I Am Charlotte Simmons: A Book Review

If you have ever wondered what campus life is like at an elite hyper-priced, top-ranked university, you might wish to give Charlotte a spin; she won't disappoint. If this book is a mirror held up to early 21st-century America, I'd advise an investment in silver as the mirror is streaked and cracked. It may be that by not attending the hallowed halls of ivy, I lucked up.

Basketball coached under the auspices of Buster Roth is a metaphor, imho, symbolizing the sexual games the athletes play with spheroids of a more intimate nature. We learn that supposedly college sports contribute no money to the upkeep of the mother university (well, the coaches make out like bandits), but rather provide an intangible something--something that makes the university that much more superior.

I was pleased to see that the book ended with Fratboy Hoyt who negligently gave Charlotte an iniciatory dusting getting his comeuppance though it was related to another matter between a cum dumpster and a California governor, I cheered to see Hoyt had tangled with some poison I.V. and get royally Fippsed.

I'd have liked to see Jo-Jo get a slap on the wrist at the very least for having a paper written for him at the last minute by Adam, his tutor.

The language of the book is so awful as to become an irritant in that way of some rap. Lenny Bruce eat your heart out. I am surprised that Wolfe did not mention the use of infixes while defining the .uck patois. An example of such a construction using a less caustic profanity would be damn in fan-damn-tastic!

Lastly, I wanted to eat Christmas dinner at Charlotte's home. It sounded so good.

IMAGINE That!