A more fitting title for this book would be "Sorrentino's Excess."

One of the things that makes it so interesting is the existence of hidden patches of subtlety amidst some of the least subtle satire I've ever read. Sorrentino makes his point with the repeated assaults of a battering ram only to follow it up with the swipe of a feather duster with a single feather comically out of place in just such a way as to cast a shadow on a particular passage from Nabokov. A large portion of the book consists of a book-within-a-book written by the main character, Antony Lamont. I suspect there's an Andy Kaufman-like meta-narrative at play, as if Sorrentino is making fun of the kind of author who would write a book like Mulligan Stew every bit as much as he's making fun of Lamont. Parts of the book are really funny, while others are not nearly as funny as Sorrentino seems to think they are. Having read some of his other books, I can't quite believe that this isn't intentional.

Whatever the case, I'm glad I read it and I recommend it.