American Sucker
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- ¥1,000
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- ¥1,000
発行者による作品情報
In early 2000 the bottom dropped out of the life of writer David Denby when his wife decided to leave him. Propelled to make some money quickly, and seized by the 'irrational exuberance' of the stock market, then approaching its peak, Denby enthusiastically joined the investment frenzy. Over the next few months he listened raptly to bullish stock analysts, dreamy hi-tech gurus and boastful heads of companies. He plunged into a season of mania and was swept forward on currents of hope, greed and hucksterism - with cataclysmic results.
American Sucker is a mesmerising account of those years of madness. What begins as a money chase and an engagement with rampant capitalism soon becomes an encounter with such timeless issues as love, envy, true value - and life and death itself. This is a classic tale of the bubble related not by a market guru or an investment professional but by a witty, perceptive and eloquent outsider.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"I wanted to be wealthy," Denby bluntly admits near the end of this absorbing memoir of the dot-com boom and bust. "I didn't make it." Like millions of other amateur investors in 2000 and 2001, Denby (Great Books) was swept along by greed, by the nearly messianic belief that the stock market offered easy opportunities for unlimited prosperity. Denby sunk hundreds of thousands of dollars into the Nasdaq, digested unhealthy amounts of CNBC and the Wall Street Journal and forged friendships with some of the era's brightest stars (and, later, its most public criminals). He lost his balance in the excess of the time stock tickers in strip clubs; parties at executives' lofts and then lost his money when the market crashed. ("The ax had swung," Denby writes, "and heads lay all over the ground.") Though exceedingly well written, Denby's portrait of the great "Dot Con" generally echoes the sentiments of other, similarly themed books about the period. The work is more appealing when Denby focuses on himself: he had nearly suffered a nervous breakdown when his wife of 18 years left him, and making enough money to buy out her share of their apartment was his initial motivation for investing in the market. Denby brutally details his decline, from a night of impotence to an affair with a married woman, then a six-month obsession with Internet porn harrowing stuff for a New Yorker staff writer. His dissection of his own Upper West Side narcissism offers some of the most candid critiques of the Manhattan bourgeoisie ever found outside of a Woody Allen film. More of Denby, and less of the Nasdaq, would have made this good book even better.
