I am George--the real George

I am in the middle of a novel by Caitlin Macy--The Fundamentals of Play. I am literally in the middle. Page 145 of 289.

The book has been lying, spine up, open to page 145 for weeks. I am just not interested. But I feel I've invested to much to give up now.

I don't like the characters: George (who also narrates), Chat, Harry, and Kate. The very names reek of pomposity. I think I might like George... but I like the real guy. The actual person Caitlin Macy went to school with. He is me--I think. A "too nice" guy who, I am certain, will get screwed by page 289--and not in a good way.

He is the only guy in the story you can root for to get good-way screwed, but he never will, because he's not exciting enough for Caitlin--or Kate. Kate likes the bad boys. Not the bad, bad boys... but the Wall Street and yacht club bad boys. The rich-brat jerks.

Early in the book, I found it easy to forget that George was the narrator--it feels like a girl is telling the story (which, of course, she is). But when Caitlin writes Kate, the story feels right--makes sense. It makes sense when she writes Kate, because Kate doesn't make sense. She feels complex; real. George, on the other hand, makes perfect sense--and is therefore not real. I know this because--well... he is me.