I’m not a big sci-fi reader so the nearest analogue I can make for this is Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles. It is a collection of short stories around an overarching story.

I started off liking this but became more and more irritated as I went on, until it became quite torturous. I wondered why this might be.

The stories are morbid and ironic, which would normally be a big hit with me, but as I went on it rang false to me. I think my central problem is this feels like a child wearing the clothes of a grown up. As a pretentious teenager I soon realised that being morbid and ironic could give me the thrill of feeling adult and vaguely profound.

But, just like me as a teenager, this book is very childish. All the adults are either just like children, or their only characterisation is via their children. This became irritating to me as I simply felt there was no insight here. The author was reaching for depth but I don’t think they succeeded.

I suppose it doesn’t help that I had the Martian Chronicles in my head. There is a book that, even though it is a bit dated, is incredibly humane and understands what makes people tick. This book by comparison can only seem facile.

Still, I have given it 3 stars for a reason. I’d say about four of the stories here are very good indeed, and I had high hopes.