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I read books, I write about books, I would probably marry a book if I could find one who liked me enough. Three words to describe me mature, irresponsible, contradictory, unreliable...oh...that's four...

Bright Lights, Big City

Bright Lights, Big City - Jay McInerney Probably not wildly overrated (which is where I shelved it) but very much of its time. The second person conceit gets very wearing and there's more than a hint of autobiography about it, which ended up making me feel very impatient with both the author and his nameless protagonist as the latter brings disaster on himself. Still as an epitaph to a decade of excess, it's worth reading.