When I read Salinger's Catcher in the Rye I thought that the prose was appealing and the character insufferable, and I had the same reaction here, except this time it's characters (plural). Fuck me, do these people yammer on, obsessed with their own quarter-life crises and first world problems. As much as I admire the prose, with its "mute, fisty defenses of the nursery," by the end I wanted them all to shut up, just shut up, and I can't help but think that if they didn't admire the sound of their own voices beyond all else, they might not be as miserable as they clearly all are.

Insufferable.