Jonathan Lethem
Author of Motherless Brooklyn
About the Author
Jonathan Lethem was born in Brooklyn, New York on February 19, 1964. His first novel, Gun, with Occasional Music was published in 1994. His other works include As She Climbed across the Table (1997), Amnesia Moon (1995), The Fortress of Solitude (2003), You Don't Love Me Yet (2007), Chronic City show more (2009), and Dissident Gardens (2013). He won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Motherless Brooklyn (1999). He also writes short stories, comics and essays. His work has appeared in The New Yorker, Harper's, Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New York Times, The Paris Review, McSweeney's and other periodicals and anthologies. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Image credit: Author Jonathan Lethem at the 2015 Texas Book Festival. By Larry D. Moore, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44687865
Series
Works by Jonathan Lethem
The Vintage Book of Amnesia: An Anthology of Writing on the Subject of Memory Loss (2000) — Contributor — 217 copies, 2 reviews
Shake It Up: Great American Writing on Rock and Pop from Elvis to Jay Z: A Library of America Special Publication (2017) 69 copies, 1 review
Da Capo Best Music Writing 2002: The Year's Finest Writing on Rock, Pop, Jazz, Country, & More (2002) 56 copies
The Happy Man 6 copies
Walking the Moons [short fiction] 6 copies
Vanilla Dunk 6 copies
Five Fucks (short story) 4 copies
Omega the Unknown #1 3 copies
Super Goat Man [short story] 3 copies
Hardened Criminals [novelette] 2 copies
Vivian Relf 2 copies
The Empty Room 2 copies
Glasses 2 copies
Light and the Sufferer [novelette] 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #5 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #4 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #3 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #2 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #9 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #10 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #8 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #6 2 copies
Omega the Unknown #7 2 copies
De Minnamannen 1 copy
Pending Vegan 1 copy
Sleepy People [novelette] 1 copy
The Cave Beneath The Falls 1 copy
Procedure in Plain Air 1 copy
Using It and Losing It 1 copy
The Porn Critic 1 copy
Gun with Occassional Music 1 copy
Access Fantasy {short story} 1 copy
Associated Works
Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust (1933) — Introduction, some editions — 2,245 copies, 39 reviews
Four Novels of the 1960s : The Man in the High Castle / The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch / Do Androids Dream of… (2007) — Editor — 1,125 copies, 21 reviews
Five Novels of the 1960s & 70s: Martian Time-Slip / Dr. Bloodmoney / Now Wait for Last Year / Flow My Tears, the… (2008) — Editor — 554 copies, 7 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Tenth Annual Collection (1993) — Contributor — 438 copies, 5 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Fourteenth Annual Collection (1997) — Contributor — 425 copies, 2 reviews
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Eighth Annual Collection (1991) — Contributor — 386 copies, 6 reviews
McSweeney's Issue 12: Unpublished, Unknown, and/or Unbelievable (2003) — Contributor — 284 copies, 4 reviews
Object Lessons: The Paris Review Presents the Art of the Short Story (2012) — Introduction — 225 copies, 9 reviews
Fight of the Century: Writers Reflect on 100 Years of Landmark ACLU Cases (2020) — Contributor — 202 copies, 4 reviews
This Is My Best: Great Writers Share Their Favorite Work (2004) — Contributor — 165 copies, 3 reviews
McSweeney's Issue 4: Trying, Trying, Trying, Trying, Trying (2010) — Contributor — 164 copies, 3 reviews
Drawn & Quarterly: Twenty-five Years of Contemporary Cartooning, Comics, and Graphic Novels (2015) — Contributor — 146 copies, 4 reviews
Light the Dark: Writers on Creativity, Inspiration, and the Artistic Process (2017) — Contributor — 144 copies, 4 reviews
The James Tiptree Award Anthology 2: Stories for Men, Women, and the Rest of Us (2005) — Contributor — 100 copies, 3 reviews
Unknown Masterpieces: Writers Rediscover Literature's Hidden Classics (New York Review Books Classics) (2003) — Contributor — 99 copies, 2 reviews
The Dark End of the Street: New Stories of Sex and Crime by Today's Top Authors (2010) — Contributor — 94 copies, 22 reviews
Nebula Awards 32: SFWA's Choices for the Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year (1998) — Contributor — 92 copies
Read Hard: Five Years of Great Writing from the Believer (2009) — Contributor — 80 copies, 3 reviews
Cyberpunk: Stories of Hardware, Software, Wetware, Evolution, and Revolution (1995) — Contributor — 76 copies
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep Omnibus (2015) — Contributor, some editions — 70 copies, 1 review
McSweeney's Issue 42 (McSweeney's Quarterly Concern): Multiples (2013) — Translator/Contributor — 63 copies, 2 reviews
Supermen!: The First Wave Of Comic Book Heroes 1936-1941 (2009) — Introduction — 63 copies, 1 review
Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine: 30th Anniversary Anthology (2007) — Contributor — 57 copies, 1 review
Significant Objects: 100 Extraordinary Stories about Ordinary Things (2012) — Contributor — 57 copies, 1 review
Lethal Kisses: 18 Tales of Sex, Horror, and Revenge (1996) — Contributor, some editions — 56 copies, 5 reviews
Unusual Suspects: A New Anthology of Crime Stories from Black Lizard (1996) — Contributor — 39 copies
Conversations with Clint: Paul Nelson's Lost Interviews with Clint Eastwood, 1979-1983 (2011) — Foreword — 16 copies
The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction October/November 1993, Vol. 85, No. 4 & 5 (1993) — Author — 16 copies
Millemondi Inverno 1996 — Contributor — 2 copies
Crank! Science Fiction • Fantasy, Winter 1996 (No. 6) — Contributor — 1 copy
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Legal name
- Lethem, Jonathan Allen
- Birthdate
- 1964-02-19
- Gender
- male
- Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- Brooklyn, New York, USA
- Places of residence
- Berkeley, California, USA
Berwick, Maine, USA - Education
- High School of Music and Art, New York
Bennington College (Art) - Occupations
- bookstore clerk
professor
novelist
essayist
short story writer - Relationships
- Jackson, Shelley (wife|divorced)
Lethem, Mara Faye (sister) - Organizations
- Pomona College
- Awards and honors
- MacArthur Fellowship (2005)
- Short biography
- Author pronounced his surname "LEE-thum" on the audio book edition of You Don't Love Me Yet
Members
Reviews
First Lethem I've read. I enjoyed the book at the start, the first 150 pages or so, then got kind of lost in it; I think there's less here than meets the eye and the ending was really unsatisfying. Lots of Philip K. Dick influence was pretty evident. I think some of the characterizations or commentary was a bit too specific to make the book a satisfying read.
I went through an [a:Agatha Christie|123715|Agatha Christie|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1589991473p2/123715.jpg] phase at the age of 13, but since then haven't been a great fan of murder mysteries. While reading [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073], a reason why they are so popular suddenly occurred to me: the narrative has a known purpose. From the start of the book, the reader is aware that there will be a murder, it will be mysterious, and the mystery will be solved. My limited interest in murders means this purpose doesn't necessarily appeal to me, but the presence of a narrative purpose of some kind does. Halfway through [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073], I was asking myself, "What is the purpose of this? What is it trying to do?"
I can only speculate in answer these questions, of course. The back cover blurb begins with, 'The Arrest isn't post-apocalypse'. Upon first glance this is obviously untrue and on second glance disingenuous, as the setting is just that. A mysterious disaster has stopped technology working and industrial civilisation has collapsed. The protagonist, who is rather ironically referred to as Journeyman, lives on a bucolic commune somewhere on the American coast (Maine is not a place I can locate on a map). The stability of this community is slightly unsettled by the arrival of Journeyman's former friend/housemate/collaborator/boss Todbaum in a nuclear-powered tank. I say slightly because Todbaum, formerly a feared Hollywood producer, does nothing but recount anecdotes over hoarded coffee. Journeyman and his sister both have past history with Todbaum, which is never fully elucidated. Instead, Journeyman and Todbaum reflect and hold forth upon post-apocalyptic fiction.
It seems highly likely that Lethem's intent is to use this setting for analysis and critique of post-apocalyptic media. To my mind, though, he has nothing interesting or new to say about it. Quite possibly I think so because I've read a lot of dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic novels and formed my own theories about them. Lethem's characters only seem to make very obvious points, such as:
First of all, I don't think it's helpful to collapse dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic fiction into a single thing. Obviously there's an overlap, but in my experience there are perceptible differences between the three. Dystopias are stable worlds with exaggerated bleak elements, set up in a manner that reflects upon specific anxieties of the time they were written. They are more likely to read as fables or cautionary tales. Apocalyptic novels depict collapse and instability, generally reflecting upon human reactions to loss and extreme danger. They are more likely to read as thrillers, although they can also be cautionary (especially if written during the Cold War). Post-apocalyptic novels tend to comment both on what has been lost and what has been saved from what came before; their plots tend to include more stability than apocalyptic novels but less than dystopias. They are more likely to read as survivalist fantasies, while also including thriller and/or cautionary tale elements. There is frequently a textual or subtextual appeal to prelapsarian ideals, simplicity, living in a small homogenous group, and escape from modernity's speed and information overload. Xenophobic and racist subtext can often be discerned, while an anti-industrial and/or anti-capitalist message is even more common. A classic example is [b:After London: or, Wild England|2220037|After London or, Wild England|Richard Jefferies|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348221574l/2220037._SY75_.jpg|905982] from 1885, which depicts neo-feudal rural communities while cities are empty toxic wastelands.
It's obvious that post-apocalyptic novels deal with anxieties and fantasies of the time when they were written, perhaps more so than other types of fiction. Unlike fantasy as a genre, they depict potential futures of our own world which, crucially, involve the survival of a small number of people. Apocalyptic novels like Mary Shelley's [b:The Last Man|966835|The Last Man|Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1392984325l/966835._SY75_.jpg|835097] and Nevil Shute's truly devastating [b:On the Beach|38180|On the Beach|Nevil Shute|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327943327l/38180._SY75_.jpg|963772] confront the possibility of humanity's complete extinction. Post-apocalyptic novels, as the name implies, allow the reader the beguiling possibility of their own survival, without needing to worry about the millions or billions of faceless others who didn't make it. Thus they can sometimes appeal to that Western type of climate change denial: 'other people far away may suffer, but I'll be OK'. At their best, though, such novels ask important questions about who and what can persist after the structures of life collapse. As befits our dominant ideology, late 20th and 21st century post-apocalyptic fiction tends to lean heavily into self-sufficiency and individualism. Ironically, this implies denial (or fantasy of escape from) the global interconnection of neoliberal economic and political structures that Western quality of life depends upon. Lazier post-apocalyptic visions ignore how much worse life would get without basic medicine like antibiotics, for instance. Better examples do not: Mike Carey's [b:The Book of Koli|51285749|The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1)|M.R. Carey|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1570049059l/51285749._SX50_.jpg|72759249] and sequels examine the medical and psychological implications of isolation in small communities very thoughtfully.
My point is that there is a great deal more going on in the post-apocalyptic subgenre than [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073] mentions. Considering it just as a novel, the plot is best described as minimalist, there is no real tension, and the characters are not very interesting. Evoking a cosy rural commune after civilisation has collapsed does not, in itself, do anything to interrogate post-apocalyptic fiction. Journeyman and Todbaum's conversations give the sub-genre only superficial consideration. One of their discussions cites the ubiquitous Dunbar's number of 150, which I'm tired of hearing about as if it is a powerful argument against civilisation. Humans have lived in groups of more than 150 for at least 7,000 years (cf [b:Mesopotamia: The Invention of the City|757503|Mesopotamia The Invention of the City |Gwendolyn Leick|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1309203274l/757503._SY75_.jpg|743616]) and coped somehow. I would argue that my personal Dunbar number is closer to 50. That doesn't mean I don't want to ever have contact with more than 50 people in my life, just that I can only keep up with any semblance of acquaintance with that many at a time. More extroverted people probably have a much higher tolerance. In any case, I don't think appeals to Dunbar's number tell us much about the exhausting nature of online and offline social interaction in the 21st century, nor the incredibly complex interdependencies that underpin our infrastructure, economies, culture, etc. Post-apocalyptic worlds tend to have a quietness about them, not merely due to fewer people but to much less information. Any historical fiction, novel written before the internet, or contemporary novel that ignores constant smart phone use has a similar quietness that seems quasi-fantastical in comparison to the cacophony of actual life.
In short, I find Lethem's critique, if that's what this is, simplistic and prefer post-apocalyptic novels that deploy or interrogate these tropes much more effectively. I was hoping for more and better from what could be one of the first pandemic-era post-apocalyptic novels. I think COVID-19 has definitely shown us that global disaster doesn't make life simpler, just makes it worse. I am hoping that the pandemic will therefore be fodder for more interesting and thoughtful post-apocalyptic fiction.… (more)
I can only speculate in answer these questions, of course. The back cover blurb begins with, 'The Arrest isn't post-apocalypse'. Upon first glance this is obviously untrue and on second glance disingenuous, as the setting is just that. A mysterious disaster has stopped technology working and industrial civilisation has collapsed. The protagonist, who is rather ironically referred to as Journeyman, lives on a bucolic commune somewhere on the American coast (Maine is not a place I can locate on a map). The stability of this community is slightly unsettled by the arrival of Journeyman's former friend/housemate/collaborator/boss Todbaum in a nuclear-powered tank. I say slightly because Todbaum, formerly a feared Hollywood producer, does nothing but recount anecdotes over hoarded coffee. Journeyman and his sister both have past history with Todbaum, which is never fully elucidated. Instead, Journeyman and Todbaum reflect and hold forth upon post-apocalyptic fiction.
It seems highly likely that Lethem's intent is to use this setting for analysis and critique of post-apocalyptic media. To my mind, though, he has nothing interesting or new to say about it. Quite possibly I think so because I've read a lot of dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic novels and formed my own theories about them. Lethem's characters only seem to make very obvious points, such as:
"What's so great about this shit?" Journeyman parroted.
"It's always better, not worse."
"What do you mean?"
"You people are supposed to, you know, write it to keep it from happening, right? Cautionary tales?" In Todbaum's mind Journeyman might be answerable for all writers, his tribe. "But they just can't help it, they like it there. They love it there."
"Where?"
"Where? The fucked-up allegorical hellscape or dire prison block for the human soul they're working through, the particulars don't matter. They want to live there, you can feel it. [...] The world's reduced and cleansed, the ambiguity scrubbed out."
"Because - it's easier?"
"Sure. Post-apocalyptic comfort food."
First of all, I don't think it's helpful to collapse dystopian, apocalyptic, and post-apocalyptic fiction into a single thing. Obviously there's an overlap, but in my experience there are perceptible differences between the three. Dystopias are stable worlds with exaggerated bleak elements, set up in a manner that reflects upon specific anxieties of the time they were written. They are more likely to read as fables or cautionary tales. Apocalyptic novels depict collapse and instability, generally reflecting upon human reactions to loss and extreme danger. They are more likely to read as thrillers, although they can also be cautionary (especially if written during the Cold War). Post-apocalyptic novels tend to comment both on what has been lost and what has been saved from what came before; their plots tend to include more stability than apocalyptic novels but less than dystopias. They are more likely to read as survivalist fantasies, while also including thriller and/or cautionary tale elements. There is frequently a textual or subtextual appeal to prelapsarian ideals, simplicity, living in a small homogenous group, and escape from modernity's speed and information overload. Xenophobic and racist subtext can often be discerned, while an anti-industrial and/or anti-capitalist message is even more common. A classic example is [b:After London: or, Wild England|2220037|After London or, Wild England|Richard Jefferies|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348221574l/2220037._SY75_.jpg|905982] from 1885, which depicts neo-feudal rural communities while cities are empty toxic wastelands.
It's obvious that post-apocalyptic novels deal with anxieties and fantasies of the time when they were written, perhaps more so than other types of fiction. Unlike fantasy as a genre, they depict potential futures of our own world which, crucially, involve the survival of a small number of people. Apocalyptic novels like Mary Shelley's [b:The Last Man|966835|The Last Man|Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1392984325l/966835._SY75_.jpg|835097] and Nevil Shute's truly devastating [b:On the Beach|38180|On the Beach|Nevil Shute|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327943327l/38180._SY75_.jpg|963772] confront the possibility of humanity's complete extinction. Post-apocalyptic novels, as the name implies, allow the reader the beguiling possibility of their own survival, without needing to worry about the millions or billions of faceless others who didn't make it. Thus they can sometimes appeal to that Western type of climate change denial: 'other people far away may suffer, but I'll be OK'. At their best, though, such novels ask important questions about who and what can persist after the structures of life collapse. As befits our dominant ideology, late 20th and 21st century post-apocalyptic fiction tends to lean heavily into self-sufficiency and individualism. Ironically, this implies denial (or fantasy of escape from) the global interconnection of neoliberal economic and political structures that Western quality of life depends upon. Lazier post-apocalyptic visions ignore how much worse life would get without basic medicine like antibiotics, for instance. Better examples do not: Mike Carey's [b:The Book of Koli|51285749|The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1)|M.R. Carey|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1570049059l/51285749._SX50_.jpg|72759249] and sequels examine the medical and psychological implications of isolation in small communities very thoughtfully.
My point is that there is a great deal more going on in the post-apocalyptic subgenre than [b:The Arrest|51179946|The Arrest|Jonathan Lethem|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582747341l/51179946._SY75_.jpg|73949073] mentions. Considering it just as a novel, the plot is best described as minimalist, there is no real tension, and the characters are not very interesting. Evoking a cosy rural commune after civilisation has collapsed does not, in itself, do anything to interrogate post-apocalyptic fiction. Journeyman and Todbaum's conversations give the sub-genre only superficial consideration. One of their discussions cites the ubiquitous Dunbar's number of 150, which I'm tired of hearing about as if it is a powerful argument against civilisation. Humans have lived in groups of more than 150 for at least 7,000 years (cf [b:Mesopotamia: The Invention of the City|757503|Mesopotamia The Invention of the City |Gwendolyn Leick|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1309203274l/757503._SY75_.jpg|743616]) and coped somehow. I would argue that my personal Dunbar number is closer to 50. That doesn't mean I don't want to ever have contact with more than 50 people in my life, just that I can only keep up with any semblance of acquaintance with that many at a time. More extroverted people probably have a much higher tolerance. In any case, I don't think appeals to Dunbar's number tell us much about the exhausting nature of online and offline social interaction in the 21st century, nor the incredibly complex interdependencies that underpin our infrastructure, economies, culture, etc. Post-apocalyptic worlds tend to have a quietness about them, not merely due to fewer people but to much less information. Any historical fiction, novel written before the internet, or contemporary novel that ignores constant smart phone use has a similar quietness that seems quasi-fantastical in comparison to the cacophony of actual life.
In short, I find Lethem's critique, if that's what this is, simplistic and prefer post-apocalyptic novels that deploy or interrogate these tropes much more effectively. I was hoping for more and better from what could be one of the first pandemic-era post-apocalyptic novels. I think COVID-19 has definitely shown us that global disaster doesn't make life simpler, just makes it worse. I am hoping that the pandemic will therefore be fodder for more interesting and thoughtful post-apocalyptic fiction.… (more)
'Gun, With Occasional Music' is a science fiction noir mystery. As with all crime noir, I must compare it unfavourably with Raymond Chandler. Sorry, but there it is. That done, I do recommend this novel as an entertainingly weird twist on the lone PI investigating a mystery with the world against him. Lethem's style can be found about equidistant between Jeff Noon and The Great Chandler.
I very much enjoyed the details of the world evoked in this book. Free drugs for everyone, evolved animals doing most of the menial jobs, and wordless news updates. All this was presented in the deadpan, hard-boiled narration of the former-cop-current-detective-for-hire. Probably the least interesting part, though, was the mystery itself. Perhaps this was an intentionally postmodern element of the book, but I had little interest in whodunnit or why. I was more interested in the self-destructiveness of the narrator and pondering what on earth was going on with the creepy 'babyheads'.
Thus I can't wholeheartedly recommend 'Gun, With Occasional Music', although I love the world within which it is set. I think Jeff Noon does the mystery-in-bizarre-near-future thing more effectively in 'Pollen' and 'Nymphomation'. A lot of amusement can be had from reading this novel as a stylistic parody of the noir genre, though. On balance, I liked the parts better than the whole.… (more)
I very much enjoyed the details of the world evoked in this book. Free drugs for everyone, evolved animals doing most of the menial jobs, and wordless news updates. All this was presented in the deadpan, hard-boiled narration of the former-cop-current-detective-for-hire. Probably the least interesting part, though, was the mystery itself. Perhaps this was an intentionally postmodern element of the book, but I had little interest in whodunnit or why. I was more interested in the self-destructiveness of the narrator and pondering what on earth was going on with the creepy 'babyheads'.
Thus I can't wholeheartedly recommend 'Gun, With Occasional Music', although I love the world within which it is set. I think Jeff Noon does the mystery-in-bizarre-near-future thing more effectively in 'Pollen' and 'Nymphomation'. A lot of amusement can be had from reading this novel as a stylistic parody of the noir genre, though. On balance, I liked the parts better than the whole.… (more)
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Statistics
- Works
- 114
- Also by
- 106
- Members
- 23,075
- Popularity
- #917
- Rating
- 3.8
- Reviews
- 609
- ISBNs
- 389
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- 18
- Favorited
- 97
The descriptions of Berkeley and environs are good -- you can easily pick out what he's talking about (for example, the burger place is pretty clearly modeled on Top Dog). Lethem is a really good writer, really smart, and the characterizations are well done. But as the book went along, I kind of got lost in what it was supposed to be all about, and was kind of glad to see it end.… (more)