I get it's semi-autobiographical and all that. The amounts and different types of liquor consumed is astounding. The story is mainly just people with too much time on their hands getting drunk in one cafe or bar after another and having incredibly shallow conversations over and over again. The dialogue is just diarrhea. Nobody says a single thing of any depth, and the writing makes it seem all the relationships are superficial because they don't say anything to one another. Plus the main woman character has a boy name, that was odd.

I didn't hate it, it was a bit entertaining, and the portrayal of northern Spain and bullfight culture was actually quite good I thought. I love Spain and speak Spanish so I enjoyed that part of it. The contrast between Paris and Pamplona was done interestingly. But I couldn't really identify or sympathize with any of the characters. The only one that didn't come off like a drunk loser was Cohn, he just seemed like a lost/confused introvert, until all of a sudden it's revealed he IS an obsessive maniac. Oh of course Romero was idealized as the hero-worship target of the novel, which was fine.

This is supposed to be a roman a clef? Meaning the behavior, speech, and story are based in reality? Wow. Maybe I just don't get these people, what a weird life.