Transylvania Red Book

I'm left not knowing how I feel about this book. It was from bizarro world. The protagonist is a one-hit wonder of the literary world that can't seem to get that second novel underway (and is awful to her fans). Her interpersonal relationships are excruciatingly strained or nearly non-existent, and as a result of her intense daddy issues, she's obsessed with Little House on the Prairie and a New York filmmaker (a thinly veiled Woody Allen) to a disturbing degree. She's a thief, a liar, a ball-buster and incredibly self-righteous (and, hey, self-loathing too!), and the people in her life are no better. There's the boyfriend with whom she never seems to actually talk about anything, the obnoxious fan/stalker/nemesis who set them up and then does her best to tear them apart, and, of course, the source of so many of her issues, her father. Oh, and let's not forget Arthur Weeman. BIZARRE.

And yet. YET. By the end I was somewhat pleased, perhaps because she had gotten a little of what was coming to her, both good and bad. Or maybe because it was over. I'm still not sure.


If I could, I'd give it two-and-a-half stars, but in the meantime, I'll go for two.