There are novelists who seem to spend their entire careers either apologising for being themselves or trying to become someone else entirely. And then there’s Dave Eggers, who has spent much of the last quarter century trying – and, it has to be said, as far as one can tell, very happily succeeding – to become Dave Eggers. Ever since A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius appeared in 2000, fulfilling almost entirely the audacious promise of its title, Eggers has occupied that peculiarly American position of being not simply Yet Another Novelist, but the Guy, the Man, the yardstick by which all others might be judged and found wanting. He’s a publisher, campaigner, literacy activist, editor, artist, children’s author, philanthropist and impresario. Not only is he the Guy – worse, he seems like a thoroughly nice guy.
Contrapposto, his first adult novel for several years, and, we’re told by the publishers, ‘20 years in the making’, is another worthy addition to the vast Eggers canon. Having long since abandoned the pyrotechnics and performative cleverness of some of the early books, he is now busy pondering the meaning of life.
Having abandoned the pyrotechnics of his early books, Eggers is now busy pondering the meaning of life
