AN ATTEMPT TO PERFORM A LITRARI CRITIQUE: JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER'S "EXTREMELY LOUD AND INCREDIBLY CLOSE"



Jonathan Safran Foer is really, really cute. He can't help it--he's all cute, all the time. And while there is a large audience out there buying every ounce of his cuteness, not everyone has gotten aboard the Cute train (leaving on Track Adorable, by the way). In fact a New York Times critic, Haruki Murakami, called Safran Foer's newest book "annoying." John Updike, writing a review for the New Yorker, said that "Extrmely Loud And Incredibly Close" "covers up a certain hollow monotony in its verbal drama" (see Updike's review here).
What's going on here? Is Safran Foer no longer charming or are the curmudgeonly critics losing their taste for the literati equivalent of pinchable cheeks?

Safran Foer's second book to feature a zany cover (both covers designed by Anne Chalmers) is a wonderful, emotionally-potent book. Perhaps I may even whip out the word poignant. But did you expect something otherwise? After all, we turn to Safran Foer to be moved but does this make him less exciting because he has essentially become what we expect him to be only after one book?

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