Donald Antrim?s ability to capture the many facets of the human psyche is astounding. Every character comes complete with something of a synopsis of his experience or a tale of a major life event, which defines the character. Beyond the authors? genius the book is a cynically well-written story about the complications of life, and coping mechanisms. ?I crouched down and the dog came to me. It was a shame, really, that I had no doggy treats along with the morphine in my pockets. I said, like a true master, ?That?ll do, boy.? This book is funny as hell, read it, think and laugh, only if you like laughing though. If not, this book isn?t for you.

Most reviewers seem to focus on whether or not this book exemplifies post-modernism and whether or not that's good or bad. Unfortunately, I've never been able to figure out what postmodernism is, so I can't help ya there.

All I know is Pynchon and Delillo just confuse me, Vollman makes me laugh but I can't figure out what the hell he's driving at, but Antrim just makes me feel good all over.

Maybe it's the way he introduces all 100 brothers, in order, in about 5 pages, and then blithely writes the rest of the book as if you're going to remember who they all are. Which is a good hook, because, who hasn't been to a social function where you get introduced to a few dozen people within 5 minutes, after which you're supposed to remember everybody?

Maybe I just identify with the hapless, socially retarded dope of a narrator who just wants everyone to get along but ends up, well, no spoilers, in a unique and singularly undignified situation.

But it's not simplistic comedy - it's a bit like one of those Borges stories where you think, "ok, this is gonna be a quick read, only 12 pages" and then you find it takes a good 2 hours to make a bit of sense of it.

Well, you could compare it to a lot of things, but that wouldn't do it justice, because the best part is, it just ain't quite like anything you've read before.

What do you do when you can not write in depth about a subject or at least you can not depend on language to carry your work? You write a postmodern mess that carries the reader along on a wild joyride, and leaves the reader in the end with nothing but good entertainment.

This work exemplifies tendancies in contemporary fiction to not write literature as much as write anything that mocks it. If you can not write Literature, then take the necessary elements of literature(in this case plot and character) and stretch it to the extreme producing an original but utterly empty postmodern cartoon.

I give Mr. Antrim three stars for entertainment. Its a fun book. But not much else is there.

Donald Antrim is profoundly original, as he continues to take the novel to a new place in literature. Not always a easy read but always fun and full of insights. I do like 'The Verificationist' and 'The Elect Mr. Robinson' better, but as in all his books it is unlike any book one has ever read.Each brother gave me thoughts on myself my family and the world.I love his dark humor. I'm looking forward to his next book.

If this is what post-modern lit is all about, I'd rather be a pre-classicist. This book is essentially one big chapter about a hundred brothers reuniting for a dinner. What follows is a series of squabbling between brothers that is at most incoherent. The prose is really bad, with exaggerations and flowery words (more like a Venus flytrap). Donald Antrim seems to have written the book in one night, because the events don't make sense. My advice is start with one brother, and go up from there. Leave this bin of mumbo jumbo for graduate students and intellectual snobs. Post-modernism is reserved for you after you're dead.