Lads: A Memoir of Manhood

Full disclosure: I was once a freelancer in the New York magazine business, and at Maxim on and off for a few years. (Now on with the review.) I really enjoyed this speedy read, but this may be out of sheer self-centeredness: I like stories that accurately give the reader a tour of a part of the world at a particular era, and this made for amusing reading because I floated in and out of that specific moment and place, at an Important Time In My Life, In the Big City. (I read part of the book in a nearby dive bar, and nearly spit out my beer a few times, certain scenes were so hilariously familiar.) The average non-Maxim-affiliated reader can find plenty of laugh-out-loud moments in Itzkoff's memoir, but New York magazine-biz types have probably just rolled their eyes in disgust at the lad-mag employees who've "sold their souls." (Or rolled their eyes at Itzkoff, Toby Young, or others who unflinchingly hold up the mirror.) The book's definitely funny, but it's a wry, dark humor, given more to acknowledging smiles and nods than knee-slapping guffaws. Would a comparison to Toby Young's (almost) tell-all be insulting to Itzkoff? Maybe. Young's pratfalls were retarded, cartoonish. Itzkoff's screw-ups (too numerous to call out here) were undoubtedly cringe-inducing, but funny and familiar and heartbreaking, too. SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! The end is way too pat. I don't mind that Itzkoff and his dad end up on the shrink's couch, but it seemed like that resolution was just stuck on. The scene is well-rendered, but a longer road to the psychiatrist may have been in order.

Lads gets you both laughing and, with what the writer endures, cringing. Itzkoff is, simply, funny, and his book is smart and well-written, and thankfully much more than a rah-rah recounting of life inside Maxim. To be open, I know the author, but knowing him had no impact on the fact that at many times while reading I actually laughed out loud as Itzkoff described his jobs, his life in the NYC publishing world, his family, the painful dating world and those he worked with or for. But for all the criticism he lays on others, Itzkoff saves his harshest comments for himself; it's not self criticism, it's self flagellation. It's also exceedingly honest, and his examination of being a man in this Maximish world is thoughtful and thought-provoking.

A hilariously poignant - and pleasantly pessimistic - tale of one man's rise through New York's publishing industry circuit. Touching at times, yet always temperamental, Izkoff's skewed view on life, liberty and the pursuit of getting laid gracefully skirts the fine line between raunch and redemption, providing a captivating read in the process. An insightful peek behind the headlines and hijinks at Dennis Publishing, it comes highly recommended.

I love this book. It's devastatingly witty, heartbreaking at moments, and yes, heartwarming. A fun, wicked portrait of glossy twenty-something Manhattan life.

Hysterically funny, painfully honest, and almost intimidatingly introspective, Lads provides an accurate depiction of the supposedly glamorous but often grotesque New York publishing world. Though the book will certainly speak to anyone who has ever composed countless pitches, fetched coffee at Conde Nast, or questioned the purpose of "In and Out" charts, Lads' appeal extends far beyond the 212 glossy demographic. Indeed, this book will touch anyone who has ever experienced frustration, self-doubt, and loneliness in close proximity to those very rare moments of clarity that make life worth living.