I read this book on my commute to and from work on my metro subway line and always had a seat open next to me b/c I was either laughing out loud or tearing up all in the span of a few pages. This is a remarkable book - an effortless, super-entertaining read about some serious life challenges that our semi-hero struggles to navigate. The fictional celebrity epigraphs at the beginning of each chapter are worth the purchase price all by themselves.
That was a rough Hollywood ride through 2 years of grief and pain. It was relentless, and there was many a moment I wanted to give up on this novel. The resolution was held off until the very final chapters, but there was resolution, redemption- and hope. I’m not sure why I hung-in; I guess I believed in the pain and I guess that the amplified self abuse rang true. I’m glad I read it; but I am glad that that is over.
Nope. Way too self-indulgent. For example, throwing in a few funny made-up actors and films/TV shows would have been great - putting some in every chapter meant it lost that spark. I like stories where an unreliable narrator gets more unreliable as things progress, but this took that to an unsubtle extreme (coyotes anyone?). Interesting themes of grief and body-image. And the narrator in the last 30 pages didn't seem anything like he was in the rest of the book - weird.