Ironic Giant: Dave Eggers
By Eric Wittmershaus

Let's face it. Clever, sarcastic books just aren't what they were back when folks named Joseph Heller (no, not that Joseph Heller), Kurt Vonnegut and Thomas Pynchon sat behind typewriters hammering out irreverent, anti-establishment tracts about the bygone days of World War II.

Irony has become passe, some would argue. That's where Dave Eggers, co-founder of the now-defunct Might Magazine and editor of McSweeney's, comes in, infusing the overused literary device with breathtaking, much-needed honesty.

"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," (Simon & Schuster, $23, 375 pages), Eggers' memoir disguised as his first novel, gives us both barrels of a shotgun loaded with irony and sincerity.

On the one hand, "A.H.W.O.S.G.," as the author calls it, is an honest, up-front account of its twentysomething author's struggle to deal with the death of both his parents, as well as his new role of guardian to his 8-year-old brother, Toph (Christopher), and his move from Illinois to the San Francisco Bay Area.

Along the way, we follow Eggers' stab at leading a normal twentysomething life in the hip, pre-real-estate-boom San Francisco of the early '90s. We read about Eggers and his friends' founding of the beloved-by-hipsters Might and his interview for a spot on the San Francisco season of MTV's "The Real World."

Through all of this, we share the author's worries that every seemingly mild-mannered babysitter hired for Toph is going to turn out to be some child-eating weirdo with a large collection of whips and knives.

To keep things interesting, Eggers frequently breaks from the book's memoirish tone to have characters deliver witty monologues on and participate in discussion of the book itself, definitely not something you'll find in, say, "Tuesdays With Morrie." Add to this about 40 pages of "Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of the Book," a goofy copyright page and acknowledgements that recall David Foster Wallace's hilarious footnotes in "Infinite Jest," and you're staring at a terrific combination of clever and cloying.

The book, however, is not wholly without fault. At times, Eggers sabotages the reader's ability to empathize. When you're reading about how Eggers — who grew up in one of Chicago's wealthiest suburbs — was able to bankroll much of Might's expenses out of his own pocket, it's hard not to feel a little jealous of all that money. And a few portions of the (rather long) interview for the "Real World" spot demonstrate what can happen when Eggers' self-indulgence doesn't pass the cleverness test.

But aside from the occasional, "Gee, it must be nice" or "C'mon, already" moment, it's a pleasure to watch the Eggers' little red car hurtling along Highway 1 or to accompany Eggers back to Chicago on a trip to resolve some of his feelings about his parents' deaths. It's hard not to laugh when the author jokingly tells a gullible acquaintance that Toph shot a kid at school (this is pre-Columbine, so it's all the more funny), then — once his legs healed after being broken by the author — took off hitchhiking.

Similarly, a scene where Toph, just before bedtime one night in Berkeley, starts deconstructing the book stands as one of "A.H.W.O.S.G.'s" high points.

"I mean, it was almost as if it was too much to happen in one day," he says to the author when asked about his day. "(It's) as if a number of days had been spliced together to quickly paint a picture of an entire period of time, to create a whole-seeming idea of how we are living, without having to stoop (or rise) to actually pacing the story out." This is witty, self-aware prose at its best.

Not surprisingly, Eggers Feb. 8 appearance at A Clean Well-Lighted Place for Books in San Francisco smacks both of hipster nudge-nudge-wink-wink-knowudduhmean irony and incredible, down-home sincerity.

The event begins with Clean Well-Lighted's (it is necessary to mention here that Clean Well-Lighted is actually lit by florescent lights and has very few windows) host telling the large crowd, "We're going to do things a little differently."

Shortly thereafter, Lt. Fernado Juarez of the San Francisco Fire Department is standing behind the podium, lecturing bewildered literati — many of whom are seated upon the (clean) floor, blocking fire exits, a problem about which the bookstore's staff seem to have more than the usual amount of concern — on the dangers of fires in the home.

"Tears stream down the face. Mucus runs down the nose. We cough and gag," says Juarez, warning those assembled of the dangers of smoke inhalation.

Meanwhile, a confused audience can't decide whether to pay this public servant its utmost attention or giggle at the situation's obvious absurdity.

When Juarez is finished, Eggers cautiously steps behind the podium and lets his sincere side rip it up.

"Oh my god. This is the first time I've ever done this," he says nervously, eyes panning the large crowd. "I've never read before. I figured I'd start in San Francisco because I would know enough of you...I think I know a few of you...I wish I could find you."

From there, Eggers kicks things off by reading, not from "A.H.W.O.S.G." — of which he says there is not one copy in his home — but from "People Should Not Laugh at Savings," an essay he wrote under a pseudonym (Lucy Thomas) for the online version of McSweeney's. Throughout this reading, a young man about halfway back interrupts Eggers, asking him to speak louder, and more slowly. Later, when the young man interrupts again, Eggers reveals him to be one of Toph's friends from middle school.

Eggers' delivery is that of someone not much accustomed to public speaking. He speaks a little too quietly at times, a little too hurriedly at others. Sometimes he speaks quietly and hurriedly. He does not often look up at the folks assembled, but somehow, this is all right because the author is charming and likable in his ill-at-easeness. When he's finished, Eggers looks up, as if he's just read a whole book and not a short essay that appeared online.

"That was the first thing I ever read," he says. "Ever," he adds emphatically, looking at the crowd for approval, which of course he gets.

A good portion of the crowd, it seems, is made up of McSweeney's devotees, and questions about McSweeney's abound.

"(My family) would always get letters from someone named Timothy McSweeney," he explains when asked how the magazine got its name. "They were on the backs of postal flyers...anything where you could get free postage...He claimed to be my mother's long-lost brother...(Letters) would always include flight plans, like he was planning on coming to visit.

"I don't know if he's real or not. My relatives deny it, but who knows?"

Fortunately for the crowd, Eggers has brought a few dozen copies of the new, fourth issue of the quarterly-ish print version of McSweeney's.

The new issue, a special edition boxed set of sorts (at $22 a pop, only $1 cheaper than "A.H.W.O.S.G.," I might add), sells out in a matter of minutes, and those non-track stars who weren't fast enough to snap up a copy in the first eight seconds can only shuffle listlessly around the store, hoping that one of the fortunate has set down a copy and forgotten about it.

But Eggers is not a character whose work is easily misplaced or forgotten, so these folks are out of luck.

This book-signing-as-performance-art style public appearance — and others like it across the country — just as much as anything Eggers writes, edits, draws or otherwise produces, is an accurate barometer of his successful marriage of irony and sincerity. Other than Eggers himself and a few close associates, no one knows why Lt. Juarez acted as opening act. Was it the kind of cruel joke Eggers and his Might associates played at former "Eight is Enough" actor Adam Rich's expense when they (with Rich's consent) ran a false report of his death and eulogy?

Or does Eggers — who did not smile, laugh or wink after Juarez's presentation and who urged audience members to pick up the pamphlets Juarez brought with him — genuinely hope to infuse this commercial appearance with some of what anti-ironist Jedediah Purdy might call civic commitment?

E-mail Eric Wittmershaus at ericw at flakmag dot com.