Review: Booty Nomad, Scott Mebus

booty-nomad Sometimes you just gotta grab something completely out there, a book you’d never pick up on your trip to the bookstore, and be pleasantly surprised by it’s entertainment value. This is one such book.

Novelists like Helen Fielding and Kathy Lette introduced us to post-modernist women, successful at work, somewhat neurotic, looking for love, sex and a chance to escape the rat race. Chic Lit was born and men were left high and dry as the girls stayed home to have serious fun in bed … with a book or television show. At first men scoffed and huffed as they reached for the remote control and another chilled beer – Chick Lit was yet another of those incomprehensible things women do. Then the metrosexuals figured they weren’t that dissimilar and “Lad Lit” was born.

David has just dumped the girl he loves, not entirely sure why, but completely sure that he wasn’t happy with her. Thus the pain, the loneliness, and the dating game begins. While the Eater of Souls continually plucks at his conscience, he meets women whom he can never remember by anything else but their nicknames: Bendy Girl, Opera Girl, Relapse Girl, and lastly, The Goddess. Stressing about his job producing a puppet show, David often puts both feet in his mouth as he pursues happiness and love at all cost. The stretch where he swallows mushrooms on a camping outing with his boss, and his encounter with Dungeons & Dragons obsessed goth girls are truly hilarious.

Booty Nomad is a prime example of what a good beach book, bath book, or just a plain lie-in-bed-the-whole-of-Sunday book should be. It’s funny and sad; it’s honest about the lives that cosmopolitan twenty to thirty something men lead. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, with a lot of hankering for love thrown in. This, aside from the booze and embarrassments, of course. We can identify with the characters, and we laugh at the mess David gets himself into, because we’re only too glad it’s someone else doing it for a change.

Booty Nomad leaves us feeling better about our own lives. It’s all utterly escapist, sometimes totally forgettable, but that’s no reason not to enjoy the ride. – MacMillan

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