When I was recommended this book, I was expecting the sort of humour often present in medicine to shine through. Being the child of two nurses and a close friend of numerous more, I know that brand of quick, dark wit well, and while I feel the shadow of it was present, I feel like the writer (or editor) was too worried about being popular to everyone to actually go the whole hog and embrace it for fear of it going over people's heads.
While I can appreciate vignettes, especially ones interlinked, like Patrick Maber's Closer (though his is far more structured, and not a short story collection), I struggled to see the importance in why I was being shown the scenes chosen. Don't get me wrong, I get it, but I don't feel the book says anything poignant, and isn't grounded enough to pull off a brutal realist non-plot. There characters weren't terrible, but I found them a tad wooden. I just got this feeling throughout the book that the author didn't know where it was going, which is a great shame. I wasn't expecting a rigid structure- it was a series of snapshots after all, but even snapshots tend to have a direction to them.