The First Bad Man: A Novel

So funny, weird and original. Characters are so unique and bananas, plot is definitely not cliche, voice of the author is intimate and fearless. This is a book that will make you uncomfortable but you won't be able to stop reading. I could go on, but just read the thing.

No competition. This is the worst book I have ever read. It is poorly written, shallow, nonsensical (and not in a fun way) and just plain bad. The main character is weird, but not quirky, cute weird...or interesting weird, but you dont want to live on her street weird. Everyone in the book is flat out unlikable and the characters unbelievable and forced...the fights, the sex (real and imaginary), and well...everything is artificial, unbelievable and just bad. I hate this book. Hate it.

It was very dragging at some points; it felt slow but there were a lot of twists at the right time that kept me wanting to finish. Hard to put down at times but also a bit draggy. Some topics, as everyone has mentioned, are posed too nonchalantly and have no message--the main character's pedophilic crush (sorry, forgot everyone's name) doesn't learn anything. The ending was heartbreaking but gold.

Loved this book! Strange and interesting plot mixed with an original and lyrical writing style. There was a melancholic darkness that I found very interesting. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly why I felt this way, but I definitely did. Great book! Killing it Ms. July!

Excellent writer, terrible book. It is the only book I've been unable to finish in years. Literally made me nauseous - I actually threw it to the floor. Disgusting, unsympathetic characters with personality disorders. Mystified by the good reviews.

I wonder how many times Miranda July watched "The Fight Club" before she sat down to write this book? Did she just one day wake up and think
'oh I know, I'll rip off the "Fight Club", ( story and film) and fans will love me!' The First Bad Man is not "Fight Club for Girls" It is an imitative mess. It fails on all counts. Dull. Dull. Dull. and you're out.

A disconcerting plot, making you wonder who has got a grip on reality.... is it all just in the main characters head? How disturbing that the woman is involved with a community project about women protecting themselves, when she appears to be so out of touch with her own reality and projecting that weirdness on others.

In the same vein of 2014's "The Wallcreeper," The beauty of this novel is in the seemingly-mundane details like when the protagonist mentions "I love being described." Aside from July's beautiful descriptions and astute observations of everyday life, this novel fell somewhat flat for me. July has such an interesting perspective that is intriguing to read, but the sexual imagery is not for the easily offended or squeamish. By the end of the novel, I found myself questioning the veracity and depth of the relationships formed during the narrative.

The wide variety of reviews of this book are pretty impressive. It struck me as similar to: A Confederacy of Dunces in its unsympathetic, weird, sad and gross protagonist, but without the humor or the mellifluous prose that made CoD an outstanding book (July tries hard to write beautifully in her way, but her efforts are obvious and Cheryl is just repellent full stop); the Goldfinch in the fact that it was apparently highly anticipated but pretty much a total waste of time replete with laden prose and lame and trite characters like Clee and Phillip, with a few smile-inducing observations interspersed here and there (so yes, I am one of those people who is equally blown away by the assessments of this book as "brilliant" as I was by the rave reviews of Tartt's 9-years-in-the-making junk); and Moby Dick in that I could not actually force myself to finish it - although I say that somewhat tongue in cheek because I don't mean to suggest that July and Melville are remotely comparable. People have raved about July's short stories; I can see how her style would be perfectly suited to that form. If certain July adorers want to write this review off as another person who "just did not get it," fine, but I'm pretty sure I got it - at least I got it to the point where I could read no more - and it just didn't do it for me at all. The bottom line was that it isn't interesting enough to support its own weirdness. Usually, reading to me is a pleasure that makes me lose track of time. Reading this book was a chore that, as it turns out, I couldn't even complete.

This novel is a comic masterpiece. No kidding. It's amazingly original and she has a unique voice. It's her best work. But it is different and maybe the other reviewers here didn't 'get' it. I think it will go down in history as one of the funniest books ever written. It's offbeat but the writing is very accessible. Buy it. I promise you will love it. Miranda, I love you.

Sorry, it was just too bizarre and uncomfortably sexual and graphic. I can suspend belief around certain narratives (I'm a fan of Edward Albee) but I'm really not sure what the point was to this story. I'm not a prude either but I was a bit disgusted by the whole thing.

Great PR and Marketing campaign, but man, this book should have been $1.99 or less. Really really disappointing.....shows the value of friends in the publishing industry (and being part of the Brooklyn scene). A gimmick like selling items from the book gets lots of publicity and help sell crappy books.....

This book is very slow moving. I lost interest early on and kept hoping it would get better. I quit reading it in about the middle of the book. There are too many excellent books to waste my time on this one.

I'm midway through the book. The writing is great - I re-read some sentences more than once to appreciate the turn of phrase and wittiness. The characters are unique, I give the author that, but I can't find much of anything to like about them. The worst for me is the dynamic between Cheryl and Clee. It's just plain WEIRD. I don't get it, relate to it, nor do I want to. I put the book down last night partly disgusted. The only reason I'll finish it is because I've spent this much time on it I may as well go all the way. IF there is a turn for the better and suddenly it all makes sense and impresses me, I'll revisit this review. As of this point, I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.
UPDATE: I stand corrected! It did take a turn for the better and the relationship made much more sense as it evolved. I ended up enjoying it.

Cheryl Gluckman once fell in love with an infant she glimpsed whose name she knew was Kubelko Bondy. Through her life she found him in a number of babies, "not biologically, just familiar." The story of this romance is one of the most endearing ones I have read. It has a deep enchantment to it that rings quite true. Each of these babies has that moment of despair in which it tells her its tragedy in being nor to the wrong people. Her way in the world is faltering and unsteady. Her living habits are solitary and and nearly odd. One day her boss's daughter is unloaded onto her and her life changes forever.

Unfortunately, the plot takes her into some bizarre quasi-sexual role playing that very nearly ruins the book. The blocking of these scenes is clumsy and often needlessly obscene. It is heart breaking in this wonderful story to stumble with these scenes.

As the role playing abates, the book continues on its course complete with Kubelko. I liked that baby (babies) so much that I pursued this book to its end where it redeemed itself as much as possible. I have to still recommend the writing. I can understand should you take umbrage with the middle sections, but do not miss this wonderful woman.

Really don't like her writing. Her characters are cardboard, her ego is endless, her insights dull, her tone is fey, her sex kind of disgusting and the violence is gratuitous. I liked her first film, felt her to be a fresh voice, tender and sad and funny, but, Miranda - we're done.

Miranda July must have really traded in some favors for the torrent of positive advance reviews. I think I'm supposed to be the ideal demographic for this book - young, liberal, urban, college-educated, feminist, creative type, and reading this book with the unspoken understanding that I'm expected to enjoy it was quite the meta-emotional disappointment. I may don khakis and start eating at Chick-Fil-A just so there's no mistake that I might care for this type of literature.

The author develops characters by inventing strange, improbable habits, like pissing in Chinese takeout containers as if we're supposed to all nod in collective understanding. There is some strength and originality to her observations of mundanity, but it's all Miranda really can do and so it quickly devolves into a sideshow of rib elbowing "aren't I quirky?!!" As I read from the first to second act, I was filling, not with excitement about the story, but incredulity that this book had been written, edited, published, promoted, and was searching for the part when any of the characters become remotely likable. This moment did not arrive.

Disturbingly cavalier about themes of pedophilia, domestic abuse, and statutory rape, the author betrays a blithe naivete (I assume?) that not even the clueless protagonist imbues. Some here have said they were disgusted by the sex scenes, and yes they are graphic and not for the faint of heart, but it's not as though an author can't explore these themes responsibly and effectively. I couldn't suspend disbelief enough to believe in a romance between a young, selfish blonde bombshell and a mentally ill, dorky middle aged woman that started out as violent play-acting. Miranda's main problem is that she glorifies physical abuse that would likely not earn quite the same praise if the genders were changed (lesbians can be in abusive relationships too!). What convinces me of July's cluelessness is the Nicholas Sparks-esque, cop-out, book-ended finish to a 200 page hack job of heavy material.

This was a literary cherry-popper for me in a lot of ways. I've never read a book devoid of likable characters, devoid of self-awareness, devoid of meaning. At least 50 shades of trash is meant to be titillating junk food lit, but this? I have no idea was this was trying to be.

The review by @lightning bolt is absolutely spot on, so there's not too much I can add here. I actually didn't even come close to finishing the book, it was so unbearable. I also listened to this book on audio. It was read by the author herself. I thought that maybe it was her reading of it that made it unlikable (I really don't want to be mean, but her voice was so monotone ), but after reading the reviews (again, especially lightning bolt's), I see that even had a tried to read the book, or another person had been reading it on audio, it would have been just as bad. I was very confused when I read that it was supposed to be funny and satirical. Every second I listened to made me want to reach through and choke out the main character, Cheryl. There was nothing endearing, or relatable, about her. Not to mention every other character is just as infuriating. I was done with the book when old man Phil made his confession to Cheryl and begged for her approval. I'm not someone that offends easily, but I completely failed to see the humorous aspect of that.

Since I loved July's short story collection, I was extremely excited to read her novel. But this novel was very disappointing. The best thing I can say about it is that on a sentence level, she is clever: the way she takes a cliche and turns it on its head or twists it into something original and funny. I also think the idea of a childless woman who feels an other-worldly connection with certain babies throughout her entire life (and gives them a quirky sci-fi name), imagining telepathic communications that transcend lifetimes is interesting. I could see this alone as a theme that would work well in a short story. And this probably holds true for other sections of the story, like when protagonist envisions herself as a man in her sexual fantasies. I think the trouble for Miranda July was in this effort to create a longer work with a sustaining plot. The plot was extremely predictable (I could see it coming 100 pages before) and there was something disturbingly saccharine about the way things turned out (I'll avoid a spoiler here). Beyond that, the novel was not very interesting and this was the real problem. The characters seemed more like quirky cartoons put into words than actual flesh-and-blood people. I could not see them or picture where they were, though I felt as if the entire novel was meant on some level to be like a game for the reader: an exercise in interpretation -- meaning, I had to interpret how each incident/thought/scene/fantasy would translate into the real world. (Perhaps this was Miranda July's intention since "adult games" is another one of her themes.) This process was sort of interesting in the beginning but it lost fire by the end. I could see Cheryl and Clee somewhat, but no one else and even they were rather flat (and Cheryl's density was not always believable). I agree with the one criticism in the otherwise glowing NY Times review: the novel was "airless." I'd add solipsistic. There is no description of setting. Although you get that the narrator is unreliable, you can't see or experience anything for yourself on a neutral level as a reader (except for your awareness of the character's disconnect from reality), and this is a pleasure I treasure as a reader. I know this is tricky to do in first person and may not really be in keeping with July's style, but there is a way.

Like so many works in a similar genre the book relies completely on voice. And this voicy-ness, though completely in vogue in current literary journals, can become tiresome when expanded to novel length. On a side note, I don't agree with other reviewers here that the characters must be likable, although I do think that seeing oneself in a character is important so that you will care about what happens to them. Also, I don't agree with the NY Times reviewer who took issue with reviewers who call Miranda July "whimsical," declaring that this is a sexist put-down. She is very whimsical and this is part of what one loves about her. It doesn't mean that her stories/books are superficial. Finally, let me conclude here by saying that it's possible that Miranda July could improve with a 2nd novel. I won't write her off completely as a novelist. But I wish she would continue to write short stories! This is where she excels.

Read It: Read it because you’re curious about new novelists hitting the scene. Read it because you finished every single Haruki Murakami book published in English to date, and now you need someone else to obsess over. Read it because you’re a weirdo, like Miranda July’s protagonist Cheryl, and think you have a metaphysical connection to psychic babies. Read it because if you don’t, you may miss out on the fascinating writer everyone will be talking about and her refreshingly weird novel.

Don’t Read It: You may feel more than a little uncomfortable with scenes in TFBM. A large portion of this short novel describes awkward violence and the awkward sex, and who’s to say which will make you more uncomfortable, the awkwardness or the content? In any case, many readers will be turned off by the gratuity of the novel. Those who are comfortable with or entirely desensitized to this kind of gratuity may not appreciate July’s bizarre sense of humor. It’s a pick-your-poison kind of situation.

Similar Books: I don’t know of any authors quite like Miranda July. Her dry and off-kilter humor and her disturbingly relatable caste set her apart from her contemporary author-peers. I would say the closest contemporary author to July’s style is surrealist author Haruki Murakami, only instead of Murakami’s talking cats there are July’s telepathic babies, and instead of jazz and spaghetti, there’s Gregorian chants and kale scrambles. Check out Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore, Sputnik Sweetheart, or 1Q84. For another fun tale of misguided, delusional protagonists, though, check out John Kennedy Toole’s Confederacy of Dunces.

Read my full review on my blog: http://litbeetle.com/2015/02/10/on-miranda-julys-the-first-bad-man/

Cheryl Glickman may not know any of Barbara Pym's excellent women, but this protagonist of Miranda July's first novel is one of them. The middle-aged, never-married Cheryl lives on her own in a neatly appointed house that is no home, and works for a self-defense nonprofit organization that is as New Age and California as anything that is New Age and in California can be.

This is a woman who thinks she knows herself, but she's as much a stranger to her as everyone else in the world. (Well, all perhaps one, but more of that later.) After all, she's the kind of woman who "strolled through the parking garage and into the elevator, pressing twelve with a casual, fun-loving finger. The kind of finger that was up for anything."

In a manner both droll and deft, July lays out Cheryl's sterile life and work. The part where the nonprofit's founders talked her into staying home most of the time, and out of their hair, is magnificent. Cheryl is clueless that her employers don't want her around but keep paying her anyway:

"Then he told me my managerial style was more effective from a distance, so my job was now work-from-home though I was welcome to come in one day for a week and for board meetings."

Perhaps that's because "Once Carl called me ginjo, which I thought meant 'sister' until he told me it's Japanese for a man, usually an elderly man who lives in isolation while he keeps the fire burning for the whole village". Or something like that.

Besides developing a housework system that involves doing no housework, Cheryl has two obsessions. One is a board member of the nonprofit who she thinks has been her great love in past lives. In this life, Phillip is a self-absorbed old man who occasionally texts or talks to her about his new obsession -- a much, much younger woman.

Her other obsession is a baby she met when she was a child. Cheryl thinks she had a conversation with this child, Kubelko Bondy, and that, appropriately enough for his last name, they bonded:

"I watched him crying and waited for someone to come but no one came so I heaved him onto my small lap and rocked his chubby body. He calmed almost immediately. I kept my arms around him and he looked at me and I looked at him and he looked at me and I knew that he loved me more than his mother and father and that in some very real and permanent way he belonged to me. ...

"Seconds later he sailed out into the night, my own dear boy. Never to be seen again.

"Except I did see him again -- again and again. Sometimes he's a newborn, sometimes he's already toddling along. As I pulled out of my parking spot I got a better look at the baby in the car next to mine. Just some kid."

When not doing whatever it is she does for the nonprofit, listening to Phillip dither over his young woman or searching for her dear boy, she deals with her globus. She has trouble swallowing and is nearly as obsessed with spitting discreetly as she is with her other obsessions.

Then her employers dump their unemployed daughter, Clee, on her lap. Everyone -- really, everyone -- who puts this young woman up is delighted to see her leave. Clee, of course, upsets Cheryl's world.

The novel then takes a wild turn. Then it gets weird. Then something big happens. And then something even bigger happens. There were times I wasn't sure I could keep on reading about Cheryl's interior life and how it was affecting what was going on with her unwelcome houseguest, let alone how life with her unexpected houseguest was affecting her interior life. Cheryl is unreliable not because she sets out to deceive the reader, but because she is so clueless about herself and her world. But she's certainly far more open to experiencing life as it comes to her than the closed-up woman who thinks she has a finger that is up for anything.

And then there is one of the sweetest, best realized endings to a novel in some time. It was unexpected, satisfying and exactly right.

It's not often an author can turn the course of a novel and have it work. For a debut novelist to do this more than once and still have it all work is unexpected. Reading The First Bad Man is like watching a high-wire artist perform magic tricks while jumping through hoops of fire. And coming out at the other end with everything in place.

July has published short stories and is an accomplished actress and filmmaker. Even with all the evidence of a creative free spirit who knows narrative and character, and how well they can work together, this novel is still a remarkable work to behold.

This book will stay with you forever. Chapter one opens with full on laughs. Miranda describes the sad life of the main character in a way that makes you take delight in her unfortunate being...you're sympathetic yet entertained. You think the love story is set at the start but it surprises you in the most vile way - yet you still want everyone to fall and stay in love. Don't get me wrong, the book will PISS YOU OFF. I was ready to be finished with it but that is what Miranda wants. She wants to push you. Annoy you. She just gets under your skin with this and once you're finished...weeks later you'll say damn that was insanely, hauntingly good.

This is an unusual book, and clearly not for everyone (I just glanced through some of the other reviews!). I loved it. It kind of splits into two halves--the first half was, to me, flat-out hilarious. July has wonderful comic timing, and the relationship between Cheryl and her unasked-for houseguest, Clee, reminded me of the one between Peter Sellers as Inspector Clouseau and Cato. The second half, once the baby is born, is more serious and maybe a bit less compelling, but it's still good and I think it provides a nice balance for the high comedy earlier. I guess different folks want different things from a novel. I found this one to be entertaining, full of intelligent thoughts and tiny surprises (I laughed aloud a number of times), and memorably odd.

The writing is miraculous, extraordinary and brave.
I have havered between a 4* and a 6*. Cheryl and Clee are both odd and oddly unattractive. Some of the characterisation seems downright unreal and often distasteful but also fascinating. Cheryl Glickman is a neurotic 40 something, occasionally likeable, often pathetic. The Globus Hystericus - a good conceit but ultimately boring. She is searching for love and even more, to be lovable and lusts after older Philip, supposedly mediating his affair with a girl 45 years younger. That was the least convincing conceit in the book.
Enter Clee as a lodger: unwashed, does little but watch TV and embarks on vicious boxing matches with Cheryl.
With Clee’s pregnancy and breathtakingly nuanced writing when the baby arrives, the novel triumphs.

A challenging read but we need our boundaries pushed in language, plot and imagination.

The the store community can review this book alone, they are best at reviewing this book, I am joining them even though I'm not much help, because I'm not good at reviewing this book.

This is a LOL funny book but not everyone will like it. I think it's very much in line with the emotional tone of Miranda July's movies and other works. Cheryl is not mentally ill, just alienated from her feelings - and July's work is all about tactics to warm the alien nation.

Fiction can introduce readers to characters and situations that are unlike our own experience, and we can become uncomfortable with the unusual. That was my reaction while reading Miranda July’s debut novel titled, The First Bad Man. While the characters and situations were unfamiliar to me, the universal themes resonated, and July’s finely written prose made me enjoy this novel very much. The odd but stable world of protagonist Cheryl Gluckman turns upside down when Clee moves in and a child is born. There’s a love story here that July handles with great skill. I was pleased to overcome my discomfort and enjoy this finely written novel.

Rating: Four-star (I like it)

Miranda July has this uncanny way of getting burrowed up in my brain and the entire time I spent reading this, I was (of course) picturing her in the part of protagonist Cheryl Glickman. Cheryl is so kooky with what must total to a negative amount of social skills and yet you can't help falling in love with her combo of vulnerability, narcissism, brutal honesty, awkward obfuscation, and naïveté. I just finished this and I'm not sure whether I should shout with joy, cower in a depressive slump, or try to find a reincarnating infant with which to share a tragic bond. Maybe all of the above.