{"product_id":"my-weil-isbn-9781685890605","title":"My Weil","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"Memorable  characters make this a singular exploration of the human condition.\" - Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA scathingly funny look at a group of quirky graduate students majoring in Disaster Studies who are forced to reconsider their cynicism when they confront a new student who, remarkably, has the same name as the 20th Century Catholic mystic philosopher Simone Weil ...\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMy Weil\u003c\/i\u003e follows a group of twenty-something PhD students of the new-fangled subject Disaster Studies at an inferior university in Manchester, England, the post-industrial city of so much great music and culture. They’re working class, by turns underconfident and grandiose (especially when they drink) and are reconciled to never finishing their dissertations or finding academic jobs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir immediate enemies are the drone-like Business Studies students all around them, as well as the assured and serene PhD students of the posh university up the road. And they’re working together on a film, through which they’re trying to make sense of their lives in Manchester and, in particular, to the Ees, a mysterious patch of countryside that appears to have supernatural qualities.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInto their midst arrives Simone Weil, a PhD student, a version of the twentieth century philosopher, who becomes the unlikely star of their film. Simone is devout, ascetic, intensely serious, and busy with risky charity work with the homeless. Valentine, hustler-philosopher, recognises Simone as a fellow would-be saint. But Gita, Indian posh-girl, is suspicious: what’s with Simone’s nun-shoes? And Marcie (AKA Den Mom), the leader of the pack, is too busy with her current infatuation, nicknamed Ultimate Destruction Girl, to notice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe narrator, Johnny, who was brought up in care and is psychologically fragile, and deeply disturbed by the poverty of his adopted city, gradually falls in love in Simone. But will his love be requited? Will Simone be able to save the souls of her new friends and Manchester itself from apocalypse?\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003ePublic Books\u003c\/i\u003e Public Picks 2023\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"He’s brilliantly, brilliantly funny and brilliantly satirical at the same time. He’s wonderful.\" - \u003cb\u003eMerve Emre, author of \u003ci\u003eParaliterary: The Making of Bad Readers in Postwar America \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\"Nonacademics love to laugh at the foibles of academics, but academics love it even more...\"\u003c\/i\u003e - \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBookForum\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Think \u003ci\u003eMinima Moralia\u003c\/i\u003e as a stand-up routine. You’ll want to quote whole pages. And then there’s the perfect, groan-inducing title.\" - \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublic Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Eloquent, erudite, original, compelling, memorable, entertaining, \u003ci\u003eMy  Weil\u003c\/i\u003e showcases author Lars Iyer's impressive and genuine flair for the  kind of narrative driven storytelling skills that fully engage the  reader from beginning to end.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e -  The Midwest Review of Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A satire of post-everything society ... \u003ci\u003eMy Weil\u003c\/i\u003e is devastatingly funny.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e-- The Shepherd Express\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[An] intriguing, character-driven book.\"\u003cb\u003e -- \u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Iyer... takes seriously his theme of existential dread. Memorable   characters make this a singular exploration of the human condition.\" -\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e-Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hilarious and cynical in the best way possible, Lars Iyer’s latest delivers the post-graduate satire you need as the new academic year approaches.\" \u003cb\u003e--\u003ci\u003eChicago Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A  perfect comic novel, \u003ci\u003eMy Weil\u003c\/i\u003e shares the intense, urgent feelings of  close young friends who are out to save the world, whether it notices  them or not.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Foreword Reviews \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Lars  Iyer does it again! My Weil is a melancholic, yet joyful story of lost  PhD students hoping to find  themselves in modern Manchester, lured  there by the music of Joy  Division, The Smiths and The Fall, enthralled  by a student named after  Simone Weil. As ever, it's thoughtful,  punchy, and riotously funny - and  will make you yearn for the halcyon  days of the Hacienda ..\"\u003cb\u003e - Juliet Jacques\u003c\/b\u003e, author of Trans: A Memoir and Variations: \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for Iyer's previous books ...\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”[Iyer] is a deeply elegaic satirist…He manages to both send up intellectual life and movingly lament its erosion.” \u003cb\u003e—John Williams, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”Iyer’s swiftly paced, gently satirical fifth novel builds to a startling crescendo.” —\u003cb\u003eBBC\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”Fearsomely funny.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”Viciously funny.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe San Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”I’m still laughing, and it’s days later.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”Stunning…absolutely exquisite.” \u003cb\u003e—Emily St. John Mandel, author of \u003ci\u003eStation Eleven\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e”What  a fun book this is! Delight is such a rare commodity nowadays and  it  is terrific to see it has not been hunted to extinction.” \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Daniel Handler, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBottle Grove\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLARS IYER\u003c\/b\u003e is a Professor in Creative Writing at Newcastle  University, where he was formerly a longtime lecturer in philosophy. He  is the author of the novels in the \u003ci\u003eSpurious Trilogy\u003c\/i\u003e, and more recently, the widely acclaimed \u003ci\u003eWittgenstein Jr\u003c\/i\u003e., and \u003ci\u003eNietzsche and the Burbs\u003c\/i\u003e.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Monday night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The postgraduate social.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Room-temperature prosecco.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ismail, to the most interesting looking new arrival: Do you believe in God? Please say yes. We could do with a little faith around here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I believe that I believe, she says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That’s good enough for us, Ismail says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So you’re really called Simone Weil? I say. Like the philosopher?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Simone, nodding.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She starved herself to death, right? Valentine asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She died as a martyr, Simone says. During the war.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She sounds like a nutcase, Gita says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Are you a nutcase, too? Marcie asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Simone, smiling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e How come you’re called Simone Weil? I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Come on, Johnny, Ismail says. Like, duh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I changed my name, Simone says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sure – this is \u003ci\u003eManchester\u003c\/i\u003e, Valentine says. Fuck the CIS-stem. This is where you come to be reborn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Are you actually \u003ci\u003estudying\u003c\/i\u003e Simone Weil, too? Ismail asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I want to … develop some of her ideas, Simone says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, you’re on trend – Christianity’s coming in again, Marcie says. It’s all the rage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I thought \u003ci\u003eGod is dead\u003c\/i\u003e in Disaster Studies, I say. I mean, I thought that was kind of a given.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Is that true, Simone? Is God dead? Ismail asks. Or is he just \u003ci\u003eplaying dead\u003c\/i\u003e?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The God of the philosophers is dead, Simone says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Isn’t the real trial believing in God \u003ci\u003eafter\u003c\/i\u003e he’s dead? Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No – the real trial’s believing in God after \u003ci\u003eyou’re \u003c\/i\u003edead, Marcie says.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Surveying the scene.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Disaster Studies PhD students mixed up with Sociology PhD students mixed up with Literature PhD students …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And \u003ci\u003eBusiness Studies\u003c\/i\u003e PhD students! Look at them! All cheerful! A mockery of the PhD student. The very \u003ci\u003eopposite\u003c\/i\u003e of the PhD student …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Where’s their doom? Where’s their crushedness? Their diseases of the soul? There doesn’t seem to be anything \u003ci\u003ewrong\u003c\/i\u003e with them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Discussion. What do \u003ci\u003eBusiness Studies pretend PhD students\u003c\/i\u003e even research? Kleptocracy? Corporate raiding? Debt leveraging? Overgrowth? Financial engineering? The pillaging of the system before the final collapse?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Do they even understand what doing a PhD means? \u003ci\u003eThe final academic frontier\u003c\/i\u003e. There is no higher qualification! No course of study that’s so open! So risky! Where you’re carried away from everything known, everything certain! In a movement of \u003ci\u003einfinite philosophical eros\u003c\/i\u003e  …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A PhD is a \u003ci\u003epassion of studious solitude. \u003c\/i\u003eA trial of the soul! A dark night of the intellect!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So why are the \u003ci\u003eBusiness Studies supposed PhD students\u003c\/i\u003e here? Why have they returned to the uni?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Because they sense what’s coming in the world out there. They know this is just the looting phase … the before-the-collapse phase … the end-of-empire phase … the game-will-be-up-pretty-soon phase. Like in \u003ci\u003eTitanic\u003c\/i\u003e, when the ship goes perpendicular …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A Business Studies fake PhD student, actually coming our way …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Brace yourselves, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Why don’t we try to turn him?  Marcie says. He’s cute.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e You do it, Marcie – I’m out, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marcie, pouring wine for Business Studies Guy … \u003ci\u003eSmiling\u003c\/i\u003e at Business Studies Guy …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Professor Sentinel, addressing us all. Bidding us welcome. Professor Bollocks, telling us we have an exciting year ahead of us. Our new method class lectures, compulsory for all PhD students … (doesn’t he understand that there’s only an anarchy of method in profound study?) The inaugural Disaster Studies conference … (doesn’t he see that the disaster means the impossibility of conferences? The impossibility of the uni!)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Escape to the street. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Police helicopters overhead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So loud! Gita says. So blinding!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e People are being murdered all around us, we tell Simone. Gang vendettas. Drug deals gone wrong. Manchester’s a death-trap! Manchester’s the pit! Manchester’s one of the circles of Hell!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But shouldn’t they just let the world go down? we wonder. Let Manchester destroy itself? They can’t keep it on life-support forever …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Looking up at the towers. The new \u003ci\u003emancunian skyline\u003c\/i\u003e…\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There’s something \u003ci\u003etrue\u003c\/i\u003e about the Manchester streets, we tell Simone. Things are laid bare here. Things are revealed. Things those wankers in the towers will never see …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Man’s going vertical, we tell Simone. The Man’s bought the sky. He’s going to sit out the catastrophe in a luxury eerie with a patio and a pool and a private helipad …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The towers are named after famous Mancunian albums, we inform Simone. \u003ci\u003eUnknown Pleasures \u003c\/i\u003e… \u003ci\u003eTechnique \u003c\/i\u003e…\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They haven’t called one \u003ci\u003eBummed\u003c\/i\u003e yet, Marcie says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003ePower, Corruption and Lies\u003c\/i\u003e – that’s what they should be called, I say. Meanwhile, we’re down here with the rabble. With the homeless. The screamers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s the\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003enew Manchester, Valentine says. Tramps on the ground, elites in the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ismail, filming the heavens.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And there’s the moon, too, shining down on everything, I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Johnny hates the moon, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s the way it just hangs there in the sky, I say. Flaunting itself, all dead. I mean, the moon’s just death, right? It’s just white ashen death in the sky … And it’s a \u003ci\u003efull\u003c\/i\u003e moon, too. A full moon brings out the madness in everybody. Mancunians don’t need to be any more mad. They don’t need the encouragement ...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Johnny’s been mugged forty-seven times by \u003ci\u003emad mancunians\u003c\/i\u003e, Marcie explains. It’s a local record.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e You bring it on yourself, Johnny, Valentine says. It’s your children’s home orphan thing. People either want to shelter you or stab you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Whereas Val would actually \u003ci\u003elike\u003c\/i\u003e to be mugged, Marcie says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gita, falling behind, on her phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bet it’s Russell, Ismail says. That’s Gita’s Russell-face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gita’s queer in theory, but straight in life, Marcie says.  She’s bidding goodbye to heterosexuality by fucking her supervisor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A \u003ci\u003elong\u003c\/i\u003e goodbye, Valentine says. A long, clichéd, abject goodbye …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marcie, arm around Business Studies Guy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Den mom, on the other hand, will fuck anyone and anything, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ruin Bar. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Raw wood tables. Exposed brick wallpaper. Edison bulbs, hanging bare. Visible pipes. Industrial chic, with a ruination twist, borrowed from the bars of Budapest. Décor, \u003ci\u003eruined \u003c\/i\u003e(as-if ruined). Comfort \u003ci\u003eruined \u003c\/i\u003e(pretend ruined). Health-and-safety, \u003ci\u003eruined \u003c\/i\u003e(supposedly ruined). And the canal, dark and silent outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003ePicklebacks\u003c\/i\u003e all round. A Tennessee classic. The sweetness of bourbon … The tang of pickle …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Simone, declining a pickleback. Simone, sipping a mineral water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Is there ever a good reason not to drink? Valentine asks. Is there ever a good reason not to start drinking right away? Is there ever a good reason not to drink yourself to death?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Drunken philosophy – that’s our specialism, Marcie says. We follow the drunken path, that does not run in a straight line. That wavers, wanders. Goes its own way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If we’re not helpless with drink, then what? Valentine says. If we’re not staggering from drink, who are we? Our purpose, or reason for being: drinking, now and forever. As refusal of our new teetalo-totalitarian world. As naysaying to the \u003ci\u003esoft Prohibition\u003c\/i\u003e. To the Man’s anti-drinking nudges.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They want to outlaw drunkenness – of course! Marcie says. They want to condemn drinking – obviously! In the name of public health, which means public death. They’ve declared war on us – on our kind. On drinkers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They hate us – they hate drunken joy, Valentine says. But we’re not haters, not in the end. We hate this world – this form of the world. But we love what we could be, right? We love Potentiality. We love what’s Possible. We love Utopia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So a toast to us, and our drunkenness! Marcie says. To living against the world, refusing the world, refusing to succumb to the world. To this holding cell. To this open prison.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We’re looking to light the touch-paper, Valentine says. Looking to launch. Look to find thoughts that we could not have thought otherwise. So that our drunken nights will not have been in vain! So we’ll understand them as a quest! As a search that can only be undertaken through drinking! That \u003ci\u003eneeds\u003c\/i\u003e drinking! That begins with drinking, and perhaps ends with it, too!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s time for some \u003ci\u003epickleback reasoning\u003c\/i\u003e, people, Marcie says. It’s time to follow pickleback logic to the end of the night …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What we’re working on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ismail: Performance philosophy. Showing that films can think.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And he actually gets to make films, too, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yeah, but it’s the stuff they show in art galleries, not on TV, Marcie says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pure artwank, on other words, Valentine says. In the international elitist art-wank style.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Our job is to keep Ismail down, Marcie says. These \u003ci\u003eartists\u003c\/i\u003e ...!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He’s lucky to have us, Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My turn. Ontological evil, I say. The evil that’s actually in things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The madness of evil, or the evil of madness – right Johnny? Valentine says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yeah, I say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Johnny’s quiet but you’ll have to watch him, Marcie says. One of these days he’s just going to \u003ci\u003eEXPLODE\u003c\/i\u003e …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valentine’s turn. The religious avant-garde, he says. Religious anarchism and the anarchism of religion. With special reference to the Acéphale group, led by Georges Bataille.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They were kind of like \u003ci\u003eDead Poet’s Society\u003c\/i\u003e back in the ‘30s – but with human sacrifice, Marcie says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valentine’s actually hoping to \u003ci\u003econduct\u003c\/i\u003e a human sacrifice, Marcie says. So watch out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marcie’s turn. My genius is in my life, she says. My dissertation … pah! Who cares?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Oh come on ..., Ismail says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lumpenproletariat revolt as ultra-politics if you must know, Marcie says. The figure of the knave, across world history. I’m reclaiming the idea of the \u003ci\u003elumpen\u003c\/i\u003e, which means the very opposite of heavy and grey …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And now Gita. I’m sick of my PhD and I don’t want to talk about it, she says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Something about late heterosexuality, isn’t it? Marcie says. About \u003ci\u003equeer communism\u003c\/i\u003e … \u003ci\u003eVery \u003c\/i\u003eradical.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gita’s a refugee from Victoria, the real university of the city, Valentine says. She began a PhD there. Dropped out for some obscure reason …\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, you could hardly study queer communism at Victoria …, Gita says.","brand":"Melville House","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305165508837,"sku":"NP9781685890605","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781685890605.jpg?v=1767733402","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/my-weil-isbn-9781685890605","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}