This book had the nerve, the audacity, and the unmitigated gall to come into my home where I pay the bills… and let me down.
On the bright side, however, at least it’s not a Percy Jackson movie.
I have so many issues with this book. But let me discuss first the brief list of things I liked about it: the fact that this is the book version of Pretty Women but with a refreshing subversive twist that’s embodied in the gender role reversal; the honest and clear-eyed exploration of money and how fortune does not touch everyone with the same hand; how there’s a real sense of culture and history in the depiction of Michael’s community (his Vietnamese heritage shines through and there's tremendous joy in his interactions with his family: the banter, the support, the kindness threaded through ruthless teasing); and the knowledge that the events in this book and the author’s continued research has inspired her to seek out a therapist and be diagnosed on the spectrum. It's very important to see autistic women at the forefront of efforts at representation, expanding the conversation and the vision for autistic characters.
I really wanted to love this book. But it was, quite frankly, boring, averagely written, and riddled with clichés. But what grates at me the most is the way The Kiss Quotient demonstrates great knowledge of vital issues only to overshadow the significance of its premise by refusing to delve deeper into something more nuanced and thoughtful. I expected more from this; more thoughtfulness, more artfulness, more craft. Instead, I was left uncertain how to feel about the whole thing—about an ending that felt easy and trivial, almost mocking the seriousness of the rest of the book, and a fizz of uneasiness that I couldn’t quite shake afterwards.
On the bright side, however, at least it’s not a Percy Jackson movie.
I have so many issues with this book. But let me discuss first the brief list of things I liked about it: the fact that this is the book version of Pretty Women but with a refreshing subversive twist that’s embodied in the gender role reversal; the honest and clear-eyed exploration of money and how fortune does not touch everyone with the same hand; how there’s a real sense of culture and history in the depiction of Michael’s community (his Vietnamese heritage shines through and there's tremendous joy in his interactions with his family: the banter, the support, the kindness threaded through ruthless teasing); and the knowledge that the events in this book and the author’s continued research has inspired her to seek out a therapist and be diagnosed on the spectrum. It's very important to see autistic women at the forefront of efforts at representation, expanding the conversation and the vision for autistic characters.
I really wanted to love this book. But it was, quite frankly, boring, averagely written, and riddled with clichés. But what grates at me the most is the way The Kiss Quotient demonstrates great knowledge of vital issues only to overshadow the significance of its premise by refusing to delve deeper into something more nuanced and thoughtful. I expected more from this; more thoughtfulness, more artfulness, more craft. Instead, I was left uncertain how to feel about the whole thing—about an ending that felt easy and trivial, almost mocking the seriousness of the rest of the book, and a fizz of uneasiness that I couldn’t quite shake afterwards.