ABOUT A BOY

What kind of a boy am I? I'm a petty, petty boy, the kind who's so petty that he finds his pettiness quite thrilling; the kind who'll push all limits to see how petty he can be, how much pettiness he can get away with. So say hurtful things to my ever-well-meaning parents I will, use the guile and treachery of twenty-first century metrosexual double-entendre on my faultless unsuspecting girlfriend I will, poke fun of fashion faux-pas('s?) I will, revel in my own pettiness I will.

What kind of a boy am I? I'm the oldest tewnty-one year old boy in the world, I'm also the youngest twenty-one year old boy in the world. I'm the kind of boy who writes paragraph after meaningless paragraph about himself on a medium as transient as the internet at and harbours dreamy dreams of publishing a novel about degeneration, directing a movie about death and smoking celebrity hookahs in arty-farty cafes in amsterdam with adoring female fans; all this at an age when his father sported thick moustache and sweated bullets at work to put food on the family table. Does the boy in question feel guilty? No because this boy is incapable of concience; this boy still finds it cool to waste away his life on drugs and alcohol, this boy thinks he's urban-bohemian-cool coz he wears psychedelic kurtas and quotes tagore, this boy truly believes his discman can see him through the worst life can throw at him, this boy's biggest achievement in twenty-one years is the goatee he wears with pride.

But this post isnt really about me. It wasnt intended to be anyway. The purpose of this post was to review a book I just finished-'About A Boy' by Nick Hornby, an author I hate on principle. I hate a lot of people but the reasons are normally unclear, even to myself. Some I hate because they wear tight pants, some I hate coz their denims are too baggy, some I hate because they know more women than I do, some I hate because they irritate me. But Nick Hornby I hate on principle.

I hate Nick Hornby because he's unabashedly pulp, and he revels in how pulp he is. I hate Nick Hornby because there are too many calculated pop references in his novels, references calculated to make u go "shit i feel the same way about that song/movie/celebrity." He sprinkles his references all over the place, and they creep up unaware on you till you live the life of his characters. He does it with elan; to do it, he sinks to levels of pettiness my own esteemed self will nevr allow me to explore, and I hate him for it. Reading his novels is like a head-on pettiness competion with him, and I'm always losing. I hate Hornby because his novels are basically chick-flick material, but theyre the kind of chick flicks that guys would want to watch(albeit on the sly), the kind that makes us go, "shit, that's sooo me." I hated him when I read his other best-seller, 'High Fidelity' and I hate him after reading About A boy.

But his novels I loved. Both novels, I devoured page after page, cant-take-my-eyes-off-you-esquely, in one sitting each. Because his novels are extremely likeable. High Fidelity was briliiant and funny and left you with that wierd feeling in your guts, and so did About A Boy. I actually watched the movie version(About A Boy-Hugh Grant) about two years ago and I didnt like it much, but I didnt want to like High fidelity the movie either. But reading the book, I have to say Hugh Grant did a helluva job; I can totally visualise him doing evry single thing thirty-six year old Will does in the book. The other important character is twelve year old loner, Marcus, resident wierdo and troubled child who befriends Will. Will in fact reminds me a lot of myself, just like the guy in High Fidelity did, and I wonder if its a common phenomenon, or maybe Hornby and I are brothers seperated at birth. Will is a cool guy, self-sufficient, and selfish, and the characters evolve and communicate and make friends with each other with such fluidity that its hard to believe theyre not real people. I hate spoliers, so Im not going to goive the story away, but its a great read. I love how its titled 'About A Boy', which could be a reference to either Marcus or Will, because they're both boys really, one by age, the other by choice.

I dont really know how to end this, now that I've raved about a book who's author I hate on principle. (I may have mentioned that earlier) So I'll go back to the begining, namely, moi.

What kind of a boy am I? I'm the kind of boy who's so petty he wont let his admirtaion for a novel(two, actually) come in the way of his hatred for the author, because principles are not to be fucked with. I'm the kind of boy who's so petty he has principles. Beat that, Mr. Hornby.