My rating: 2 of 5 stars
I got this book because it sounded like a Nick Hornby book, and I was in the mood for some comedy. The description I read said something about coworkers at Staples writing diary entries to each other, and one writes his first novel, Glove Pond(a book inside a book). I thought it would be full of clever, witty banter and maybe some sarcasm and black humor. It's ironic that the would-be author of Glove Pond, says that he is trying to write a novel full of clever, witty banter; ironic because niether Glove Pond or The Gum Thief has anything remotely witty or clever in it. The characters are depressed, and though they write long and hard about the pointlessness of life, of how they are too old to do anything great anymore, or about how everyone in their life leaves them eventually, they don't seem to benefit from this cathartic journaling--instead, everything in their life just seems to get worse.
The book inside a book, Glove Pond, follows two absurd characters throwing a dinner party, and while slightly amusing, the characters are ultimately so tragic that all it leaves you with is saddness.
The whole book read like an off-off-off Broadway play. And not one I'd want to watch.
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