I usually grade on a bit of a curve on Goodreads, and even now I feel guilty giving this as low a rating as I did (I did finish it, the author worked hard on it, I don't want to be mean, etc. etc. etc.), but I did not care for this book. At. All. Mostly I finished it because I wanted to figure out exactly what it was that was bothering me about it. So here's my best assessment of my own feelings. First, this book was horribly overwritten. I was not at all surprised to see that the author came out of a world of writer's conferences and groups and circles, because so much of this felt like the kind of thing that other writers might find So Clever or Wonderfully Witty but that is, in fact, just top-heavy and silly. I like a good metaphor as much as the next reader, but not every observation needs one; I like specificity in my books, but you don't need to geographically locate every moment and add proper noun tags to every element. Secondly, there were way too many characters, and they all spoke and thought in the same entirely silly and arch way. I found myself wondering if this book had originally been much longer, and the author simply forgot that he cut out the parts of the character development that would have made us feel any of the emotions about the characters that they seemed to feel about each other. For example, the Widdicombs were supposed to be magically quirky and fascinating, but they did precisely nothing to earn that assessment within the four corners of the book; we just heard it constantly from other people. But maybe the most important reason this book bothered me was something else about the characters: they were shown up by the author to be essentially ridiculous and worthy of our laughter. I know this is meant to be a humorous novel, but to have the author laughing AT the characters, making them objects of eyerolling so often (or at least of MY eyerolling ... maybe this was just a personal feeling) just felt ... mean. Reviewers kept comparing this to the novel Less (color me shocked that the authors of the two books are friends with one another ... hence the glowing blurb), but I didn't feel that way at all. In Less, even when I was laughing at Arthur, I also FELT something for him. He felt like a real person who was acting absurdly or getting into absurd situations. There was some kernel of actual emotion at the center of what he was doing, so you could continue to root for him to find his way back to that. Reviewers also compared it to Arrested Development, but I see the same dynamic (putting aside the fact that this humor might work better on TV than in a book) - the Bluths are often terrible, ridiculous, laughable people, BUT you feel some sense of pity for them, and you see their ridiculousness in the light of a more sympathetic character who draws out feelings that are real. The people in this book - their relationships, their aspirations, their dialogue - were just pompous and silly. I didn't particularly care if things worked out for them because the things they wanted seemed empty and shallow. Maybe the real reason this book bothered me so much was because the reviews were so glowing, the sense of self-congratulations from the literary world was so strong, and at the end of the day, all I could see was an overly clever, self-congratulatory, mean book with an author who may have liked his characters but didn't respect them enough to make them real people. I actually don't regret finishing this, if only because it educated me in the mechanics of (bad) novel writing. I'll try to spare a little pity for the author and hope that he can put more heart into the next thing he writes.