I read roughly 13% of this book before giving up, but my problems were pervasive enough that it felt like a good call.
I know this may seem odd, but I don't require my humor novels to be funny. Yes, I know that sounds, on the surface, like it would defeat the purpose of the endeavor, but there's a logic here. I've read a fair number Jim Butcher and Christopher Moore books, even though I find both authors deeply, almost achingly unfunny. But they tell fast-paced, engaging stories, often with characters I like despite the jokes. It's a bit like older relative whose company you enjoy despite corny stories and dated jokes lifted from old television.
That's fine. Humor is subjective. We're all unfunny to someone. Many of us are unfunny to most people. (Sorry to point this out, but sometimes your friends laugh at your jokes because they like you.) I don't begrudge people for telling jokes that don't land. This author in particular feels a bit like a Cathy comic strip, where the character brags about her vices like that confidence is hilarious. It's up there with people who constantly post Facebook image jokes about how funny it is to be addicted to coffee.
But it gets annoying when it's unrelenting. I was briefly acquainted with a guy who desperately wanted the people around him to find him funny. He'd throw out jokes that had the structure of something that should have played, but lacked the sort of feel for the room, that low level empathy for the audience that helps even a mediocre joke land, and there was no charisma to boost the soggy material. It made him exhausting to be around, because the jokes felt like something that everyone mentally tripped on.
And that's what LaManna does here. She mentally trips me up with endless banter and lame jokes every time I start trying to invest in the story. It kills the pacing, it wrecks the flow, and at times the quips feel like a substitute for real character interaction.
The characters also seem to lack self-awareness. The writer thinks the way these characters behave is awesome and hilarious, so there's no room for any sort of earnest exploration, or the sort of self-deprecating humor that might actually ground this sort of thing. It's a wish fulfillment where the protagonist gets to riff all their hilarious one liners, and no one is around to make them feel crappy when they don't land. Everyone who doesn't laugh is either dense or a killjoy.
And the focus on jokes seems to have left a lot of mechanical and structural issues. The book starts in medias res, but then vomits up a ton of exposition, killing the excitement. It's also sometimes pretty unclear what the characters are doing, or what actions are happening in what sequence. It felt like it needed another draft or a better editor.
Which is a shame, because it's not a bad premise, and the plot, when it reared its head, had potential, but it felt like trying to cross a shopping mall where every shop is a Spencer's Gifts.