Chuck Klosterman-Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Stroy

So apparently Klosterman is famous. More has been written about him than he has written. And apparently, you either hate him, love him, or are awfully jealous of him.

This is the first book I've read by Klosterman, and while I'm not totally convinced as to where I stand, I think the Cult of Klosterman isn't exactly where I belong...

I enjoy witty writing. I adore pop culture references and all sorts of satire and name dropping of bands, books or movies. I like stream-of-conscious type narratives (ala J.D. Salinger) and memoir like non-fiction (ala David Sedaris). I did not, however, find myself in love with this particular book as much as I could have been. I had high expectations, to be sure, but how could an idea and premise this good--i.e., visiting all the places where famous musicians have died and reflecting on the value of life--turn into something this--well, rather pointless? See, Chuck doesn't just take us to these dead musicians' homes. He takes us into his mind as he travels, and his life, and his past, and perhaps most importantly, his string of ex-girlfriends and current girlfriends. To the point where it gets to be too much of a point. To the point where the "not-care" factor is popping into mind.

And um, those musicial references somehow weren't as fun as I imagined they'd be.

And really, the meaning of life wasn't explored much.

And really, this particular Chuck might not be deserving of all the hype.

And really, that's about it.