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I was prepared to hate this book, based on other reviews I'd read, but I ended up rather enjoying it. It was pretentious, true, but I don't agree with what others have said that it would never have gotten published if the author hadn't been Arthur Miller's daughter. I've read a lot worse. *cough*NicholasSparks*cough*

The one jarring thing was the disjoint of the middle section, which switched to first person, and I could never really get back into the third person of the rest of the narrative in the last section.

It's true there was a lot of stuff in there that was pretty much just shock value, but I felt that the end really made up for it and left me feeling hopeful and satisfied. Maybe it just struck a chord with me, as I could see a lot of myself in the main character (not the sex and drugs part, but the whole ennui, drifting, living for and vicariously through your children, etc.).

The characters were interesting and had depth, and the style was easy to read without being simplistic. I found it a well put together book that was worth the couple of hours it took to read.