Adults by Emma Jane UnsworthMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
Hmmmmm. I took a chance on this because OMG I'M THIRTY-FIVE I SHOULD READ THINGS ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE ME.
Or not. Really, really not.
I finished this with the same kind of vague disconnect that I had reading Normal People; the kind of feeling that I should like this, I should relate, but I don't. Who are these awkward creatures posing as humans and doing these outlandish things that no one in their right mind would? There's a huge cultural divide, even after recently spending much time amongst these fancy white people.*
Sure, there were some things that pinged: an over-reliance on social media and its accompanying anxiety, the need to always perform, needing to disconnect but being unable to, the call of the aging female body to procreate**.
But it all hinged overly much on Jenny's neurosis, which flares in very unattractive ways.
Overall, Adults is a book with too much drinking and too little class. I am obviously not the target audience, despite the sad similarity in age and single status. I shall toddle back to my bright-eyed boys and girls trying to save the world with magic. Or dragons. Or both.
Note: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harper Collins via NetGalley. Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.
* Or, rather, not going out to avoid very drunk white people.
** If anything, the thing I related to the most was the confused desire of my bloody uterus to host a little alien in it. Whether or not I really do want to have kids or have any maternal instincts at all.
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