A review by postmodernblues
Burning Down George Orwell's House by Andrew Ervin

Did not finish book. Stopped at 34%.

Spoilers, probably, but I didn't make it that far anyways- I love Orwell (actually, I wouldn't say I love him, but I am fascinated by his work), and when I picked this book up I was hoping it was going to incorporate him into the story in an interesting way. But good lord, I cannot read another page of it. I don't know if it gets better, and frankly, I really don't care. I was really hoping this book would have something interesting to say about Orwell, about his history, about his work, about his politics, anything, but up until the point where I stopped, it was just passages of essentially mansplaining the plot of 1984. The whole reason Orwell is even important is because Ray, our protagonist, is totally obsessed with him. The reason for THAT is confusing, too, because it seemed to me as though Ray completely misinterpreted the themes of Orwell's book and became a big-time marketing executive who is painfully unlikable. Don't get me wrong, unlikable characters are great and absolutely have a place in literature. But only if you do it right. Additionally, I cannot take another whiskey-drinking scene. He's an asshole, he loves Orwell, he drinks whiskey a lot. Got it. I'm not necessarily angry at this book for being bad, but I am angry that it had so many interesting ideas, but it really seems like it has absolutely nothing to say and yet believes itself to be profound. 

To conclude, I'll leave you with a quote that I believe encapsulates the unfunny writing that seems to consider itself hysterical:

"Sometimes after work he would hit the bars with some coworkers or go on the occasional date and bring a girl home to make sweat angels in the bedsheets"

Sweat. Angels. 

I can't.