Feed by M. T. Anderson

That’s the problem with literary fiction. It makes you feel.

And that’s what Feed did to me, and I actually sort of hate it for that. I don’t like sad stuff. I don’t like it when the dog dies, and I don’t like waves of hopelessness crashing into the beaches of my brain.

So, thanks a whole effing lot, M. T. Anderson. [Don’t worry, the dog doesn’t die. There is no dog, because Feed takes place on an earth where animals can’t even live anymore. All the dogs probably died way before the story begins.]

Okay, in all seriousness: Feed was amazingly written. I already heard literary agents praise its voice, so I was totally paying attention to that. I’m also really big on unique idioms and slang for unique worlds. Apparently Anderson is really big on this too, because in a couple of places the slang was nearly indecipherable. In fact, I’m still unsure of whether a “youch” girl is good-looking or just the opposite.

*vague spoiler alert*

But did it have to be so bleak? I mean, come on. There was like the barest note of positive at the end—the smallest straw of positive—so small I could barely grasp it—and the entire time I’m reading I’m quoting T. S. Eliot in my head (which you know is a bad sign):

“This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.”

Let me emphasize that my discomfort with this book is more about me than the book itself. As I said, the writing’s great, as is the story. It’s just my own preference is for something a little lighter that doesn’t have me reaching for the Prozac after the story ends.

The whole thing with the lesions: disgusting.

Funniest part: the beef farm. But I had to stop eating my breakfast while I read it.

Saddest bit: disposable table. Okay, that’s not really the saddest bit, but it was pretty sad. Just, the state of the world, that people not only dine on disposable dishes, but they throw their table away at the end of the meal.

Am I glad I read it? Yes. Will I buy the book to enjoy again? Not a chance. I prefer my happy endings, thank you.

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