Genre Fiction
![Steven Wright - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0C4C3MSLD.jpg)
Harold
A uniquely humorous and deeply profound novel from a legendary stand-up comedian that follows the thoughts of a 1960s third grader during a single day at school.
Steven Wright is one of the most significant and influential stand-up comedians in history. Rolling Stone ranked him fifteenth on their "50 Best Stand-ups of All Time" list, while the New York Times has written of his enduring legacy: "If you made a family tree of modern stand-up, he would top one of the few major and expanding branches. The children of Mr. Wright pack the comedy scene today." Now comes his first novel, which is sure to be unlike anything you've ever read.
From the outside, Harold is an average seven-year-old third grader growing up in the 1960s. Bored by school. Crushing on a girl. Likes movies and baseball-especially the hometown Boston Red Sox. Enjoys spending time with his grandfather. But inside Harold's mind, things are a lot more complex and unusual. His thoughts come to him as birds flying through a small rectangle in the middle of his brain. He visits an outdoor cafe on the moon and is invited aboard a spaceship by famed astronomer Carl Sagan. He envisions his own funeral procession and wonders if the driver of the hearse has even been born yet.
Harold documents the meandering, surreal, often hilarious, and always thought-provoking stream-of-consciousness ruminations of the title character during a single day in class. Saturated with the witticisms and profundities for which Wright's groundbreaking stand-up has long been venerated, this novel will change the way you perceive your daily existence. To quote one of its many memorable lines: "Everything doesn't have to make sense. Just look at the world and your life."
Steven Wright is one of the most significant and influential stand-up comedians in history. Rolling Stone ranked him fifteenth on their "50 Best Stand-ups of All Time" list, while the New York Times has written of his enduring legacy: "If you made a family tree of modern stand-up, he would top one of the few major and expanding branches. The children of Mr. Wright pack the comedy scene today." Now comes his first novel, which is sure to be unlike anything you've ever read.
From the outside, Harold is an average seven-year-old third grader growing up in the 1960s. Bored by school. Crushing on a girl. Likes movies and baseball-especially the hometown Boston Red Sox. Enjoys spending time with his grandfather. But inside Harold's mind, things are a lot more complex and unusual. His thoughts come to him as birds flying through a small rectangle in the middle of his brain. He visits an outdoor cafe on the moon and is invited aboard a spaceship by famed astronomer Carl Sagan. He envisions his own funeral procession and wonders if the driver of the hearse has even been born yet.
Harold documents the meandering, surreal, often hilarious, and always thought-provoking stream-of-consciousness ruminations of the title character during a single day in class. Saturated with the witticisms and profundities for which Wright's groundbreaking stand-up has long been venerated, this novel will change the way you perceive your daily existence. To quote one of its many memorable lines: "Everything doesn't have to make sense. Just look at the world and your life."
Editorial Reviews
"Like Catcher In the Rye on mushrooms. Read this goddamn book. It's a masterpiece. Steven Wright is a genius." -Bill Burr
"Really funny and touching. Harold is beautifully written. Only Steven Wright could write this, and I love it." -Conan O'Brien
"A strange and wonderful book…There are shades of Vonnegut in Wright, and shades of John Irving's Owen Meany in the precocious Harold." -Michael Ian Black, The New York Times Book Review
"If Kurt Vonnegut and Calvin and Hobbes creator Bill Watterson wrote a literary version of Harold and the Purple Crayon, they might have concocted an absurdist novel like Harold. Or maybe, Harold could only have come from the off-kilter but fertile musings of stand-up legend Steven Wright...His deadpan delivery elevated him to the top of the stand-up world in the 1980s. That same originality and dry humor ricochets throughout his novel." -Stuart Miller, The Los Angeles Times
"Harold is often funny…as if Donald Barthelme had been assigned to rewrite The Little Prince. Wright has invented something here: A story about a child that refuses to be childlike, authored by an author who refuses to pretend that there's order to the disorganized mind of a too-smart kid who can't keep on task." -Mark Athitakis, The Washington Post
"Readers enthralled by stand-up comedian Wright's uniquely brainy, topsy-turvy, metaphysical, and epigrammatic humor will revel in Harold's uncanny, sharply funny, and profound ponderings in this sardonic yet tender tale of life's mysteries and the mind's marvels." -Donna Seaman, Booklist
"Really funny and touching. Harold is beautifully written. Only Steven Wright could write this, and I love it." -Conan O'Brien
"A strange and wonderful book…There are shades of Vonnegut in Wright, and shades of John Irving's Owen Meany in the precocious Harold." -Michael Ian Black, The New York Times Book Review
"If Kurt Vonnegut and Calvin and Hobbes creator Bill Watterson wrote a literary version of Harold and the Purple Crayon, they might have concocted an absurdist novel like Harold. Or maybe, Harold could only have come from the off-kilter but fertile musings of stand-up legend Steven Wright...His deadpan delivery elevated him to the top of the stand-up world in the 1980s. That same originality and dry humor ricochets throughout his novel." -Stuart Miller, The Los Angeles Times
"Harold is often funny…as if Donald Barthelme had been assigned to rewrite The Little Prince. Wright has invented something here: A story about a child that refuses to be childlike, authored by an author who refuses to pretend that there's order to the disorganized mind of a too-smart kid who can't keep on task." -Mark Athitakis, The Washington Post
"Readers enthralled by stand-up comedian Wright's uniquely brainy, topsy-turvy, metaphysical, and epigrammatic humor will revel in Harold's uncanny, sharply funny, and profound ponderings in this sardonic yet tender tale of life's mysteries and the mind's marvels." -Donna Seaman, Booklist
Readers Top Reviews
Mrs. L. UftonAnimae
My sons love these Thomas books. They spend hours looking at the pictures and reading the stories. A good buy.
Granny I
My grandson has recently become interested in helicopters and planes in general, so this was interesting to him and makes a change from books on engines
JimiElisabeth
The book has an interesting premise, but is really just a stream of consciousness from a 7 year old. Creative, but didn’t really do anything for me
eyes.2c
Of course anything Steven Wright puts pen to will be a stream of consciousness seemingly endless. Harold is akin to Wright’s’ inner seven year old boy with an adult understanding, despite his innocence. Dry, remorseless even, in his diatribe, Harold’s imagination is one where adults go to hide. Speaking of hidden, much of Harold’s sideways moves come through a series of rectangular windows opening up in his head. They’re a brilliant segue! Those birds who deliver his thoughts and questions are part of the wonder. And such birds! Harold’s questions are a thing of beauty. Of course they happen on the inside. Ms. Yuka just isn’t worth asking questions of on the outside! Ms.Yuka fortunately is not inside Harold’s head, except in dreams. I hear Wright’s in concert voice, in my head. This is pure Steven Wright blending with the known, yet giving new voices. Ha! Genius! Nobel stuff to me! (a reference!) Harold is like no other third grade child, he’s Wright’s voice piece—seemingly innocent, maybe stubborn, satirical, ironic, and piercing. A book for those who appreciate Wright and are prepared to put up with his non PC references and entertaining voyeurism. Either brilliant or a complete faux, I’m coming down on the brilliant side. A Simon & Schuster ARC via NetGalley. Many thanks to the author and publisher. (Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.)
Kindle
Say you are an up-and-coming editor at a major publishing house. Somehow you the editor have made a deal to write a prose sequel to the children classic Harold and the Purple Crayon, with Kurt Vonnegut writing only to be told two things. One Kurt Vonnegut passed away in 2007, and Harold can't use the crayon in the story. Fearing the end of a promising career before the promising career starts, the editor heads to a new bar named Called to the Desk, which is a The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson themed bar that only shows the many comedians that have performed on the long running talk show. Taking a big sip of the Ed McMahon Sidecar drink, a performance starts on the main monitor from 1982 with a young comedian making his first appearance, making Carson laugh along with the crowd. An idea forms, and a once threatened editor is suddenly secure in their position again. At least this is how I think Harold: a Novel by comedian, actor, and much much more Steven Wight came to be created. At least that is what a little bird told me. Harold is seven years old, in the third grade and watching his teacher Ms. Yuka teach the class. The time is the 1960's and Harold has a lot going on. His mother has problems with the truth, showing love, and problems with her sanity. Harold's Grandfather is teaching him everything but how to be a boy of seven and in the third grade. And birds, birds from nature, birds from the past, birds long extinct or never were are constantly flying through a rectangle in his head giving him different ideas, and making him think about the world, and its mysteries. What is written on the other side of a blackboard, Does a bird know what a second is. Sometimes these birds take him to the Moon, where he drinks H30, the third H being honey, served by a young waitress who seems tired. Harold is a book that is really hard to describe, though I will say if one likes early early Vonnegut, or Mark Leyner, or books that really hard to describe, this one is for you. The writing is really good, and even with all the different times and spaces it finds itself in, never loses where the book wants to go. I can see where people would have a problem with a seven year old in the 60's behaving like this. Well Wright address this in the book. Some comments might not be for everyone, I can understand that also. However the use of words, the sheer, what is Wright talking about, where did this come from, where are we going, is really well worth the journey. "This a painting of the ocean on the dark side of the moon as seen from the top of a lighthouse. “When the tide goes way out these 100 little combination lighthouse birdhouses are revealed." Something about this has just stayed with me. The more that Harold questions, the more that is revealed about Harold, and how maybe everything isn't great in his world. Maybe he questions to find out wh...
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1 Chapter 1
Ms. Yuka was standing in front of her desk when she began to brush a small piece of lint off her skirt just above her right knee and Harold wondered if there was more lint in China than in the United States and wondered if it mattered and if so how?
Harold wondered if the Chinese had their own FBI and if it was called the CFBI.
Could the CFBI and the FBI tell the difference between Chinese fingerprints and American fingerprints and he didn't mean a specific person he meant was there an in general difference?
Then he thought there should be a fistfight between the guy who said no two fingerprints were alike and the guy who said no two snowflakes were alike. A fight to the death.
After Ms. Yuka finished with her US/Chinese lint she said to the class:
"Remember to keep working on your book report and your oral presentation which are both due after Christmas vacation which starts Friday."
Harold's book report was about a book he read about Alfred Nobel who was the guy who invented dynamite.
He worked in a factory as a chemist focussing on explosives. His brother worked there too and was accidentally killed in an explosion.
So Alfred decided to turn this horrible tragedy into something positive.
With the huge fortune he made from dynamite he developed the Nobel Prize which led to the Nobel Peace Prize.
Harold thought if this was true what kind of prizes could the guy who invented the atom bomb come up with?
Maybe the "Universe Peace Prize."
Just to torture Ms. Yuka Harold thought of asking her if the book report should be about the subject of the book or a report about how the book was written.
But he didn't because he was tired and just wasn't in the mood.
Harold was 7 in 3rd grade at Wildwood Elementary School.
He did more thinking than someone his age. Or any age.
He thought wouldn't it be great to be able to sleep standing up with your eyes open.
Imagine asking Elizabeth if she would like to meet him some night in the middle of the woods so they could sleep standing up with their eyes open facing each other, and he wondered what kinds of dreams they would have then?
And wouldn't it be weird if they both had dreams but neither one of them was in the other's dreams.
Elizabeth was a girl in the class.
Harold thought that Alfred Nobel should have a fistfight with the guy who invented gunpowder whose name nobody knew because it was invented by the Chinese in the 9th century. A fight to the death.
He wondered if Ms. Yuka was related to the guy who invented gunpowder, he thought if she was he would look at her differently.
Harold imagined raising his hand.
"Yes Harold?"
"Are you at all related to the guy who invented gunpowder?"
He pictured her looking at him and then, in a gentle but somehow also stern way, saying:
"Harold, just pay attention."
In his mind he would say, "I'll pay attention but I was wondering if over Christmas vacation I could come over to your house and you could make believe you're the Empress of China and I'm the guy who just invented gunpowder and you wanted to reward me.
"How would you feel about that?"
Harold loved the birds in his head and Elizabeth and Ms. Yuka once in a while.
Sometimes he imagined he was shipwrecked with Elizabeth and Ms. Yuka on an island that had hundreds of parrots and no other kinds of birds.
The 3 of them would live in 2 different huts.
All the parrots spoke different languages and they were in groups of two so each parrot had another parrot to talk to.
This led to him imagining quietly making little parrot noises to himself just for his own amusement.
Then he thought of Pamela Clancy, who sat right beside him to his left, and what if she looked over and saw him making the little parrot noises.
This seemed so insane and funny to him that he almost peed his pants.
Then he thought that sometimes you see statues of little boys peeing into fountains but you never see statues of little girls squatting down peeing into fountains, he wondered why is that? It could be done if they wanted.
The boy wished he could have been at the meeting where that was decided.
One winter Harold was outside with his sister and she tried to pee her name in the snow and broke her ankle.
He began to pray, even though he wasn't sure if there was a God, for some kind of bird to fly through the middle of his head to stop all this madness.
A strange sociopath parakeet drifted through the rectangle causing him to put his head down on his desk and fall asleep.
Harold was asleep for about a minute...
Ms. Yuka was standing in front of her desk when she began to brush a small piece of lint off her skirt just above her right knee and Harold wondered if there was more lint in China than in the United States and wondered if it mattered and if so how?
Harold wondered if the Chinese had their own FBI and if it was called the CFBI.
Could the CFBI and the FBI tell the difference between Chinese fingerprints and American fingerprints and he didn't mean a specific person he meant was there an in general difference?
Then he thought there should be a fistfight between the guy who said no two fingerprints were alike and the guy who said no two snowflakes were alike. A fight to the death.
After Ms. Yuka finished with her US/Chinese lint she said to the class:
"Remember to keep working on your book report and your oral presentation which are both due after Christmas vacation which starts Friday."
Harold's book report was about a book he read about Alfred Nobel who was the guy who invented dynamite.
He worked in a factory as a chemist focussing on explosives. His brother worked there too and was accidentally killed in an explosion.
So Alfred decided to turn this horrible tragedy into something positive.
With the huge fortune he made from dynamite he developed the Nobel Prize which led to the Nobel Peace Prize.
Harold thought if this was true what kind of prizes could the guy who invented the atom bomb come up with?
Maybe the "Universe Peace Prize."
Just to torture Ms. Yuka Harold thought of asking her if the book report should be about the subject of the book or a report about how the book was written.
But he didn't because he was tired and just wasn't in the mood.
Harold was 7 in 3rd grade at Wildwood Elementary School.
He did more thinking than someone his age. Or any age.
He thought wouldn't it be great to be able to sleep standing up with your eyes open.
Imagine asking Elizabeth if she would like to meet him some night in the middle of the woods so they could sleep standing up with their eyes open facing each other, and he wondered what kinds of dreams they would have then?
And wouldn't it be weird if they both had dreams but neither one of them was in the other's dreams.
Elizabeth was a girl in the class.
Harold thought that Alfred Nobel should have a fistfight with the guy who invented gunpowder whose name nobody knew because it was invented by the Chinese in the 9th century. A fight to the death.
He wondered if Ms. Yuka was related to the guy who invented gunpowder, he thought if she was he would look at her differently.
Harold imagined raising his hand.
"Yes Harold?"
"Are you at all related to the guy who invented gunpowder?"
He pictured her looking at him and then, in a gentle but somehow also stern way, saying:
"Harold, just pay attention."
In his mind he would say, "I'll pay attention but I was wondering if over Christmas vacation I could come over to your house and you could make believe you're the Empress of China and I'm the guy who just invented gunpowder and you wanted to reward me.
"How would you feel about that?"
Harold loved the birds in his head and Elizabeth and Ms. Yuka once in a while.
Sometimes he imagined he was shipwrecked with Elizabeth and Ms. Yuka on an island that had hundreds of parrots and no other kinds of birds.
The 3 of them would live in 2 different huts.
All the parrots spoke different languages and they were in groups of two so each parrot had another parrot to talk to.
This led to him imagining quietly making little parrot noises to himself just for his own amusement.
Then he thought of Pamela Clancy, who sat right beside him to his left, and what if she looked over and saw him making the little parrot noises.
This seemed so insane and funny to him that he almost peed his pants.
Then he thought that sometimes you see statues of little boys peeing into fountains but you never see statues of little girls squatting down peeing into fountains, he wondered why is that? It could be done if they wanted.
The boy wished he could have been at the meeting where that was decided.
One winter Harold was outside with his sister and she tried to pee her name in the snow and broke her ankle.
He began to pray, even though he wasn't sure if there was a God, for some kind of bird to fly through the middle of his head to stop all this madness.
A strange sociopath parakeet drifted through the rectangle causing him to put his head down on his desk and fall asleep.
Harold was asleep for about a minute...
