![]() ![]() They get tipsy, or drunk, talk about nothing in particular with the other guests, and eventually make their way back home by grabbing a taxi. Isa and Gala meet up with some people they may or may not know at a bar or at someone’s flat. Sadly, I found many of the scenes in Happy Hour to be repetitive and interchangeable with one another. The dialogues have a mumblecore vibe to them so that many of the conversations sound like something we ourselves have heard in RL (the kind of small talk that happens at wannabe-artsy-parties etc). While she does feel detached from those around her, her running commentary is as sharp as a knife. We have a wry narrator who is in her twenties, prone to self-sabotage, alienated 24/7, and leading a rather directionless life. Happy Hour implements the kind of literary devices and motifs that are all the rage in a certain subset of millennial literature. But, it was an unfunny, shallow, and monotonous story about young pretty people who enjoy drinking and eating at ‘in’ bodegas. ![]() That is not to say that Happy Hour has no merits, if anything, my frustration towards this novel stems from the fact that, in many ways, this could have been an excellent read. Nice enough while you’re having them but once they are gone you’re prepared to move onto something more substantial. I’m thinking of an Aperol spritz and some black olives. “It takes practice to have restraint, and we are not yet at an age to try it out.”Īs the title and cover themselves suggest, Happy Hour is the book equivalent of an aperitif. ![]()
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