I almost wish I actually hated this book because then I could summon enough vitriol to fill a full 250-word review. As it stands, all I really got is ” … meh”. I kind of wish I’d done CBR last year just so y’all could have been treated to my screed on My Absolute Darling but nope, you guys are stuck with this much masquerading as a philosophical journey.
It’s a writer writing about a writer writing about a writer. She’s so far up her own ass I’m surprised she can find the keyboard. I am given absolutely no reason to care about anybody or their motivations or their actions or their fates. I a little bit hoped that one of them would die in the desert, honestly, at least then something would have happened. The most exciting adventure was one dude’s search for his coat someone else accidentally picked up at a party. I guess it’s supposed to be some grand novel on introspection and the meaning of it all but my god I was just bored.
And then just UGH the writing style itself. Her paragraphs are longer than pages, it’s just this wall of text you can’t escape and my eyes completely glazed over. It felt like I wasn’t so much reading as staring at the page and turning to the next one when it felt like enough time had passed. I’m writing this review really just to put the book in my rearview mirror and move on to something that can actually hold my attention.