Reviewed by C.A. LaRue
Rarely do you contemplate the various elements of design that are involved in bringing you light. Neither does a casual reader like to look too closely at the bones of a pleasurable read. Yet, The Biology of Luck, the latest novel from the ever-prolific Jacob M. Appel, practically begs for such examination.
It is not by accident that you will find yourself coming back to its pages again and again like some well-thumbed guidebook. The novel does, in fact, have the feel of a guidebook with its full-color map of “Larry’s NYC” and its rich descriptions of that city, but it is so much more than the “postmodern love story” or “re-imagined Odyssey” that it has been labeled.
Yes, on the surface it is a journey and a doomed romance of fugly meets hot-mess on a bike, but under that sheen is a darkness that skirts the depths of our neurotic obsessions. Even minor characters, such as the Armenian florist and the lovable, scholarly Ziggy, are deliciously, delightfully nuts.
It is not by accident that you will find yourself coming back to its pages again and again like some well-thumbed guidebook. The novel does, in fact, have the feel of a guidebook with its full-color map of “Larry’s NYC” and its rich descriptions of that city, but it is so much more than the “postmodern love story” or “re-imagined Odyssey” that it has been labeled.
Yes, on the surface it is a journey and a doomed romance of fugly meets hot-mess on a bike, but under that sheen is a darkness that skirts the depths of our neurotic obsessions. Even minor characters, such as the Armenian florist and the lovable, scholarly Ziggy, are deliciously, delightfully nuts.