“A head spinning thrill ride, a cautionary tale about the most salient emotion of the twenty-first century…Hater will haunt you long after you read the last page.”
That’s the glowing praise that Guillermo del Toro gave David Moody’s Hater and it’s what prompted me to buy the book. Guilli, you owe me $16.99 CDN, fucker. Hater is a poor attempt at telling the story of humanity turning on itself. It’s been done before and it’s been done far, far better than Moody’s unoriginal and vomitous prose.
The story begins with the protagonist’s (I think his name’s Danny) morning commute to work. On his way, he witnesses a man beat a woman to death for no apparent reason. The assailant just starts throttling the poor woman standing next to him. Traumatized (but not nearly enough to take the day off) he continues to work where the assault is the day’s topic of conversation. Aw fuck it! Look, you’ve all seen or read this before, it’s a disease, more people catch it, they call the infected people Haters, it’s the governments fault, anarchy, us against them, lather, rinse repeat.
Perhaps it’s just me (and it could be given the heaping manure pile of praise contained on it’s back cover) but it was just boring. There is only one surprise in the whole book and rest of it is painfully predictable. I found the writing to be simplistic and plodding but one must…fuck it. I’m not wasting any more time on this. Go watch, Doomsday. Same thing, but better, and with cleavage.
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