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I always see reviewers say that they “soooo wanted to like this book, but...��;Warp was kind of the opposite for me.

Here's the thing: the whole story is sparsely filled with disaffected douchewangs and self-propelled uselessness. No one in the book seems to genuinely care about anyone or anything, and I echoed the sentiment right back at it: I didn't like the characters; I didn't care about the story.

But...

Parts of Warp were so painfully resonant. I too have been darkly listless, apathetically aimless. My experience with those states vary widely from the main character Hollis', but that doesn't lessen the echo of my understanding.

I can't say it is a good book, though the writing skill itself is more than adequate. It is bleak and about nothing really at all. I can't say, either, that it offers inspiration or motivation. But it offers a raw recognition of a state of mind that we usually judge harshly, and maybe well under the apathy there can be gleaned some empathy.

I didn't want to like Warp. I don't know that I did. But I can see what Grossman was after, and I think I can appreciate that.

(Sill, in case disaffected douchewangery is somehow catchy, I really can't recommend this to anyone. One of the downsides of social distancing is that there isn't anyone around to tell me if this book has turned me into an asshat.)