Some books make you laugh. Some make you cry. This one made me question every choice that led me to page one.
I don’t even know where to start with Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal. Maybe with an apology to myself for finishing it. I only picked it up because I joined a new book club, and this was their December pick. I’m really hoping they branch out next time, maybe to something with a plot or characters who behave like actual humans.
Let’s begin with the narrator who, for reasons known only to Meghan Quinn and possibly the Ghost of Christmas Bad Decisions, keeps popping in mid-story to talk directly to the reader. Imagine watching a Hallmark movie, and every five minutes the director runs in front of the camera to wink and say, “Get it? Isn’t this cute?” No, sir, it is not.
Then there are the conversations, which are... I’ll be polite and say “painfully awkward.” Every line of dialogue sounds like it was written by someone who’s never actually spoken to another human. The characters themselves are so unrealistic they make Barbie look gritty. The sex scenes read like someone let ChatGPT write Fifty Shades of Peppermint Bark. I rolled my eyes so much they almost got stuck in the back of my skull.
If you’re looking for depth, chemistry, or believable human interaction, keep walking. But if you enjoy secondhand embarrassment wrapped in tinsel and topped with a talking narrator who won’t shut up, Merry Christmas, you filthy animal.
