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A review by fianaigecht
Anything That Isn't This by Chris Priestley
2.0
I did not like this book. In fact, until the last, oh, I don't know, 5%?, I actively disliked it. It's depressing. I couldn't make sense of the worldbuilding, in that I didn't feel I had a handle on the world at all. The narrative seemed choppy and disjointed and I absolutely hated Frank as a character. He was a pathetic, pretentious hipster who believed himself so special and different to everyone around him and I wanted to slap him.
In fact, most of what I hated about this book (am I saying hated now? Maybe I am) was what I also disliked about Catcher In The Rye, one of my all-time least favourite books. This was like that, except less meaningful. It was depressing in a pretentious manner, an unoriginal exploration of the meaninglessness of a life lived in offices and mediocrity.
I get it, okay? Really, I do. The thought of spending my life as an unimportant cog in the great machine of the world of work terrifies me. But I just... couldn't identify with Frank. Our fears might have something in common but his shallow and creepy obsession with Olivia repulsed me, as did his utter lack of empathy and respect for anyone around him because clearly he was too much of a special snowflake to think he might not be the only one who wanted more.
The one thing that redeemed this book and kept it from being relegated to a one star rating like Catcher In The Rye was that Frank did at least undergo something that, squinting, one could call character development, so that the ending did at least represent a change from the beginning. But nah. If I hadn't committed myself to reviewing the book I'd have put it down at 30% and never got as far as the parts that made it tolerable.
Thanks for the review copy, NetGalley, but it just wasn't my thing. At all.
In fact, most of what I hated about this book (am I saying hated now? Maybe I am) was what I also disliked about Catcher In The Rye, one of my all-time least favourite books. This was like that, except less meaningful. It was depressing in a pretentious manner, an unoriginal exploration of the meaninglessness of a life lived in offices and mediocrity.
I get it, okay? Really, I do. The thought of spending my life as an unimportant cog in the great machine of the world of work terrifies me. But I just... couldn't identify with Frank. Our fears might have something in common but his shallow and creepy obsession with Olivia repulsed me, as did his utter lack of empathy and respect for anyone around him because clearly he was too much of a special snowflake to think he might not be the only one who wanted more.
The one thing that redeemed this book and kept it from being relegated to a one star rating like Catcher In The Rye was that Frank did at least undergo something that, squinting, one could call character development, so that the ending did at least represent a change from the beginning. But nah. If I hadn't committed myself to reviewing the book I'd have put it down at 30% and never got as far as the parts that made it tolerable.
Thanks for the review copy, NetGalley, but it just wasn't my thing. At all.