It's an occupational hazard that seems to afflict European wunderkinder more than their American counterparts these days: writing while under the influence of J.D. Salinger. Last year, we had Brian Lebert's German bestseller Crazy, and now we have Arnon Grunberg's second novel, Silent Extras (St. Martin's, $ 23.95), translated from the Dutch by Sam Garrett.

Grunberg, whose first novel, Blue Mondays, was a major hit in Holland, follows with a frequently entertaining picaresque about three hapless buddies determined to make their mark on an indifferent world. The trouble is, his trio of free-spirited would-be actors not only aren't talented enough to gain celebrity; they also aren't quite charming enough to carry this absurdist comedy.

The narrator is 19-year-old Ewald Stanislas Krieg, who tells the story of the antic period when he tried to become an actor, encouraged by his oddball friend Broccoli, ne[acute] Michael Eckstein, who financed their dissolute existence of auditions and cafe-hopping in Amsterdam by drawing on his absentee parents' bank accounts. The third member of their trio was sexy Argentine Elvira Lopez, who sought a man with a motorbike but in the meantime filled in with whoever was around -- including Ewald and Broccoli.

Grunberg's style consists of deadpan short bulletins and frequent repetitions. Interspersed are Ewald's attempts to figure out this absurd world we live in, such as "Nodding amiably is often the best you can do" and "She didn't listen to anyone, only to herself. That's one way to get through life." Many of these wry observations are funny.

In a horrifying way, so are some of the sinister slapstick scenes, including picking up a prostitute for Broccoli's drunken father. But the charm wears thin long before Ewald's chums run off to find fame in America, leaving him to follow.