Jernigan is the great lost American masterpiece of suburban despair, a modern Revolutionary Road or Stoner
David Gates makes me sick with envy
A sizzler of a novel, a whirlwind. It swept me up in the opening paragraphs ... I found myself wishing I could read fast enough to swallow it whole in a single sitting
A bravura performance, sprawling and energetic, soused and noisy, with a bitter comic edge ... a rambunctious and enthralling portrait of a man who, by looking too closely, has finally lost sight of himself
A relentless, combustible mix of high literary art and low humour, wisecracking profanity and shellac dark glimpses into a man's wilful self-annihilation ... if there is one book that deserves to come in from the cold in the way Revolutionary Road, Alone in Berlin and Stoner have, it's David Gates's Jernigan.
The minute he starts talking, Peter Jernigan, the narrator of David Gates' astonishing first novel, grabs you by the lapels and compels you to listen to the sad-funny-tragic story of his life ... one of recent literature's most memorable anti-heroes
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