Let's be clear here. I feel bad calling this a DRUNK book review, because I'm only slightly tipsy. HOWEVER, I did have a handful of wines and if I don't write this review soon, I'm not going to be able to because I finished this book over a month ago.
So, J by Howard Jacobson is a book. I read it. That's a thing.
I did not care for this book. It was described as a 1984 type futuristic story. I mean, YES, it takes place in the FUTURE, but I don't see the comparisons. It was also a Man Booker Prize winner, but it must have been a slow year.
To be frank, I was SUPER excited for this book. I had heard great things! I should have known then that I would be disappointed. It's like Garden State all over again.
I literally did not care about any character in this book or what happened. It was very slow to start and it would just randomly drop story lines. I feel like I can hardly write a good review about it because I don't fully remember what happens, not to mention that I literally could not give less fucks about this book.
Like, there was this whole thing about not being able to say any word that started with the letter J and something happening in the past and the main dude being a product of incest, but literally NONE of this mattered by the end. They also teased this big love between the two main characters and this whole storyline of others plotting for them to be together, but then at the end, he didn't matter, the main chick just needed to get pregnant and then it didn't matter that he killed himself? Seriously, it sounds like I'm just drunkenly trying to make up a story here BUT THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED.
Style wise, it just felt like a rip off of other, more successful authors like Foer. He went back and forth between multiple characters and time periods and letters, but it all just felt disjointed.
Oh!! OH!!! And there was some murderer in the story for no reason whatsoever. Seriously! Somebody got all cut up towards the beginning and there was an investigation and then the killer dude killed the detective, but oh who cares! That didn't matter anyway!
Seriously. This book sucked. I don't think I have one nice thing to say about it. Honestly, the second I read the final page, when the protagonist threw himself off a cliff, I pulled a Lucille Bluth and said, "Good for him!" Just kidding, I said, out loud, TO NO ONE, "Well that was fucking stupid. Glad that's over!" About the book, not the guy killing himself. I think we've established that I don't give a fuck about the characters. Thank god Blogging for Books bequeathed this book onto me, otherwise I would have been pissed I wasted my money.
Soooo, ratings: I think it's pretty clear that I would not get drunk and talk OR recommend this book. Obviously. It's taken me a month to even write this review, and BELIEVE ME, I've gotten drunk HUNDREDS of times. I only wish I had been more motivated to write this review closer to completing the book, it would have been a hell of a lot rantier.
Farewell, dear readers. Soon, we'll be discussing Thomas Jefferson, our most scumbaggy President. Until then.
No comments:
Post a Comment