Charlotte Street, by Danny Wallace, was the next book in a couple of my ongoing literary themes. For one, it was the most recent of the "books I picked out randomly from a bookstore" subset -- my most cherished pastime. Second, as it turns out, this was but another in a long line of "angsty twentysomething male charmingly tries to put his life together" novels which I hold so dear. That series, of course, contains such gems as Twentysomething (creatively titled), Mammals: A Novel, The Beautiful and Damned (possibly the least flattering list in which Fitzgerald has ever been included) and pretty much everything Nick Hornby has ever written. I have enjoyed them all, to varying degrees, and this was no exception. Actually, it was an exception. The protagonist in Charlotte Street was actually thirtysomething -- a fact that gave me great piece of mind. Perhaps the protagonists in these novels will simply age with me. How very comforting...yet also appalling. Get it together, fictional characters.
This book had a lot of attributes I really enjoyed. Danny Wallace writes with tremendous voice and, especially at the start of the book, is quite literally laugh-out-loud funny. There was one point on a United Flight from St. Louis where I had to put the book down and compose myself for fear my laughter convulsions would wake my sleeping wildebeast of a seat neighbor. Thankfully, the crisis was averted and the beast slept on. There were also many traits that kept Charlotte Street in the pedestrian world of three stars. After a very strong first half, the plot failed to keep my attention for the home stretch and throughout the book I had trouble understanding why many characters behaved the way they did (perhaps it's an English thing). But my main complaint about Charlotte street was this: I didn't like the main character, Jason Priestly.
Apart from the "shares a name with a celebrity" gimmick, something about this guy just rubbed me the wrong way. Sure, objectively he made a lot of mistakes and hurt people along the way but I'm someone who actively roots for the murderous Walter White in Breaking Bad. Clearly, moral transgressions are not a deal breaker for me in the protagonist department. I think my main irritation was that Jason Priestly is just such a whiny, pansy of a man. Now listen, I am not claiming to be a shining example of modern masculinity. I ask my landlord to change light bulbs, I'd call my abilities to drive a stick shift "non-existent" and I have been told by more than one female that I have "really soft hands." John Wayne, I am not. But come on, Jason Priestly! I can't respect a man in his 30s who constantly whines about how bad his luck is and what a depressing situation he's in. Want to know a great way to have bad luck with women? Complain about your life all the time! Alright...I'm not sure I'm getting through to him. I tried.
Since I did actually enjoy the book on the whole, I'd like to point out one other aspect which I thought was a tremendous positive. As the cover of the book says, Charlotte Street is "A heartwarming everyday tale of boy stalks girl." Basically, Jason has a chance encounter with this mystery woman and spends most of the book trying to track her down. As a plot device, I loved it. I thought the author did a fantastic job of showcasing how such a random crush on what's essentially a stranger can totally brighten your life. We've all been there. The cute girl on the elevator, the new co-worker you haven't met yet, a random McDon...err, Starbucks barista: for that brief window they can put a bounce in your step and make waking up in the morning the easiest thing in the world. Even when you're Jason "I'm an annoying, aging hipster" Priestly.
Overall, I'd call Charlotte Street an enjoyable, if flawed, example of easy-to-read fiction. I think this is appropriate given my next book will likely be A Man Called Intrepid, which promises to be an enjoyable example of exhausting-to-read nonfiction.