Hari Kunzru never has a problem coming up with the premise of his books, and as they unfold, the stories have a trademark style of gathering pace and Proust-like, sending us on wild-goose chases that suddenly turn up a nugget of gold, linking us to the theme of the book. #Red pill hari kunzru fullKunzru’s sixth novel provokes the same maddening doubts Read Full Review > As the narrator binge-watches Blue Lives, he wonders whether Anton’s metaphysical titbits are significant, or whether they’re some elaborate joke-a performative and empty cleverness. Red Pill is a novel designed for us to parse, to scour for clues like a QAnon disciple. Kunzru interrogates conspiracy thinking by mimicking it, throwing out ideas and airily encouraging us to join the dots. #Red pill hari kunzru how toAs for the grandiose conspiracies of the red pill universe-they may be lurking in Red Pill, if you know where and how to look. Kunzru largely evades the embittered machinations of the Manosphere. But for a novel that shares its title with a euphemism for far-right radicalization – in particular, a grotesque form of misogyny- Red Pill does not so much tumble down the rabbit hole as skitter around its dark edge. Kunzru is at his best in such moments, exposing the creeping malignancy of good intentions. As the electoral college tallies its votes, the narrator’s madness transmutes into a terrible form of sanity. The mounting horror of Red Pill is Cassandra’s curse: watching the future-our present-spool out exactly as it already has. Red Pill is less a novel about right-wing trolling.than about liberal vertigo: it shows how progressives have been blindsided by the rhetorical pageantry of pseudo-intellectual bigots. From German Romanticism to Trump via the Stasi and the Nazis … a line newly drawn this is a timely, interesting and resonantly intelligent novel. By the end, Red Pill had become the most thought-provoking novel I had read in ages, not because I had not read these existential conclusions before-what other conclusions are there?-but because Kunzru’s own iteration was so well earned. Kunzru’s rigorous, inventive and precise turns of phrase are now deployed not to carp but to whet. By the third section- 'Apocalpyse'-I was loving it. The second section.is thoroughly absorbing-if, on first read, a little perpendicular to the whole. For one thing, Kunzru’s intelligence is an irresistible pleasure. Kunzru deploys a knowing lugubriousness to offset the privilege, but even the undeniably deft prophylactics of self-awareness cannot quite distract from a sense of wallow. In the opening pages, I found Kunzru’s narrator’s tone too often to be one of shiftless complaint.
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