The Book of George by Kate Greathead
Kate Greathead’s millennial campus novel is a well-written portrait of a slacker that can't help but grate
It isn’t hard to see why Kate Greathead’s The Book of George, which follows its eponymous character from nascent literary ambition to middle-aged dissatisfaction, has been met with comparisons to John Williams’ now-classic campus novel Stoner.
Like Williams, Greathead’s writing is precise and wears its poignancy lightly, but (and it feels in bad faith to write this since it’s clearly the point) George is exhausting company. Uncomfortable in his own skin, he goes from feelings of superiority to self-pity in the length of time it takes to smoke a cigarette.
There’s a certain affable charm to George’s arrested development at first, because haven’t we all been somewhat dragged kicking and screaming into adulthood? In his total listlessness, George is almost an aspirational figure. Wouldn’t it be great to just coast?
But as the book goes on and his behaviour affects his loved ones – be it his perpetual scrounging, his never committing to anything, least of all his long-suffering on-and-off girlfriend Jenny (God bless you, Jenny) – it is just plain irritating.
He is that specific brand of guy who thinks that apathy is some sort of death sentence instead of a privilege; who thinks he’s living a waking nightmare, but whose only obstacle is himself. If you know a George, this may be a cathartic read. But if, like me, you try to avoid them, Greathead’s book – though well written – will drag.
