Well,'I have no idea how to review this book. I could say it kind of reminds me of 'Fight Club', but that would be a lie.
So the narrator basically loathes his life, well not his life but 'life' on general, he doesn't feel part of anything and so he is just there... Standing by, drawing some conclusions on the modern society. I won't debate whether they were right or wrong, but just how they were written. I mean, this book is like the quintessence of how French intellectualoids must think, or at least the words they use. At some points I couldn't help myself but laugh. He uses so many metaphors and complicated words mixed with some argot that gives the impression he is actually saying something really deep. But if you read it twice, he really isn't.
I liked the beginning, how the character tried to keep away from everything that implies living a little or how cynic (or even more than that) he is. But then things become a bit too weird, a bit too gross, morbid. Felt strange. So, after writing this I guess I know better how to mark it.