A wickedly funny and unexpectedly touching romantic comedy, shot through with vibrant, witty, dialogue and lovably mixed up characters How could I have loved the Eater of Souls, you might ask? She played games with my head, she mocked my insecurities, she refused to have sex with me because she said she felt like her dog was watching. Her dog was in New Jersey. She just felt like he was watching. You know, across space and time. He was that kind of dog. But despite all this she was perfect for me. That is, until one day I woke up and looked over at her sleeping face and noticed something. I was unhappy. I loved her, I ache for her to this day, but I wasn't happy. So I did the hardest and most courageous thing I have ever done. I broke up with her a month later by e-mail. Okay, in many ways, I'm small. But I'm trying to get bigger. David's a wreck. He doesn't know how to get over the Eater of Souls. with a salt shaker); he's tried looking at his female friends in a new light ('it would make it so much easier if I already knew the next girl of my dreams'); his friend Annie baked him cookies (she's wonderful, but like a sister); and he's hung out a lot with Jim (who has a kinky thing going with some internet Goth chicks). So far, though, he still feels the Eater there, like a phantom limb after a painful amputation. And then he meets the Goddess. She's funny; she's beautiful; she works with problem children, for goodness sake: she's perfect. David's clearly got about a one in a million chance of not screwing this up...
And so from 19th century chauvinism to Noughties chauvinism in one fell swoop. I'm not averse to 'd**k-lit' - Hornby, Parsons, even Gayle - but this is proof positive that a good stand-up comic does not necessarily make a good novelist. Actually, I've never heard of the guy, so have no evidence that he's even a good stand-up. It's all a bit ADHD; the rapid-fire one-liners don't really translate well to the page, and there is no narrative impetus to speak of.
Novelists like Helen Fielding and Kathy Lette introduced us to post-modernist women, successful at work, somewhat neurotic, looking for love, sex and a chance to escape the rat race. Chic Lit was born and men were left high and dry as the girls stayed home to have serious fun in bed … with a book or television show. At first men scoffed and huffed as they reached for the remote control and another chilled beer – Chick Lit was yet another of those incomprehensible things women do. Then the metrosexuals figured they weren’t that dissimilar and “Lad Lit” was born.
David has just dumped the girl he loves, not entirely sure why, but completely sure that he wasn’t happy with her. Thus the pain, the loneliness, and the dating game begins. While the Eater of Souls continually plucks at his conscience, he meets women whom he can never remember by anything else but their nicknames: Bendy Girl, Opera Girl, Relapse Girl, and lastly, The Goddess. Stressing about his job producing a puppet show, David often puts both feet in his mouth as he pursues happiness and love at all cost. The stretch where he swallows mushrooms on a camping outing with his boss, and his encounter with Dungeons & Dragons obsessed goth girls are truly hilarious.
Booty Nomad is a prime example of what a good beach book, bath book, or just a plain lie-in-bed-the-whole-of-Sunday book should be. It’s funny and sad; it’s honest about the lives that cosmopolitan twenty to thirty something men lead. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, with a lot of hankering for love thrown in. This, aside from the booze and embarrassments, of course. We can identify with the characters, and we laugh at the mess David gets himself into, because we’re only too glad it’s someone else doing it for a change.
Booty Nomad leaves us feeling better about our own lives. It’s all utterly escapist, sometimes totally forgettable, but that’s no reason not to enjoy the ride. – MacMillan
crappy post-gen x book about twentysomething dating, written by someone obviously well beyond his twenties. i couldnt put down the trainwreck, it got worse and worse. bad metaphor led to bad stereotype led to bad simile, repeat.
I can't relate with blandly self-destructive middle-class blokes who feel sorry for themselves when a relationship doesn't work out, and create drama when they can't cope with the fall out from their choices.
There are some funny things in this book, individual scenes that really work, plus the running gag of the phone calls from the Eater of Souls, but ultimately this reads like yet another Friends knockoff about aimless people in New York looking for love and something more than a paycheck.
To begin with I was merely finding it dull and self-absorbed, but having just given up on both Captain’s Bloody Mandolin and Transmission after three chapters I was desperate to finish a book. But then I got to a section with more egregious errors about autism than I thought could be squeezed into one mind, and off went the book to the charity shop.
I picked this book up from the bargain bin solely judged by its cover, it's what I do. And this book did not disappoint! I loved the witty one liners and the message hidden inside, or maybe it's just how I read it, but I loved it!
I picked this book up because I read a few pages of Big Happy, another of the author's novels, and enjoyed it before foolishly lending it to someone. Also, the title is funny. OK, the title is hilarious and it was hard not to giggle while taking it to the counter to check out.
I was really surprised how much I enjoyed this book. It was a interesting look at the inner life of what seems to be a pretty regular guy in his late 20's. He realizes he hates his job and the One has become an Eater of Souls. What's a guy to do?
Charming and laugh out loud funny at time. The main character, Dave, is a charming goof-ball who you can't help but like despite his "verbal hemophilia". It kind of reminded me a bit of a Nick Hornby style book - double bonus!
It's been a while since I read this one, but it's funny how it keeps coming up in conversation.
I tried to order this book, but I think it has gone out of print :(
So...maybe this means Scott Mebus should write a new book for adults? His YA series, Gods of Manhattan is awesome!
Well, I'm clearing my shelves of library discards. I had picked this up for my husband, but he wasn't interested, so I read it.
This is in the genre of whatever the male equivalent of chick-lit is. It focuses mainly on the protagonist's relationships, including the one with himself. The cast is colorful, and the characters are well-developed and likeable. Twenty-somethings, the main characters are all looking for something, but aren't really sure what it is. The minor actors are a hoot, and it's obvious this book was written with a lot of love. Enjoy!
The inside cover reviews promised I'd "laugh out loud" and I did...this is beach holiday reading, something you won't mind if you left by the pool, and funny? Well, YES. The characters are a wee bit shallow for me though, I liked them, laughed at and with them but... Bought at Tauranga airport's book table because it looked the most interesting. It probably was.