He Paperback – August 11, 2015

I read He in one sitting last night, and it is probably the best of Konrath’s Konrathian work. He’s boiled it down to such an extent that it sizzles on the page, each vignette exploding open like a can of baked beans left in a microwave, before he moves on to the next one, and the one after that. Konrath's obsession with the most vulgar aspects of American life, mixed with subtle bits of humanity, make this a propulsive read, as you move from one laugh to the next, simultaneously cringing.

This book intriguingly brings a new structure to Konrath's wildness and leaps linking the fringes of American culture. It's definitely an experiment, but it really works. I think it could actually be more approachable for readers not quite ready for Konrath's more challenging work, at the same time that it's still riveting for those of us down for anything Konrath has dreamed up. It's as strange as anyone could possibly desire, but it encapsulates the essence of modern America beautifully. I know that doesn't make any sense, but it really does. If you took a core sample of the nightmarish soup that pop culture has congealed into in our collective unconscious, I bet it would look a lot like this. This book is definitely one not to miss.

Jon Konrath's newest is his best book yet. Friggin brilliant, funny, absurd--you need to acquaint yourself with the leading practitioner of micro fiction.

I can't describe to you how much I enjoyed this madness. It's insane, gross, funny, transgressive and a whole bunch of other adjectives. The last story was especially satisfying. You all need this book.

He sits on the toilet reading He by Jon Konrath. The heat is oppressive and he knows that he should just give up, nothing is ever going to happen, but it's the book that keeps him there. Konrath finally gave into his legions of miscreant fans--internet trolls, failed comedians, bizarro authors--and released a book whose chapters could be read in the space it takes to have a bowel movement. He has no such luck, instead he ignores the gibbering howls of the upstairs neighbors as they cook artisanal meth and writes this review. Again, Konrath delivers a fantastic book in a way only he can, but this time in delicious bite sized chunks. He prays for chunks, or even, nuggets. Hell, he would be satisfied with one little dollop the size and shape of a Hershey's kiss, but his diet of human waste filled Hot Pockets and deep fried Lunchables keeps that dream beyond his reach. Konrath presents a world of broken people self-destructively fetishizing nostalgia, people so desperate to escape their excrement-stained existence that taking urethral ambien suppositories seems like a fantastic idea. Konrath gives us a book full of gross sex, gross people, and gross technology, and it is like snorting a rail of the finest over-the-counter pill that was never meant to be snorted. He flushes and walks away from the bathroom disheartened, and decides that instead of paying rent this month he is going to order every item on QVC presented by an aging porn star he recognizes. In half an hour his bank account is in the negative.