I thought I was going to hate this book for the first fifty pages or so: a highly acerbic, unsympathetic narrator going on a rant. But Miles builds his character brilliantly, and the novel becomes, instead of a long complaint letter, a painfully self-aware confession.
"Regrets, I've had a few ..." Author Jonathan Miles has apparently had more than a few regrets. Yes, I do know this is fiction. But I simply couldn't subject myself to it. Imagine your elderly uncle who never stops complaining and is always going off on years-old grudges and past slights. Now imagine spending hours with him. That's how I felt after reading up to page 5. On page 5 he starts describing the health care aide in racist terminology, so that was it for me. Seriously, who reads this crap?
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