Book No. 43 of 2025
I generally enjoyed this read but went back and forth on whether I really liked it or not, and at one point considered DNFing it. Muharrar is a really gifted observational writer with a knack for nailing descriptions of certain situations or personalities, and I was very tickled by the extreme LA-ness of the book (some aspects of which were so painfully accurate).
I also thought the story was engaging and well-crafted, without falling into the trap of using tropes or cliches, and appreciated how the author explores the complicated nature of grief and love. The relationship in the novel is one that straddles the boundaries of platonic and romantic love, and Muharrar, with observational insight, plumbs the complexity in it with relatability and understanding.
The reason I almost walked away from the book, though, was that the author has a tendency—it feels almost like a literary tic—to overuse a particular sentence form that is grammatically incorrect in a way that, imho, doesn’t have any stylistic justification. (I’m not super pedantic about grammar, and think intentional grammatical manipulation can be incredibly stylistically effective, but this is not one of those cases.) In addition to the irritation of experiencing continued low-key grammatical violence, I was bothered by the rhythmical deadness this syntax created. It was bothersome enough that, sucked in as I was by the story, I thought about abandoning the book several times.
In the end I was glad to have finished the book.
Similar Reads
The combination of London vibes, complicated feelings about love, and the nitty-gritty aspects of being an entertainer reminded me of Good Material by Dolly Alderton.