Snarky, snobby and nothing happens – usually a recipe for disaster for me, but not this time. It’s just a story about Graham and his wife. And his ex-wife. His doorman. His neighbor. His son’s piano teacher. Origami. Visiting labradors.
There’s a New York-assumption tied to the book – surely the reader knows her way around the city. Or at least has a healthy respect for all that is Manhattan.
And Graham is not a good person. Not serial-killer level. But a degree of self-absorption with no self-awareness that makes half the book so ironic. I would read a page then reread it and laugh at the irony. There was such a snarky, in-on-this-joke undertone to this book. I can see it being off-putting to some readers, but I loved it.
There are similarities between this book and The Nest (which I loathed). To me this felt happier and moved more quickly. This book didn’t take itself seriously at all.