It is awful and hysterical. I'm not sure that I liked it, but I think I might have loved it (which is extremely appropriate, trust me). At any rate, I know I loved the way it ended - hence the review. I'm not quite ready to stop thinking about it.

The character, Alexander Portnoy is probably easier to hate than to love (though I can admit that it might be the other way around if I weren't a chick), and the reader follows him through a loooong rant about everything and anything. From a wicked Oedipal Complex to an interesting story involving liver, there is a lot of pulling, and it certainly isn't of punches. Portnoy's Complaint is riddled with more than a few eyebrow-raising, wince-inducing and downright traumatizing passages, but since the story is written in stream-of-consciousness as delivered to a psychiatrist, it'll be up to you to decide if Portnoy/Roth go too far.

I think Roth accomplished what he set out to do, and did it with style. The "yikes" moments might put you off, but they are just as much a part of the character as the hilariously crazy anecdotes and nicely packaged moments of nostalgia from the 40-60's American-Jewish point of view.

So, have you read it?

(I hate admitting this, but it might not be a novel for women. I'm weird, so I'm not sure how to judge that against my enjoyment of it.)