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Why did the American empire at its zenith produce so much depressing art? This book is about a guy who hates normal American life so much that he cannot wait to join the army. He gets into a petty fight with his relatives kid while waiting for the summons from the American army. That scene stayed with me. Pesky kids are underrated nuisances and villains in all societies. The protagonist cannot seem to stop making a fool of himself in this book.

Freedom actually sucks? We are all waiting to get into some kind of trap or the other? We long for some kind of trap from where we can simply pass the days so that it does not destroy us? Find your own trap. If only we all had a disciplinarian in our life. I think everyone longs for that benevolent disciplinarian like they long for the perfect lover. Like they long for the perfect porn or the perfect food. Maybe that is a cool start-up idea.

I read this while I was in Mumbai. A long time ago. Why do I discover these depressing American books? The purpose of all writers is to side with and offer sympathy to the malcontents of their own tribe. This book does so emphatically.