This book seemed promising. I hoped it would open my eyes to our commercialised world whose motto seems to be ‘money can buy you happiness’. It did nothing to add to my own opinion and tries to be everything at the same time: a self help book, an advice column and a how-to guide on being happy. I hate when books imply that we can be happy if we do certain things. No we can’t. We are all different and yes, some of us can be happy by buying things, not just for ourselves but for others as well.
The structure wasn’t that good either. The book was loosely connected and felt like McCarthy was just reeling of various anecdotes that at times felt completely random and felt a little bit inappropriate at certain times and ruined the atmosphere making it awkward and quite frankly, uncomfortable instead of feeling like I had just stumbled upon something thought provoking and whimsical.
However, for all these negative qualities, there is one defining quality of the book which pulls it out of the mud. McCarthy talks candidly about his depression. He talks very matter of factly about it and there are no bells and whistles masking it. He mentions what helped him and how it affected him. Not many people talk about their depression in reality, let alone write about it. So for that I commend McCarthy.
Overall, a promising book but it failed to deliver. The potential was lost.
Rating: 2 1/2 stars.