Nope. Just nope. 
 After about the dozenth new zany character with a new zany backstory even more zany than the last; the mysterious all-world conspiracy lifted straight from Pynchon at his least subtle and most whacked-out druggie paranoid; the lack of any meaningful characterization or plot progression; the footnotes that add absolutely nothing to the understanding of the main body of text; and, oh god, the cringe-worthy academic attempt at AAVE - it dawned on me that this is scribbling. The scribbling of a brilliant, tortured, over-educated, hypersensitive graphomanic. A novel it is not. 
 If that's the thing you're looking for, by all means, enjoy. Otherwise, stick to his short stories and essays, where the form forces him to rein that shit in and be the brilliant, tortured, over-educated, hypersensitive writer for whom the accolades are truly deserved.