It was so easy to flip through this book and really feel like I committed a break and entry into the unnamed female narrator's head. The main character is honest and undoubtedly flawed.
Acts of Desperation is well written, I can't argue against that. But it often feels like a disproportionate melancholic fever dream all strung out. The ending feels like a slight moment of clarity that contrasts the book's overall somber tone. 

Tbh I fought fight tooth and nail to get past all the gritty parts of this book and breathed a sigh of relief once it was all done.

if you want to know what not to do in a relationship, maybe this book is for you. Additionally, maybe I don't hate the writing but I do not like this woman. Maybe that's why it got the score that it did. 

I might need to sit with this one for a while before writing a full review. The writing was raw and compelling, but the story did start to lose my interest around the halfway point. It became monotonous, the characters not really doing much or changing — granted that may have been the point.

I often saw a younger version of myself in the FMC, which was validating and disturbing simultaneously. If I hadn’t borrowed this from the library I would have been annotating it furiously, and I might buy a copy to do just that. It made me think a lot, and feel a lot, which is what I want from a book.

Definitely check the content warnings.

Acts of Desperation is the most intimate, immersive experience of a bad relationship I’ve ever encountered - including any other books, including films and shows.

It’s complicated to think critically about the book as a whole. On one hand it was incredible writing, so insightful and such purposeful use of words to convey ideas it feels like no one has explained this well before. Some favourite quotes from around the start of the book were:

“I love myself in love. I find my feelings fascinating and human, and for once I can sympathise with my own actions.”

“Being young and beautiful felt like a lot sometimes, felt like it translated to real-world power, but money shat all over it every time.”

The book can be described as an study on female victimisation: all the different ways a woman - in particular a feminine white woman - can be addicted to it, and all the bad that comes from it. In this sense, it was always so interesting to me, maybe more so as an outsider who can’t really use tears as a weapon. In this case, I do think Boy Parts did a better job of having thorough self awareness (of author, not of protagonist), so I can’t rate this book the same as Boy Parts. There is some reflection and honesty about why she does some things, but I did not feel it was fully acknowledged how much she favours being a victim over anything else (like being safe, being happy)

On the other hand, the heavy topics were plenty, to the point where they couldn’t all be handled with the same amount of care and precision. The aftermath of heavy drinking was always talked about with the voice of an accustomed alcoholic, but you don’t really see the same thing for the self-harm, and definitely not for the eating disorder. Because of that, it felt a little like one of these would get thrown in to illustrate her emotions, but not necessarily be treated with the amount if depth that it should. An example of a book that dealt with such things in a more well-rounded way is Conversations with Friends. Additionally, as someone who is very critical about triggering scenes and classifies most of popular media’s as trauma porn, I can’t say I finished the book completely able to justify the use of each one in relation to the characterisation. The last one in particular did feel like overkill and like it was more there to make a comment on that type of behaviour than to fit well with the protagonist’s progression. 

As always with these books, narrators throw around big statements about how people richer than them get X Y and Z, and how they are so underprivileged, but then with no self-awareness go and do something only a very privileged person with parents’ money can do. With Boy Parts, it was at least acknowledged that the protagonist’s parents pay some of her rent. This is why Boy Parts was amazing, it lays everything out on the table and lets you figure out the protagonist’s hypocrisy on your own. With Insatiable, it tried to make money a main theme, while also living an upper class life and having things like parents paying for a wedding. Insatiable is on the low self awareness end of the spectrum of course, and had a way less critical view of the protagonist’s flaws. Now Acts of Desperation does mention upper middle class parents, but the whining about other irresponsible people getting nepotism jobs brought the self awareness back down (wow who would have thought that being irresponsible without having any back up plan would put you in this position? Totally the fault of the guy who has a job and was irresponsible knowing he would have it anyway) then, the protagonist did work full time for a while, making it understandable that she could afford flights and some time off for a foreign country. But then to live in that country for six months without speaking the language? It’s obvious that there is some support from parents but it’s not acknowledged which irked me. Of course, acknowledging it would interfere with the victim narrative, but this was disappointing because by that point it felt as if the character had laid out all her flaws with honesty already. It felt like regressing.

I’d recommend this book to anyone who wants to understand the realistic two sides of a toxic relationship, without getting a clean perfect dichotomy of hero vs villain, BUT is sure they are okay with reading the topics that are possibly triggering.

Sad-girl core like Sally Rooney’s books, but with even less to say about what’s behind the desperation whole generation(s; always there are some, but particularly in the west after 2nd wave of feminist movement) of white women gravitate towards.

Is it “raw and honest”? We who did not live the lives nor knew what went behind the keyboard tapping or even diary keeping, who are we to judge? Personally I am perpetually fascinated by my drive to understand the seeking of degradation and erotified romance/sexually suffering, the history both personal and social that caused it. At once I am also slightly unmoored by the seemingly rise of popularity (or perhaps, undiminished? There’s Girl, Interrupted long ago after all) of this type of fiction, straddling along the literary and genre in terms of audience, with main characters in their early 20s always white and women and in desperate need of therapy but instead the fiction leads us to see them “transform” through romance, upswing or down to hell. 

I think someone on Goodreads mentioned pejoratively Fleabag in starting this “trend.” While I understand the sentiment, I think Fleabag is an examination of this genre, this “aesthetic.” Fleabag does no more seek her suffering than hoping against memories and her past (which is still very much alive in her necessities to be around her family). A lot of central conflicts within the characters arises and revolves around Fleabag’s relationship with women, rather than with men. But as this book demonstrates, “at a glance” is all it matters to a great deal of audience at times. Not all experience warrants any meaningful explanation or links to the larger experience beyond one’s own victimhood.