Waratah wrote:
Waratah wrote:
Forgive my laziness. Is there a review here of Quent's book yet? Mine's still in the post somewhere, but Torq's had his for a week and a couple of others have theirs it seems.
I've received my copy of Quent's
The World's Friendliest People and have read a few chapters.
So far it appears I've been ripped off. This is simply 'Robot Mode' rebranded (his first novella, based on a short story of the same name, both at least five years old and available on his blog). Perhaps he's given it a different ending...
Nope. The whole thing is available here. If there's any difference, I didn't notice, and have now read it twice, several years apart.
http://robotnovel.blogspot.com.au/There are two ways of looking at this book, fiction or autobiography, and it's hard to say which is more depressing. The overuse of expressions - for example the only way he could leave a chair, sofa etc, was to spring from it; 'or something' was a constant refrain; same expressions from most characters - left you uncertain whether it was the protagonist or the author whose language and social skills were limited, or whether he was ripping it off from Holden Caulfield and freebasing it.
It's the story of a nameless, awkward and underachieving anti-hero, (somewhat pretentiously borrowed in equal parts from Salinger and Hemingway), who decides to break free from his bogan Auckland mates, move out and meet new people. If you know OBIS, you'll immediately appreciate the temptation to see this as autobiography: a rapid succession of houseshare experiences where everyone else is a basket-case but who invariably feel justified in treating him as a doormat. It's like Birmingham's
Falafel, except the housesharers are uninteresting, unfunny, and unidentifiable.
It has a beginning, middle and end only if you're counting the pages, as you will be quite early in the experience. There is not so much a plot as a stitching together of three already published short stories, and the only attempt to underlay a theme is the entirely unnuanced idea that everyone in New Zealand is a chippy and nationalistic, neurotic bogan, with an offensively inflated opinion of himself. It's very easy to suspect Quent had a very hard time finding somewhere to live in New Zealand for very long time, and this is why he has spent the last decade elsewhere.
I'd give away the ending, but there isn't one, however it's inspiring in at least two ways. Firstly, this is a book that will make you want to punch every character in the face, including the women. Secondly, it will inspire even reluctant authors to publish that one novel they say everyone has in them, safe in the knowledge it won't be the worst.
Highly recommended.
The sulky-looking girlfriend began shrieking like an actress in a horror movie. A fainting scene was surely on the way.