Confessions of An Ivy League Frat Boy Has Arrived

It is finally here. After two years of leaked manuscripts, Huffington Post interviews, and incessant self-promotion, Andrew Lohse’s long-awaited memoir has arrived. And it hasn’t taken long for it to garner negative attention.

As of this morning, Amazon carries a total of five customer reviews, four of which give the book between one and two stars while decrying “[its] level of bombast, …superfluous metaphors, and false information…”

The cover of Mr. Lohse's memoir, as seen on Amazon's website.

The cover of Mr. Lohse’s memoir, as seen on Amazon’s website.

A fifth, in a tone oozing with heavy sarcasm, exhorts would-be readers not to despair, for “[the work is a] seminal cultural achievement of the human race, whose influence shall dwarf that of the Bible, Quran, and Bhagavad Gita combined.” It goes on to provide a strong admonition to Amazon’s audiophiles:

Before indulging in the audio version, however, I must recommend you listen to Bach’s Mass in B Minor at least seven times to prepare yourself for the sublime auditory journey you are about to undertake. Alas, I fear this journey, much like invading Russia in the winter, will be an impossibility for most.

Although much less sardonic in their criticism, a variety of news outlets have also lampooned Mr. Lohse’s memoir. Over the weekend, The Dartmouth Review’s own Joe Rago published a scathing criticism in The Wall Street Journal. He suggests that “[Confessions of an Ivy League Frat Boy] may be the worst, and least trustworthy confessions in the 16 centuries since St. Augustine’s” and that the most severe hazing imaginable would be “spending time inside the mind of Mr. Lohse.”

As of this morning, The Daily Dartmouth has added its voice to the chorus of criticism, publishing an excellent review by Andrew Kingsley on its website. In his piece, Kingsley compares the memoir to James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces and concludes by remarking:

Ultimately, the book itself is a vomelette, made from the cracked Fabergé egg of Dartmouth and filled with Lohse’s excessive, regurgitated tales. Yet many will eat up Lohse’s fare, sympathizing with the wide-eyed, blue collar neophyte catechized by the cultic demonism of SAE and Dartmouth. Lohse has peed into the Dartmouth punch. I only hope few drink, and if they must, they have the sense to spit it out.

It is The Dartmouth Review’s hope that most will heed Mr. Kingsley’s advice and spit out Lohse’s lurid embellishments before it poisons their view of the College we call home.

A full-length review of Confessions of An Ivy League Frat Boy is forthcoming.