Loner by Teddy Wayne

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David Federman is a new freshman at Harvard and Loner is the story of his first semester. Despite David overdoing his SAT vocab words, Wayne’s writing is readable enough to convey the wide-eyed hopefulness of the first few days of college with scenes of dorm ice breakers and syllabus hand-outs. It seems like a standard autumnal coming-of-age story, but the story turns upside down as we get to know David a little better.

David is an awkward, mumbly, obnoxiously bright teenager who hopes to leave his lonely high school days behind him. He begins his college experience with dreams of admiration and success, and he becomes infatuated with Veronica Wells, a fellow freshman who lives in his building. She’s from a wealthy Manhattan background, the daughter of a father who works in finance and a socialite mother. She is effortless and cool and David considers her the key to his college glory.

The novel continues with David telling the story of his first semester like a letter to Veronica, referring to her as “you.” I thought this was a little too similar to Caroline Kepnes’s recent novel You, but Loner is a bit more realistic. (It is worth noting that David is just as much of a creepy, entitled dweeb as the narrator of You.)

David dates Veronica’s roommate, the adorable and sweet Sara, to get closer to the object of his obsession. There are a few scenes where David takes advantage of Sara to get sexual experience; his reasoning is that he wants to know what he is doing once he wins over Veronica, and it’s not only creepy but chilling how David sees nothing wrong with his behavior. This novel is not for people who need to like a main character, because David Federman is one of the most despicable characters I’ve read. At first he seems like a slightly arrogant nerd whose insecurity makes him a little bit of a jerk, but as the story progresses it’s clear that he completely lacks empathy for others.

Wayne created an entertaining and deeply upsetting character with David Federman and Loner is a page-turning story. It’s equally funny and disturbing, nostalgically collegiate and contemporary in its reflection of current issues. I highly recommend it for people who like unreliable narrators.

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Hello! I always find it so awkward to begin a post when I haven’t posted anything for a while. I’m not going to apologize, because I’m trying not to apologize for things that don’t actually bother anyone. For instance, I have this habit of apologizing when I almost bump into someone on the train. When I do bump into someone on the train, I apologize twice. When someone else bumps into me on the train I also apologize. Last year I was on an Amtrak to Boston and the girl next to me dropped her notebook, which I had nothing to do with. The exchange went like this.

Girl on the Amtrak shifts a little bit, and the notebook on her lap falls on the ground.

Me: Sorry.

Girl on the Amtrak: That’s okay, you didn’t do anything.

She picks up her notebook.

Me: That’s true. Sorry.

Doing this isn’t endearing, it’s wishy-washy and annoying. So, ladies: let’s not apologize unless we actually do something wrong. If you’re anything like me you probably have enough to apologize for without apologizing for all the stuff you can’t help.


I turned 25 in July and I have since been in an everyday panic where I wake up clutching my to-do list and groaning. I am planning on applying to grad school this winter. I am studying for the GRE, which is hard because I essentially forgot how to math. I am worrying that the people who I will ask for recommendations are going to be all, “Who dis?” I’m worried that I will study and apply and be recommended and still not get in anywhere. I’m worried I will get in, do well, and graduate only to never find a job in my field. I am worried as I always am that on top of all of this people will also laugh at me! It’s a lot to be worried about all at once.

Right now I have a job as a paralegal. I am good at it and it’s not horrible. These facts plus health insurance somehow aren’t enough for me, because I’m greedy and I want a job that stimulates me. Sometimes when I’m frustrated with my day job I remind myself that both Lorrie Moore and Gary Shteyngart and probably a lot of other writers started out as paralegals. Cheryl Strayed was a waitress and Kurt Vonnegut sold cars. Writers can be found in basically every profession. I don’t mind writing on the outskirts of a day job, but I want a day job that will make me happy, too. It is pure and disgusting greed.


In January I signed up for Net Galley with aspirations to post a new book review every week. The problem is that I hate everything I write for this blog and I miss when writing felt like rolling on a skateboard downhill – fast and triumphant and you wind up with bugs in your teeth. In comparison it often feels clunky and strange to write book reviews.

I took an online class in February with GrubStreet and I remembered what it felt like to write with exhilaration again. I am never more productive than when I have an audience. I wanted to write about my experience with GrubStreet for a post but I never found the time and now it’s one of those things in the back of my memory, all foggy. Did I really write those stories? I never turned them into anything more than flash fiction for a class. But I did it, on top of my day job and my real life and everything. I made time to write. I could do it again. I could keep going.

I have trouble seeing my accomplishments as accomplishments. I forget them as soon as I do them, because I’m too busy thinking about what I have put off, what I was hoping I’d have accomplished by 25 vs where I actually am, and everything that is ahead. I dwell on all the ways I’ve screwed up. And I start to feel worthless, like no matter how hard I try I’m not good enough. But when I have time to screw my head back on I realize that I’m on my way, and I’m right on time. Those bad feelings and experiences and mistakes are supposed to happen to help me get where I’m going. 

I’m trying to ease up on myself and at the same time be better. It’s a balance beam sort of thing. I don’t want to force myself to keep up with a post schedule, but I want to keep going with this blog, and I want to write things I’m proud of. I want to keep reading and engaging with what I read which is why I’m here in the first place.


P.S. – Let me tell you about two books I’ve read recently.

FATES AND FURIES by Lauren Groff – I read this because I heard somewhere that Barack Obama liked it. It was released last year and as far as hyped up books of 2015 go, I think I like this one more than A Little Life, although the reading experience of A Little Life was more immersive throughout. Fates and Furies won me over only in the second half. The book is about a married couple, and the first half is the husband’s story, leaving the wife’s perspective somewhat mysterious. In the second half, for reasons, her perspective takes over. I loved the wife’s character; she reminded me of a Gillian Flynn narrator.

WE EAT OUR OWN by Kea Wilson – I received this as an ARC from Net Galley. This is a strange first novel from an MFA graduate, so naturally it was somehow both overwritten and vague. I can’t blame Wilson though; she’s definitely talented enough that it mostly worked. It’s based loosely on Cannibal Holocaust, an exploitation horror film from the 80s that caused a huge stir because of it’s horrific realism. This is a narrator-jumper, but the main character is an unnamed American actor who is told to fly to Columbia to star in a film which he discovers has no script and a crazy, moody director. The story is sliced up in bits divided with court transcripts of the trial that follows the release of the movie, when the director is accused of leading his cast and crew to violent ends. A lot of crazy stuff goes down and it’s pretty fascinating, although I felt it hard to follow because of some of Wilson’s techniques. For every character there seems to be a chapter in their point of view. Also, the chapters where we follow the actor are told in second person perspective (“you feel like this”, etc) which is my biggest pet peeve. Wilson explores the dissociative aspect of acting with this character and uses the technique to highlight it, but I still rarely like second person POV – it feels like a cheap trick in a desperate attempt to make a story more interesting.