It reads like a bad thesis paper, as if someone were assigned the project of researching identity creation and thought it would be clever to format all five hundred facts in a single narrative. It is pointless, ridiculous, self-impressed drivel. You can feel Clevenger’s ego dripping onto each page, not unlike the praise of pretentious hipsters who fawn over the novel.

Using the term ‘novel’ quite loosely.

I read this a few years ago at the behest of those whose recommendations I trusted. No more suggestions from them, thanks.

The cover of this book has a quote from Chuck Palahniuk saying it’s the best book he’s read in a decade. My immediate reaction was to think that this book was going to be very similar to a Palahniuk book. And it is. It employs a lot of the same techniques, which by this point are almost cliches. It’s written pretty well, in some places, better than Palahniuk. It has an interesting non-chronological structure and it’s a page-turner. I read it in a day. It was pretty fun to read, but it didn’t leave me with anything. It failed to make an impression other than that of being a very good imitation of Palahniuk, who is himself wearing a bit thin.