My copy of Plain and Normal is interrupted in the last quarter by another story for 48 pages. I don't know what this story was, but it seems to be a printing error. Two books got spliced together. But, it was a happy accident for me, for it interrupted the story I was reading for one I would redoubtably like more. I only feel sorry for the poor soul who got 48 pages of Plain and Normal.
So I never finished it. I try to finish all the books I start, but I'm just not going to spend the energy to find an unbroken copy. Not when I am certain to not enjoy it. Besides which, I don't feel that it's completely necessary. I've got a pretty decent picture of the book and though I don't know the ending, I can critique the writing style.
I didn't enjoy it. What I can say in favor of the book is that it has a very divided response. Some people love this book, and others simply hate it. While I am in the latter category, I can appreciate this accomplishment. My favorite works of my own are things which garner a split review.
The book just has such a "Maudlin" sense of humor. It can bee good from time to time, but it hardly makes up for the drabness of the overall work. The wretchedness of every single character. The frustration of every situation. It was annoying to pick up the book at all. Now, perhaps it's just me, but I can't understand why anyone would be so determined to fail in everything. So hell bent on making all of their communication, with everyone, fail. It's baffling, but more importantly obnoxious to read about.
Things just sort of happen. The book willy-nilly goes here to there and everywhere but instead of being interesting, being fun, it's just tiring and boring.
Others that didn't like this book liken it to Seinfeld, others to Woody Allen. If you like them, perhaps you will like this. It has a peculiar "1950's Brooklyn" reading style to me, somewhat reminiscent of Paul Zindel, but I remember liking The Pigman.
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