What the hell…?
That was my first thought when I started reading this book. What the hell am I reading?
It was quite the adventure! And I am not even a hundred years old yet! How did he make it? Through it all? I have no idea. And you know what’s worse? Its impossibility (and improbability) is what makes it sound so possible (not probable, though).
I didn’t find it to be hilarious. Sarcastic? Yes. Ironic? HELL YES. I must confess, though, I did laugh out loud once or twice due to the dark humour that seems to run in this story’s veins almost as much as alcohol.
The writing? It’s not glorious. Far from it, actually. But then again, who would believe this story to be true if the writing was all worked up, right? This is something I believe Haida from Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami would definitely agree with me on.
I guess the point is, “[t]hings are what they are, and whatever will be, will be.“