Book #88
When it comes to relationships, Colin Singleton's type happens to be girls named Katherine. And when it comes to girls named Katherine, Colin is always getting dumped. Nineteen times, to be exact.On a road trip miles from home, this anagram-happy, washed-up child prodigy has ten thousand dollars in his pocket, a bloodthirsty feral hog on his trail, and an overweight, Judge Judy-loving best friend riding shotgun--but no Katherines. Colin is on a mission to prove The Theorem of Underlying Katherine Predictability, which he hopes will predict the future of any relationship, avenge Dumpees everywhere, and finally win him the girl.
This was hot fucking garbage, and carried with it most of things I hate in life, including, but not limited to, petulant males, males who are under the impression they’re funny, fatphobia, characters who are caricatures, and most importantly of all, mathematics.
You would think this novel would be focusing on Colin’s nineteen ex-girlfriends, all named Katherine. Instead, we see him being unceremoniously chucked by the most recent, and are embroiled in his woeful lamenting of the fact. We then head on a road trip with Colin and his friend, and spend the rest of the pages jogging along to Green’s dull impressions of teenagers.
There’s nothing good here. The characters are unengaging and unlikable, the plot is utterly pointless, and there’s nothing to take away. A mere mixture of teenage angst and (oddly, irritatingly) mathematics theorem.
I can’t spend another moment thinking about this book, so I'll leave you with some thought-provoking clippings I took the liberty of writing down:
“She was incredibly hot - in that popular-girl-with-bleached-teeth-and-anorexia kind of way.”
“Getting a gun in Gutshot, Tennessee, is easier than getting chlamydia from a hooker.”
“They took off running like a couple of spastic marathoners.”
Delightful.