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24hourlibrary 's review for:
High Fidelity
by Nick Hornby
Ugh. Ughhhhh. Look, I realize the whole point of this book is Rob's insufferable self-pitying and lack of external awareness, but ugh. It was just too much for me. High Fidelity might've made a better novella for how repetitive it is, though even then, .
High Fidelity isn't without its better parts -- I admittedly laughed out loud at some of the lines. Rob is well-drawn, too, as are his buddies at the record store he owns(! More on this in a second), though for my purposes, they were as interchangeable as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Rob constantly comes back to this idea that he's a loser, often citing his failing record store as evidence. Perhaps this is my pessimism from living through the Great Recession, but it seems owning a record store -- even one that is not patronized terribly well -- is an impressive feat. And maybe this is part of the point. Maybe Hornby's whole thing about Rob is that his actual self isn't his problem, but that his self-esteem is the problem.
I can't say. It's a coy book, which some readers like, naturally, but I generally find to be annoying. On top of Rob's tediously self-pitying, self-indulgent prose, I found High Fidelity to be more or less what I imagine "men's fiction" to be. It's fair to say that Hornby's dry British sense of humor probably saved me from eye rolling every page, limiting it to just every other page instead. Not my cup of tea.
Spoiler
I'm left with reservations about Laura's role and whether she's essentially just another manic pixie dream girl. While Rob appears to take a good deal of the responsibility for his change, I'm not convinced the change would have come about without LauraHigh Fidelity isn't without its better parts -- I admittedly laughed out loud at some of the lines. Rob is well-drawn, too, as are his buddies at the record store he owns(! More on this in a second), though for my purposes, they were as interchangeable as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Rob constantly comes back to this idea that he's a loser, often citing his failing record store as evidence. Perhaps this is my pessimism from living through the Great Recession, but it seems owning a record store -- even one that is not patronized terribly well -- is an impressive feat. And maybe this is part of the point. Maybe Hornby's whole thing about Rob is that his actual self isn't his problem, but that his self-esteem is the problem.
I can't say. It's a coy book, which some readers like, naturally, but I generally find to be annoying. On top of Rob's tediously self-pitying, self-indulgent prose, I found High Fidelity to be more or less what I imagine "men's fiction" to be. It's fair to say that Hornby's dry British sense of humor probably saved me from eye rolling every page, limiting it to just every other page instead. Not my cup of tea.