Product description Title: A Few Seconds of Radiant Filmstrip( A Memoir of Seventh Grade) Binding: Hardcover Author: KevinBrockmeier Publisher: PantheonBooks From Booklist In three acclaimed novels and two story collections, Brockmeier (The Illumination, 2011) earned his reputation as a literary virtuoso attuned to the illusory facets of everyday life. His rollicking first memoir, centered on his formative year in the seventh grade, affirms his talents and explores their foundations. Twelve-year-old Kevin kicks off the school year eavesdropping on a crush and becoming the butt of jokes during an all-school weekend sleepaway, initiating a turbulent year in which he determines heâs a Night Court guy, shows up at his Christian school dressed as Dolly Parton for Halloween, discovers the possibilities of literature, and tastes the brief satisfaction of celebrity after staging a play. Narrating in feverish third-person prose that accentuates his clumsy steps toward adulthood, Brockmeier examines the false intimacy of first kisses, the variable definitions of âbest friend,â the unexpected ways jokes can escalate, and the absurd lengths one sometimes goes to impress others. In a hilariously vivid, novelistic chronicle of the midâ1980s, Brockmeier nails the awkward triumphs and life-affirming disasters of teenagedom, revealing the creative significance of what might otherwise seem banal. --Jonathan Fullmer Review â FilmstripÂ is a funny, poignant oddity. . . . There's something here for you as long as you remember being 12, having disloyal friends, and wondering when the opposite sex was going to discover how cool you were. . . . The prose is always a pleasure, and our little underdog hero is so likable that you're relieved just to be holding the book in your hands: It's proof that he turned out okay.Â A-â â Entertainment Weekly âBrockmeierâs evocative, gracefully written memoir so beautifully captures a slice of our lives many may be tempted to write about, but few want to remember. . . . Brockmeier also does an excellent job anchoring his memoir in time without limiting its appeal only to those who came of age in that decade. In his fiction, Brockmeier has shown heâs a versatile prose stylist, and he makes the transition to memoir without sacrificing that quality. . . . Lovely.â â Bookreporter âMasterful. . . . This is painful stuffâand important and beautifully written stuff, in Brockmeierâs handsâworthy of your time and attention. Itâs insightful, relayed at a propulsive clip, and captures the complicated inner life of a seventhÂ grader with more unflinching precision than anything youâll read on the subject. This book will help you.â â Biographile âA delicately rendered memoir that bathes the invariably painful past in a kind of gold-glowing tenderness. . . . There are plenty of memoirs that recount extraordinary circumstances and adventures, but I cannot think of one that so magically involves us in an exploration of the commonplace. A Few Seconds of Radiant Filmstrip is a look backânot in vengeance, anger or even gloatingâbut in wonder at the miraculous variety of experience, and the ways we come to be ourselves.â â Arkansas Democrat-Gazette âBeautifully written. . . . The books rings awfully true . . . Brockmeierâs potent, honest prose makes for a vivid, funny and achingly familiar read.â â Arkansas Times "Funny, gripping, and heartbreaking." â Rain Taxi Review of Books âEvery book by Kevin Brockmeier is unsettling, strange, and impossible to forget. . . . He challenges the way we see the world. His latest, A Few Seconds of Radiant Filmstrip, catapults us all back to middle school with time-machine perfection. . . . Heartbreakingly honest.â âCaroline Leavitt, bestselling author of Is This Tomorrow and Pictures of You âIn three acclaimed novels and two story collections, Brockmeier earned his reputation as a literary virtuoso attuned to the illusory facets of everyday life. His rollicking first memoir, centered on his formative year in the seventh grade, affirms his talents and explores their foundations. . . . In a hilariously vivid, novelistic chronicle of the mid-1980s, Brockmeier nails the awkward triumphs and life-affirming disasters of teenagedom, revealing the creative significance of what might otherwise seem banal.â âJonathan Fullmer, Booklist âA truly stunning hybridâa memoir told with the imaginative vibrancy and the uncanny precision of the best fiction. This book will floor you, and flood you with a torrent of your own memories from the terrifying, electric threshold between childhood and adulthood.Â If you're new to his work, this is a phenomenal place to start.â âKaren Russell, bestselling author of Swamplandia! and Vampires in the Lemon Grove âBrockmeier is surely one of our great writers. Here seventh grade is rendered in such lovingly vivid detailâthe year is so perfectly rememberedâthat you feel, after reading it, that the memory in fact belongs to you. I loved it.â âEthan Rutherford, author of The Peripatetic Coffin About the Author In addition to A Few Seconds of Radiant Filmstrip,Â KEVIN BROCKMEIERÂ is the author of the novels The Illumination, The Brief History of the Dead, and The Truth About Celia; the story collections Things That Fall from the Sky and The View from the Seventh Layer; and the childrenâs novels City of Names and Grooves: A Kind of Mystery. His work has been translated into seventeen languages. He has published his stories in such venues as The New Yorker, The Georgia Review, McSweeneyâs, Zoetrope, Tin House, The Oxford American, The Best American Short Stories, The Yearâs Best Fantasy and Horror, and New Stories from the South. He has recieved the Borders Original Voices Award, three O. Henry Awards (one, a first prize), the PEN USA Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and an NEA Grant. In 2007, he was named one of Granta magazineâs Best Young American Novelists. He teaches frequently at the Iowa Writersâ Workshop, and he lives in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was raised. Excerpt. Â© Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Following English, just as the bell is releasing everyone to third period, Miss Vincent gives him a greeting card with a drawing of a hippo standing on its hind legs. She hands it across his desk unassumingly, offhandedly, like homework, and no one pays much attention. Though the caption looks handwritten, it isnât: âWhen everything really starts to get to you, DONâT DESPAIR! DONâT GIVE UP! Just do what I do,â and on the inside, âEat.â There beneath the punch line is the blue ink of her cursive, full of circles, like the pattern at the corners of a fancy napkin: âHope you are feeling better about things today. Things will get better, just be patient. Have a good day! Loveâ Ms. Vincent.âÂ The words make a kind of drumbeat in Kevinâs head.Â Things, things. Better, better. Love.Things, things. Better, better. Love.Â For nearly an hour he listens to it, opening the card every so often to read the note again, and then geography has ended, and he is surveying the lunchroom. Where should he sit? The Thad table is an impossibility, and so are the girl tables. And the majority of the others are already taken by older students, eighth- and ninth-graders who have known each other for most of a lifetime.Â Kevin shoulders up against one of the pillars. Too many people arenât his friends. He feels as if the sheen of paint on the walls, the fluorescent lamp sputtering above the door, the shadows of the tree branches on the windows are all whispering a secret to him, one he could hear if the rest of the kids would just be quiet, something about time and school and where his life is taking him, but instead there is only the popcorn of everyoneâs voices, bursting and bursting and bursting.Â He decides to sit with Leigh Cushman and Mike Beaumont. He finds a barnacle of gum on the underside of the table and picks at it with his fingernails. Before long Saul Strong joins them with his sandwich bag and his Ruffles and âHey there,â he greets them. âItâs the Tough Guys,â which is the name they have given their volleyball team in PE. Theyâve even invented a chant:Weâre tough guys! We donât take no crapWhen we deliver our TOUGH RAP!âHowâs it going with yâall?âÂ âHowâs it going?â Leigh complains. âIâm totally gonna fail this Bible test, thatâs how. Are you gonna fail it? âCause I am. All those begats and he-dieds and crap.âÂ âSee, you just donât remember memory verses. Thatâs your problem.âÂ âMy point exactly! I only remember things I already know. Thatâs what they should have: knowing verses.âÂ â?â?âCause knowing is half the battle,â?â Mike says.Â âMeep meep,â Kevin adds.Â Saul shakes his head. His feathered hair does a little landslide. âMan, thatâs the Road Runner, not G.I. Joe.âÂ âNo, no, thereâs this episode where Shipwreck kicks a coyote into a canyon, and when it lands, he says meep meep. Itâs a Road Runner joke, not a Road Runner mistake.âÂ âMy whole life is a Road Runner joke,â Leigh says.Â âMy whole life is a Road Runner mistake,â Kevin says.Â Heâs not sure what he means, or if he even means anything at all, but the tone of sad-sack defeat in his voice gets him a laugh. The result is incontestable. Thatâs who he is: funny.Â The rest of the day passes somehow, and then he is lying on his bedroom floor staring at the blades of the ceiling fan, edged with ruffs of gray dust, and there is only Friday to finish before Christmas break.Â He spends most of the evening working on the lyrics of a Christmas songââDeck the School,â he calls itâthe kind of parody he has written by the dozens ever since he started buying Mads and Crackeds from the magazine rack at Kroger. The verses ascend through the school grades, each one landing squarely on a big-name student, a Beau Dawkins or a Bryan Plumlee, a Matthew Connerly or a Doug Odom. The next morning Kevin deposits the page anonymously on Mr. Garlandâs desk and waits for him to read it. You never know with Mr. Garland. You just never do. He is half jester and half grouch. Telling a joke in his class is as likely to earn you a demerit as a laugh. But after the bell rings and the quiz begins, when he finally lays his fingers on the page, he chuckles silently with his mouth closed, exercising one side of his face as if he is working the sugar off a jawbreaker. In chapel, sitting with the rest of the seventh-graders at the far end of the bleachers, Kevin watches him take the microphone and announce, âThe kid who wrote this actually included all the fa-la-las, but Iâm just going to give you the good stuff.â Mr. Garland delivers the lines like wisecracks, pausing to let the laughter burn down to ashes. The loudest reaction comes from the eighth-graders, for âWhen we get back, thereâll be no lickinâs / Assuming that thereâs no Chris Pickens,â and then from the seniors, for âCan you hear the women screaminâ? / Thereâs mistletoe and (gasp!) Scott Freeman.âÂ Afterward, in the thick of the applause, a voice shouts out, âWho wrote it?â and Mr. Garland tacks the paper to the stand with his finger. âSorry, folks. âBy anonymous.â?âÂ Someone once told Kevin that if a hummingbirdâs wings stop, its heart will explode.