I was handed the book The Ginger Man at the exact wrong moment of my life. A lot was happening, and it was happening because the people in my life decided to do some awful selfish things, and I found myself with the consequences. Handing me a book about an awful man doing awful things didn’t resonate with me at the time. I don’t know now, and I never will, if I genuinely disliked the book, or if it was residual emotions from the other aspects of me life.
Objectivity is hard.
But those consequences are long gone now, and other books will come along.
Diary of an Oxygen Thief reminded me of The Ginger Man. Honestly, the similarities are pretty thin, but I guess it was just a similar vibe, to use the ethereal words of the kids these days. Sure they both seem to have a strange, sex obsessed protagonist, but Oxygen Thief’s protagonist seems a more neurotic breed.
It wasn’t the content that made me dislike the book. It was the description. Or the lack of it. The story seems to be narrated on the fly by the main character, as if it is 10 till the closing of the bar and he has to get it all out before they kick him out of the bar. It’s told in a manic, frenetic style, which is supposed to work because it is a manic, frenetic kind of story.
Ok sure, but not at all my style. The author was in such a hurry to tell the tale, that he made me in a hurry to get to the end. I would rather have something to savor. And for all his hurry, the femme fetale / love interest that the story hinges on doesn’t even make an appearance till 50% of the book is done. Everything before that point quickly felt like a lot of pointless lore I didn’t really want or care for. I don’t think the fact that the narrator lived in Minnesota ever becomes relevant to the punch line of the story.
Punch line? Yes. I used that word deliberately. I would warn you about spoilers, but I don’t think anyone should read this book.
The whole story revolves around the main character falling in love with a woman who then humiliates him in front of her friends during a party. That’s it. There was nothing else to it. Not even good or clever writing. It could have been condensed into a few pithy paragraph.
Right, so strong start to the return of this blog. Don’t read this.
Failures in Polymathy 