Dave Eggers and I go way back. It all started when one of my friends got me A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for my twentieth birthday – I fell in love instantly. In a very short period of time, I bought You Shall Know Our Velocity, How We Are Hungry, The Wild Things, and even hunted down a secondhand edition of Short Short Stories in a desperate attempt to keep my Eggers momentum going for as long as possible. The only book that was left for me to read was What Is The What, just one more… But I couldn’t bring myself to read it. If I finished that novel, there would be no more Eggers for me to read, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it. For some reason, seeing that book in stores, knowing that it was right there, waiting for me, was comforting. There was still one left.
As years went on, Eggers kept writing and publishing books, but I still couldn’t bring myself to read his new work. At university, I had spread my wings as a reader and I was afraid that I had built him up too much in my head, that I wouldn’t be nearly as impressed now as when I was younger. Would the thrill be gone?