A novel/memoir by Dave Eggers that I read because my ex-housemate now works for Simon & Schuster (and partially because it had a review by David Foster Wallace on the back flap). It - surprise! - pretty much lives up to its title (curiosity on that subject was another reason to read it. Hubris or irony? Misplaced irony? What? I was anxious to judge!) I knew it was funny and genius-generated by the time I'd read the flaps, the copyright notice, the "Rules and Suggestions for the Enjoyment of this Book", preface, contents, acknowledgements, and "Incomplete Guide to Symbols and Metaphors;" yet i hadn't even gotten into the meat of book.

Eggers even says that he'll trade you your copy of the book for the entire text of it on a floppy, if it is not fictional enough for you, and you can change it all around yourself. The author really wants you to like him. I like him; i forgive him; i think he's funny; i would offer absolution to him.

On the way home from Brooklyn, i loaned it to some jaded freshman from New Jersey, heading back to college from spring break. He laughed out loud for about twenty minutes. Later, i looked up, and i think he was crying. It was kind of cute.