

Nope. When I go into a book knowing there's a semi-absurd premise, something where you're going to work extra hard to suspend disbelief and not think too hard about the details, I'm looking for the result to be charming or meaningful. I feel like this book didn't manage either.
Started out thinking it could have been a novella, now convinced that amount of plot and original rumination minus the redundancies would have fit in a short story. 1/?
I think it's among the scientific literature nowadays that people's natural happiness level varies person to person, something to do with genetics and brain chemistry, beyond what outside factors could modify it, and this story felt like a 22h
The text just barely grazes against the whole, 'many types of privilege, reasons why he's actually very lucky even if one might not rate his life spectacular' which at this point feels so well covered in attempting to gain a more intersectional understanding in non-fiction of how various minorities 22h
And really most of this book, wherein one might assume the author wants us to recognize the many sources of contentment and simple joys in our lives, is chock-full of anxiety-generators: a large unpaid expense coming out of the blue, the idea that 'the best things in life are free' is no longer a reality, and you 22h
Maybe there's an unconvincing romantic thread that's supposed to be blossoming in those phone conversations but for most of it he's being a whiny, entitled ass.
22h
I just - if the author was sincere then I'm sorry I didn't receive whatever he was trying to get across. If this was actually a cynical cash grab in the YOLO/self-help adjacent/contemporary feel-good genre than I'm not surprised and also very comfortable with the fact that I basically just roasted it. 🔥 (edited) 22h