Hate the main character, not the book. Hate the main character AND the book. But don’t hate the book because of the main character. I mean, to give this book 1 star because you didn’t like the main protagonist is crazier than a clown glove reaching out of a cuckoo clock one minute before the hour…because the book, all books, can never be written with “you” specifically in mind. So, in short, get over yourself.
In a literary world engulfed by werewolves and vegetarian vampires, supported by a television schedule hell bent on nullifying the imagination of the planet, books like this are hard to find.
I mean, people watch Eastenders every night, what do people know?
Is it perfect? no. There are blocks of text, and on occasion the book gets engulfed in its own need to make the events plausible, almost (in my opinion) takes itself too seriously – but just reading a book that takes you into another book and then back round and into conciousness itself has to be worth a look.
Ariel, student/teacher of sorts reads a book she isn’t meant to read, and everything literally spirals, but not out of control, from there.
I would give this book 5 stars, but I’m more philosopher than scientist, so I tend to prefer floaty words of squish to structure; not that there aren’t plenty of lovely turns of phrase in The End of Mr Y.
For the originality of story, for the unabashed belief in writing the impossible – Scarlett Thomas, bravo.
*throws bouquet onto stage*
You can buy The End of Mr Y here: