The most concise way to explain my feelings about this book would be simply to say that I hated it and have described it to friends as the worst book I have ever read. It got off to a strong and you could say explosive start in every sense of the word, but it was all downhill from there. It was the first time I have read something by this author so I don't know if her writing style is to drag out events for chapters rather than pages but it was the book equivalent of watching a TV drama that includes every detail of the characters lives from what they ate for breakfast to how many times they went to the bathroom. I don't care just tell me the story! The story itself is actually quite good but is completely overshadowed by the endless descriptions of the main character's daily life and a convoluted writing style. The main character, a young boy living in New York loses his mother in a terrorist attack and is sent to live with his estranged father in Las Vegas, who we know from the offset is not going to be a model father. Cue a good third of a very long book repeatedly telling us about the boy and his friends daily drug and alcohol binges. I did not need to be told about fifty different examples of a fourteen year old boy getting drunk and waking up hungover; we all know what hungover feels like. In my opinion this whole section of the book added absolutely nothing to the main story of the book. It does however manage to pick itself back up when we rejoin the main character about a decade later. I think I was supposed to feel sorry for the boy in this book but you can only read about someone's problems with alcohol and drugs before you want to slap them and tell them to just pull themselves together. I'm incredibly proud of myself for actually bearing with this book and finishing it, what could have been a good story completely overshadowed by drawn out nonsense.
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