Author: Moses Yuriyvich Mikheyev
Publisher: Moses Yuriyvich Mikheyev
ISBN: 978-0578684765more from this user
From the first-person perspective, Max McMillan, a renowned and worshiped author, takes the reader on a journey through his playboy, luxurious, and millions-of-Instagram-follower life. Annoyed by his stardom, and seemingly out for self-destruction, Max's story is one of constant disaster. However, when he discovers that his best friend, Jack, a poor and unpublished writer, is losing his wife to cancer, he decides to risk it all to help them in this hilarious and satirical romantic comedy.
This is a story about two writers. One is published, rich, and famous; the other, unpublished, poor, and unknown. The rich guy is me, Max McMillan. I’m the greatest hack ever. I swear I am. On most days, I walk around the house naked and publish best-selling books every few months or whatever. The women come and go like it’s a goddamn whorehouse. But I’m thinking about marriage. See, there’s this girl. She’s got a name, but I can’t remember it. I call her Cowgirl Up. It suits her well. I don’t love her because I don’t think I can. I only love four people: my poor writer friend, Jack, his wife, Jane, and their two kids, Lucy and Nathan. I hate everyone else. Jane is dying from cancer. And I hate cancer. This is my story. It’s absurd and outrageous. It really is. If you’re an asshole like me, you’ll really love this story. I swear you will. It’s that crazy. And if you buy this book, I just might buy myself another Corvette. (Hell, at least you know that I’m also honest.) Goddamn, I fucking hate cancer.
"Laced with sardonic wit and a devil-may-care style, The Hack [is] unclassifiable, but undeniably interesting. Walking around in the mind of a neurotic writer can be exhausting, particularly one as vulgar and base in its instincts, but Mikheyev weaves fine wisdom from coarse thread, touching on deep grief, personal disappointment, lack of fulfillment, and the desire to leave a legacy. [T]here is [an] authentic narrative charm in the uncouth self-reflection. Boasting the egocentrism of Bukowski and the rambling madness of Kerouac, there are flashes of brilliance throughout this unique novel"--SPR
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