This has a really, I hesitate to use the word “fun” plot, because it’s, as you might expect, messed up. But it’s always engaging and you’re always trying to extrapolate where this may be going. And you may see the larger strokes, but the granular stuff that happens I don’t think anyone could possibly guess at. And that’s a plus in my book.

What bothers me about it though, is that most of the other elements of writing craft are sacrificed to generate the repeated shocks and twists and thematic through line. Because plotting wise, this is essentially nonsense. Similar to not being able to guess a plot beat, it forms a counter narrative to what is established where the reader has to fill in huge gaps of the plot themselves, asking a lot—probably too much—from the reader. Subjectivity is something I usually like. This feels more like not leaving intentional white space, but not caring at all to bring craft to bear on certain aspects of the book. The plot looses its lustre the more you think about it, as there are a lot of plot holes. Far more than is normal.

I did like what it had to say about sacrificing self to succeed and function in society, especially the intersections of that as pertaining to creating art, specifically. This, paired with just how compelling it was to consume, makes me think it’s worth a read. But it’s hard to imagine how it would exceed my expectations when it pretty much can only communicate what it’s about in a way that keeps you reading, but everything else, craft wise, is lacking.