maybe I just don’t like octopi

This book was EVERYWHERE for a bit, wasn’t it–“the octopus book”. I tried, I really did, but reading this was like pulling teeth.

Everything about it felt so aggressively predictable. It’s like the author learnt some cool facts about octopuses, had an idea for a book with a sassy main character with hidden depths, and dreamt this neat DRAMATIC CONNECTIVE TWIST…but then they got thrown into a blender, and the result was a book that’s painfully over-foreshadowed, like it’s just begging you to race to the end so you can finally, finally stop guessing what’s coming next.

The heart of my rage: Cameron. God, where do I start? If Marcellus the Octopus remained disappointed to learn that Cameron would be this walking disaster, I don’t blame him. Cameron is just the worst—he’s a whining, self-centered sad sack who barrels through life in this fog of incompetence, and it’s infuriating. He treats every female character like they exist to either fix his life or get out of his way. Incompetency wrapped up in “poor me” is not the move.

And honestly, the whole book is people constantly choosing not to talk to each other. “Oh, I could call, but nah.” “I should tell them the truth, but maybe I won’t.” It’s a parade of missed connections and non-communications, which, instead of building tension, just made me want to scream at the pages. Maybe I understand why Marcellus was so grumpy. Maybe he’d understand why I was so grumpy. Either way, I’m glad he got to peace out at the end and not have to solve the problems of these uncommunicative characters anymore.