Book Report: And Even the Rats Clapped

And Even the Rats Clapped
By David Argue

One Word: Don't.

This book looked so right up my alley:

"Dean had been in therapy since he was eleven, and had been clinically diagnosed by a sherry-glassful of experts as agoraphobic, claustrophobic, scared of heights, scared of depths, scared of Johnny Depp, Johnny B Goode, Johnny Weismuller and Barbara Streisand. In fact, there was nothing he wasn't scared of--Dean was an omniphobe, and a grumpy one at that."

This book starts entertainingly enough. First sentence:
"Dean didn't want too much from existence: a day in the sun, his feet in the wet cement outside Grumann's Chinese Theater, fifteen minutes of publicity, or at least a couple of minutes of decent television to help him endure the mundane hours of his tortured existence."

We find Dean in a cab, on the ride of his life. The writing is overly dramatic very long sentences, which quickly moves from humorous to annoying.

"Dean's eyebrows looked like a seismographic read-out and his erratic mind performed tortured circus rat tricks as he tried to fathom the depth of his predicament."

I don't even understand that. What the hell is a tortured circus rat? I spent an entire two minutes trying to figure it out.

At the end of the first chapter, Dean is at last dropped off outside his apartment. The story becomes entertaining again as Dean, whose DNA structure lacks the component necessary to be recognized by sensors on automatic doors, tries to get inside the building. He tries using a cat, then a dead pigeon--all the while being laughed at by the security guard who is watching from inside. This scene was written well, and I laughed.

But then it plummets. Once inside his apartment, Dean transforms in to a duck with breasts and red high heels. I continued reading, certain that things would turn serious again when Dean suspected his anti-psychotic meds had been tampered with. But instead, the grim reaper shows up at the front door.

And then, this:
"The door chimed 'Material Girl' again, insisting he respond. Dean didn't want to answer the friggin door! But it occurred to him that if he didn't answer the door, the book stopped here. Following to a T the author's uncompromising demands, Dean tried to slow the wheel by standing still, which didn't exactly work."

Are you kidding me? Is this for real? The 'wheel', by the way, refers to a giant exercise wheel (like for mice) that Dean has in his apartment and uses as a means to calm himself.

This book makes no sense and becomes a mockery of itself. I don't know what Argue was trying to accomplish here. I've read more coherent stories written by ten year olds on fanfiction.net. I mean seriously, how did this make it to print? Argue has a wild sense of humor, and I want to love him for it, but if he continues to write novels while tripping on acid, then I'll stick with Terry Pratchett.

I've officially abandoned this book.