I have read some really awful books this year, but until No More Mr. Nice Guy I’d managed to trudge all the way through to the end of them. It blows my mind that the author won the Man Booker prize (for another book). I cannot imagine this guy writing anything that’s even worth staying awake to read, let alone worthy of a prize.
The protagonist is going through a mid-life crisis, and so he decides to track down a series of women he’s had mostly unsatisfying sexual relationships with over the years. I’ve read other reviews that took issue with the cussing. Being 1/3 sailor myself, I didn’t mind that, and I wasn’t put off by the graphic sexual details either – though they were plentiful.
What did put me off, and eventually led to me putting the book down, was that this guy could write about such sensational stuff, and somehow the result is one of the most boring books I’ve ever read. Seriously, a snooze fest. The writing was dull and rambling. Even the ‘shocking’ parts were dully told. I made it more than halfway through the book and I do not feel even the tiniest bit guilty for not finishing it. Good riddance.