Word: wolfeã
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Dates: during 2004-2004
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...with his self-professed role as witness and writer of American culture, combined with his (usually) capable ear for linguistic nuance, danger lies in the delicacy of Wolfe??s role as decoder of American life. That’s because in Charlotte Simmons he doesn’t merely depict undergraduate life—he damns it. And he damns it with the paltry evidence he marshals in page after innumerable page of colorful but ultimately stereotypical “evidence...
...novel depicts life at Dupont University (think Ivy-League but with sports), an elite institution in Pennsylvania, for four very different undergraduates and a sprinkling of adults for unsubtle contrast. As with most of Wolfe??s novels there is a host of characters, but four comprise the novel’s main focus: Charlotte Simmons, the naïve and beautiful titular protagonist; Hoyt Thorpe, the self-obsessed fratboy; “Jojo” Johanssen, the gargantuan whitey baller; and Adam Gellin, Nerd...
...forestall their victim’s realization of mockery. And college movie buffs will enjoy his inclusion of Frank the Tank’s now famous mantra “It tastes so good when it hits your lips!” which is not explained, adding more to Wolfe??s credentials as an eager ear for detail...
...even Wolfe??s love of language goes too far, often serving as a tool to preposterously caricature his chosen subjects. “The year’s prevailing college creole,” he writes, is something called “Fuck Patois,” a language centered around—you guessed it—that most descriptive of four-letter words. Wolfe does get it right here, at least initially; college students swear an awful lot, and create new and intricate forms of words that used to only have a few. But he gets...
Pervasiveness is right. If you buy Wolfe??s view of college students, every one of them, from the lowly virgin Adam Gellin to the satisfied stud Jojo, and even our dear Charlotte, is pressured relentlessly by their environment to believe sex is the end all of existence. In this world no one, no matter how lofty his or her sense of self, can escape the “ripped” grip of lust. We are all of us frenzied cats, unable to buck the tide of hormonal rampage that courses through our veins and coed halls...