When I was in grad school, if you hadn’t read
Jesus’ Son, we had nothing to talk about. This was the book of that time period in my life. A demented, careening, interconnected collection of stories, all starring a “hero” named Fuckhead who stumbles across a landscape of psychic, physical, and moral trauma, where drugged-up hospital orderlies save lives and whole families die in a flash of light and a shattering of glass and metal. And yet somehow—and don’t ask me how because I don’t know—it’s funny and human and written with unmatchable panache.