Disappointingly indulgent door-stopper of a book which you suspect may not have been published but for the existing fame of it's author.

A brilliantly funny book of race and gender in present day America. Super long but once you're in its really enjoyable!

The screenplay for "Being John Malkovich" made Charlie Kaufman world famous. The Oscar-winning novel is a new milestone in American literature: B. Rosenberg can't manage anything except write reviews that nobody reads. The New York city neurotic boasts of the black skin color of his girlfriend and defends himself against the assumption that he is Jewish. He doesn't even want to have a gender and just calls himself B. Then, however, he comes across the longest film ever made and has a mission: He wants to show the world the unseen film. But the masterpiece goes up in flames and B. can only dream about it. Endless fun that goes beyond any scope.

Kaufman is familiar to us from the films, but it's time to admit: until now, the author of "Adaptation" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" was constrained by the budget and the limitations of the objective world. In his debut novel about an unsuccessful film critic, he throws off the shackles: the narrative stretches back and forth for millions of years, inhabited by fictional and genuine movie stars, Trump clone robots, speculations about Sokurov and Nolan, BDSM practitioners and caustic comments on the #MeToo era. Antkind is a majestic and caustic puzzle novel that can be deciphered after T. Pynchon or D.F. Wallace's model, or you can dive into it and surrender to psychedelic power. A wonderful, complex, escapist read. Highly recommended.

Charlie Kaufman doesn’t do sympathetic characters. From Craig Schwartz in Being John Malkovich to Charlie Kaufman (!) in Adaptation, he’s created a gallery of flawed, usually self-obsessed to the point of mania individuals who can goofily self-deluded yet capable of learning and compassion and love but who could seldom be described as likeable.

Not that this is a bad thing. Postmodernist, metatextual comedy of the kind Kaufman delivers, tempered with rounded, believable characters can often be a needed counterpoint to the (usually) broader-drawn characters of more mainstream comedy.

The central protagonist of Antkind belongs very much to this Kaufman tradition. B. Rosenburger Rosenburg is a washed-up, pompous film critic in his late 50s who fights with everyone, including his own (more successful) daughter, and is obsessed with gaining status and recognition (his desperation to not be one of ‘the Unseen’ is recurrent throughout the novel). And despite his self-avowed wokeness (his pronoun of preference is the bizarre ‘thon’, for example), he is a demonstrably racist (his ‘African-American Girlfriend’ never benefits a description from him of any greater depth than this), anti-Semitic and something of a foot-fetishistic sex pest.

And this is the fundamental problem with Antkind. A novel is not a movie. An actor can put a different gloss on the misanthropic negativity of a written character. Jon Cusack, for example, could bring a youthful naivety to Craig; Nicolas Cage a doe-eyed haplessness to the screen Kaufman. This is also an issue of focalisation, at least to an extent. In a movie, camera placement also creates a welcome distance between us (as viewer) and our perceptions of these protagonists and therefore our ability to empathise with them.

This is not so in a novel, particularly written exclusively in the first person. B. (as he describes himself ‘so as not to use his masculinity as a weapon’) is by no means fun to be around (or worse, inside) with no respite for over 700 pages. This is perhaps something Kaufman is aware of and calls attention to it in an entertaining section in which B. is placed inside the head of President Donald Trunk (!) via a future immersive artform. Needless to say, he doesn’t like it anymore than we enjoy being stuck with him.

The novel seems to aspire to be the kind of postmodernist epic reminiscent of Don DeLillo or David Foster Wallace. (DeLillo is one of the many cultural figures who gets a namecheck throughout the book, with B. taking a deluded creative encouragement from a note from DeLillo that merely reads ‘thanks for sending this on’). Certainly, the bare backbone of plot, in which B. discovers an unknown animated ‘cinematic masterpiece’ from eccentric recluse Ingo Cutbirth and after its inadvertent destruction resolves to recreate it and make his fortune, is vaguely reminiscent of Infinite Jest’s lethal videotape. However, Kaufman has appeared to have ignored a principle that both DeLillo and Foster Wallace adhered to — that in a novel of significant length and addressing a variety of often abstract concepts that you need a cast of at least a few characters, to give the novel scope, texture and even basic respite. For the reader to stand the remotest chance of getting through either Infinite Jest or Underworld, they’re going to need the occasional break away from Hal Incandenza or Nick Shay.

Because Antkind has a lot to keep the reader otherwise interested. It’s often smart and it’s certainly very funny. For example, the Trump pastiche is a spot-on delight and there are many other great set-pieces in what is essentially a slab of postmodern picaresque. Not all of it works, of course. Some of the many, many puns and other examples of wordplay fall rather flat — some are meant to, being examples of B.’s overinflated sense of his own talent but some are just excruciatingly groan-worthy in their own right. Similarly, the concept of an Abbott and Costello gone homicidal is initially amusing but ends up becoming belaboured, particularly when married to tedious sections with Kaufman’s own Abbott and Costello analogue double-act, Mudd and Molloy.

But the novel does have some interesting things to say about the ridiculousness of modern academic discourse, celebrity culture and social media and perhaps of the redundancy of serious criticism in the digital world. But the ultimate problem is that its never wholly clear what those things actually are. We’re never entirely sure whether Kaufman, in B., is satirising overtly performative wokeness itself or if his focus is more upon those who satirise whose who satirise that performative wokeness. All too often, the novel does read like your typical curmudgeonly impotent railing at the modern world, without bothering to articulate the actual problem is. For instance, in B.’s daughter renaming herself Farrow, Kaufman seems to be reaching towards some comment on the #MeToo movement but it’s hard to pin down what comment he wishes to make.

Perhaps the ultimate problem with Antkind is that is overstuffed, too recondite with wordplay and pop cultural allusion (even to Kaufman’s own films, which B. despises with a passion). There’s barely a page of the novel that doesn’t have something to like about it, something that will raise at least a wry smile, but there’s just too much of it and it is too scattergun. Kaufman’s screenplays worked best when they were given focus and structure by directors of disciplined talent and visual gift, like Michel Gondry or Spike Jonez. Perhaps what was needed here was something similar; an editor who would have honed many of these great and interesting ideas into something a little more directed, focused, and, in all likelihood, shorter.

Oscar-winning screenwriter Charlie Kaufman has described his debut novel Antkind as his ‘big book of jokes’, but of course it’s much more than that.

Primarily it seems to be a device for him to torture a film critic of his own making – named B. Rosenberger Rosenberg. This irredeemable character has all the cliché character flaws you might expect in a film critic – he’s pompous, self-aggrandising, and almost completely lacking any self-awareness.

Not even a successful critic, B finds himself teaching film studies at a school for zookeepers. Despite his claims of being a highly educated film expert with credentials from all sorts of prestigious schools, his favourite director is Judd Apatow and he describes Kaufman as ‘a monster unaware of his staggering ineptitude’. While most of B’s assertions are laughably wrong-headed, sometimes you wonder whether it’s really the author expressing his own opinions while under the protection of plausible deniability (i.e. those on Mark Kermode).

Happening upon an undiscovered filmic masterpiece from the reclusive director Ingo Cutbirth, B believes he has finally found his big break. He must watch the 3-month long film seven times according to his process. Unfortunately for B, the film soon goes up in flames. (The irony of a film expert not knowing nitrate film is combustible..) From then on B tirelessly pieces together the 3-month long odyssey while going on an epic journey of his own, from selling shoes at a clown convention to ending up in an apocalyptic cave world inhabited by Trunk (Trump) robots.

In some ways it’s a comic version of House of Leaves, a cult novel which also arduously pieces together a recluse’s critique of a film that never existed. As B’s editor tells him (and possibly so did Kaufman’s publisher) – “I don’t know what the audience would be for a book outlining a non-existent film.”

Kaufman’s ongoing preoccupations with puppets (free will vs predestination), dreams, and the unreliability of memory continue to feature, as does his staunch refusal to explain the meaning of his work. Ingo’s description of his film also applies to the novel itself:

“It is a filmic experiment of sorts that posits an equal relationship between artist and viewer, in that the viewer will not, after viewing it in its entirety, be certain whether the film has left off and his own dreams have taken over. […] in the end, what you add to the film will largely be determined by your own psyche.”

It's worthwhile if you can stick with it to the end, but probably mostly of interest to those who are already fans.

This book was awful. I couldn't finish it. Way too pretentious. Comes off as a vanity project, and like it had no editorial input whatsoever. Sorry not sorry...

Earlier this year, when I first read that Charlie Kaufman was writing a novel, my curiosity was immediately piqued. Here was a writer who had pretty much defined an entire genre of early-2000s speculative cinema; a kind of goofball science fiction which managed to be at once questioning and philosophically sophisticated, but also lighthearted, thoroughly warm.
Having now waded through all 700+ pages of 'Antkind' I can truly say that I wish his book editor had been as thorough as the person editing his films. There are good ideas at the core of 'Antkind', and it's clear to see that Kaufman has studied up on his Pynchon and Vonnegut in an attempt to reach the dark heart of satirising the American project. But 'Antkind' felt flabby. Too unwieldy and not focused enough on the things which made Vonnegut and Pynchon so great: namely an inexplicable humanity. A humanity which is nevertheless present in Kaufman's films, but not here.

I Don't know if Antkind is for me. I love Charlie Kaufman. I love his screenwriting and his film directing style. Adaptation is a work of genius. Being John Malkovich blew my mind. There is discipline in those stories, even as they explore the world in a weird and wonderful way. Antkind needs to be reined in in that way. With a big pair of scissors this becomes a great novel.

(Thanks to Netgalley and 4th Estate and William Collins for a preview e-copy of this novel in return for an honest review)

If you know Charlie Kaufman's filmic work, then you might have an idea of what to expect from this, his debut, novel.. It contains some of the themes that he has visited in those movies such as identity crisis, morality and metaphysics. It it also deeply surreal, and highly enjoyable.

At its most simplified the plot of the novel runs thus - a film critic finds a great, unknown film, which he means to present to the world and thus be lauded. The film is destroyed, except for a single frame - and he must attempt to remember what happened in it, so that he can recreate it or novelize it and bring it to the public.

Of course the novel itself is far from simplistic. Our protagonist, B Rosenburger Rosenburg is a one of the most delightful and horrendous caricatures in recent memory. Obsessed with not being racist (and so clearly he is), the films of Judd apatow, film lists and a myriad of other things, he goes through his farcical life falling into manholes (person holes) getting into accidents, meeting a variety of weird and insane characters along the way. It put me in mind of Ignatius J Reilly. Hateable and sometimes relatable, punchable and yet weirdly lovable. Equally hilarious and equally odd.

The book runs for over 700 pages and in that time manages to cram in time travel, a myriad of robotic Donald Trumps (here Donald Trunk), clown fetishists, duality, slapstick comedy and more. For all it's length however it is always easy to read, as it is presented in short vignettes; little pockets of surrealist ridiculousness that pass by in a instant. As an example there is a portion of the book dedicated to the attempts of Abbott and Costello to murder upcoming double acts who might put them at risk. One such being Mudd and Molloy. The poor unfortunate Molloy ends up in a coma from which he returns distinctly unfunny and hellbent on having a comedy act of two straight men, which of course is very, very funny to the reader.

And very funny the whole book is. I laughed out loud a number of times, which is a rarity for me, and a gag was never far away. They don't always land, but the book chatters along at such a pace, that it is not long before something else funny comes along.

If there is a criticism it might be that the book tries to fit in too much, that some of the less amusing bits could have been pared away (not all of the Donald Trump lampooning works for example), but to do so would damage the strangeness of the novel and ultimately the reading experience.

You will likely see this book described as Kafkaesque, Pynchion, Borgesian even, but ultimately it is Kaufmanesque and his alone. Witty, Surreal, Long, Challenging, Easy.. It is like nothing else I have read, and though it is overlong, it is never anything but hugely enjoyable. If you want something mindbending, funny, odd, upsetting, uplifting and different this may well be the novel for you.

Antkind will attract two kinds of readers – the devoted Kaufmann fans and the rest who are intrigued by a potentially interesting story. There is no doubt that fans will swoon at Kaufmann’s 720 page doorstop of a book and reviews so far have been mostly positive, whether in The New Yorker or NPR. The question is, is it really good or is everyone merely succumbing to the Kaufmann hype? After all, we all would like to understand and embrace the surreal, post-modern and sometimes downright trippy Kaufmann universe.

Full review up on my blog: https://wanderingwestswords.wordpress.com/2020/07/24/antkind-charlie-kaufman/

This was an OK book for me. It was really hard to get in, and the humor didn't click 100%.
I appreciate the style and writing though.

Thanks a lot to the publisher and NG for this copy.

3.5 stars - rounded up.
This is a bit of a marathon not a sprint. It also goes from A to Z all the way through the rest of the letters as it wends its way to the end. But there is enough progression and some really classy humour to be had along the way which I really needed to get to the end. And, when I got there, apart from being knackered from the journey, I found myself pleasantly satisfied.
B. Rosenberger Rosenberg, who doesn't use his first name and is going out with that famous actress, the one in that famous show, you'll know her... is a rather unsuccessful filmmaker. He's away from home when he meets a rather strange man who, eventually, tells him he has created a film. A rather long film that has taken nearly 90 years to finish. A film that would take 3 months to watch, with scheduled breaks at appropriate times. B. knows he is on to a winner but then soon after he finishes watching it, tragedy strikes, the film is destroyed with only him as sole witness to its existence. All that's left is his memory and a single frame. He has to recreate it...
I've already mentioned the weightiness of this offering. It is also a bit hard work in places. I think you would better appreciate all it has to offer if you are a bit of a film buff (and buff of other things) yourself as there are a LOT of veiled references. Some of which I got, others must have gone way over my head, and some even had me hitting the internet as not remembering bugged me. Which did distract I have to say. The story is built up over layers, memory, experience, escapism, fracture, bonkers, and a whole host of other topics visited and revisited along the way. Some things you'll get, others will confuse, the story gets a bit lost along the way - well it did for me anyway - but I carried on and, and you'll have to believe me on this, it was worth ploughing through.
I think, in hindsight, I'm probably not the best target audience for this book but I did seem to get something from reading it (definitely not all) and I guess I was mostly satisfied at the end. It definitely ticked the box of something a little different!
My thanks go to the Publisher and Netgalley for the chance to read this book.

The first novel by the acclaimed screen writer Charlie Parker.The lead character self-indulgent self involved & completely hilarious.A novel that was unique quirky that I totally enjoyed.If you loved the authors films this books for you.#netgalley#4thestate

It's hard work this one! Maybe I'm missing something? It is funny but I feel like I'm not getting it, like there is some inside joke that I'm not part of.

Consistently hilarious, albeit ending up being rather too much of a good thing; "Antkind" is a self-referential, navel-gazing, brilliant read.

This novel is like Inception, there's always another level. I am not sure that I can say that I enjoyed it because Antkind is a real undertaking and I had to occasionally put the book down before I could dive back in. I can say that I really appreciate such a thing can be written, even if maybe you have to be a Hollywood director to do so. This book is meta all the way down and stuffed with so many references that if you blink at all you will miss them. Still there are so many lines that made me laugh and so many moments that gave me food for thought that I can't fault him (her, thon) and can genuinely see why Kaufman is so well regarded.