Real Life, by Brandon Taylor.

I’d heard fantastic things about this book, and I agree with none of them. Wallace was annoying and nauseatingly self-deprecating; I don’t understand certain writers’ obsessions with romantically pairing a Black character with a racist white one and forcing the Black character to see the racism through for the sake of partnership, like that wouldn’t have seriously dangerous implications in real life (no pun intended); the book didn’t have a payoff at the end—literally nothing happened—so I closed it feeling like I wasted 6 days of my life being immersed in nonsense.

It just wasn’t good, y’all. It wasn’t good.

Purchase here, or don’t.