After reading the description, I thought I was getting into a sort of highbrow hipster chick-lit narrative. It was in some ways, but this novel surprised me. Yes, it was definitely written with wit, but not to a fault. Certain scenes felt hyper realistic - especially ones that revolved around Mel and her antics, as if she was a dark version of the manic pixie dreamgirl. And sometimes I felt that it got mired in it's own intellectualism: I felt it difficult to visualize the animation in my head based on the very niche language used to describe the process, and all the cult animation talk smacked of elitist Rob on music in Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. However, just as Rob becomes a dear literary figure, so do Mel and Sharon. As the pretentious layers gets stripped away, various unexpected truths emerge about both of these vulnerable characters, and I couldn't help but empathize with them despite their flaws.

There is a lot of heavy stuff to ponder as they mine their personal lives for art, and I think it will stay with me for awhile. What makes a shared experience our story to tell? How much does reality mirror the life we live inside our heads? Does rehashing past trauma exorcise our demons or exacerbate them? How does that process affect our loved ones? How much do we really know the people closest to our hearts? This story took so many unexpected turns, and some horrible ones, that it took my breath away. There's an aura of melancholy throughout the book and I would caution anyone with emotional or traumatic triggers to research it before reading. It chewed me up and spit me out, but in a good way. It was an engrossing and indelible read.

Many thanks to Random House and NetGalley for an advance copy for my review.
(For more reviews and bookish musings: http://www.bornandreadinchicago.com/)