely similar to this one is [b:My Romance|9872419|My Romance|Gordon Lish|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327992280s/9872419.jpg|874038] by [a:Gordon Lish|232097|Gordon Lish|https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1267719924p2/232097.jpg]. But this piece of work goes further into the realm of the bizarre and unworldly genius. Though mothers and sons will appreciate the maternal connection here, there are far too many references to baseball, especially dating back to the time of Mickey Mantle and the New York Yankees of the sixties. Other sports, like tennis, rear their heads as well. And perhaps there are more mother-son relationships that share a love of sports than I am aware of, but I think not. Therefore, the book will obviously lose some readers who harbor an aversion to all things sports-related. But certainly, that matters little to Leyner or his fans, and is likely a better opportunity for general exclusivity: a sort of club for extremely intelligent people who know big words and can recite, with accuracy, sports nostalgia. ( )