On the cover of my copy there's a pull quote from Harry Enfield that says "If you are male, you should read [this] and then make your partner read it, so they will no longer hate you but pity you instead". I cannot express how much this book does not make you pity the type of man Rob Fleming, the protagonist, is. Every page had me screaming I HATE HIM. Nick Hornby has crafted possibly one of the most unlikable male characters in the history of literature. Before beam_me_up_softboi, before 500 Days of Summer, before Garden State, there is the first 50 pages of High Fidelity where Rob says his favourite song is Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me by The Smiths and whines about how he is doomed to be rejected by the greatest loves of his life. Rob isn't even an abusive evil villain like Hannibal Lecter or Patrick Bateman; he votes Labour, reads The Guardian and claims to be sympathetic to the feminist cause (emphasis on 'claims'). Rob is just your average, mediocre shitty man: he is selfish, egocentric, emotionally immature, jealous, the whole deal. Many women and girls (including myself) have had to deal with this type of fella: the one who presents himself as an alternative to the usual aggressive macho type because he is oh so sensitive and defines himself by his taste in pop culture and just needs a perfect angel/mother/sex goddess (all in one) to fix his problems and give his life meaning. Thankfully Hornby is aware of exactly what breed of asshole Rob is, and the reader can take great glee in the times the women in his life call him out on his shitty behaviour.  As a self-confessed music snob I did chuckle at the various music references scattered throughout, but it did get a little tiring to see Rob constantly pat himself on the back for his supposedly obscure and superior taste as if his favourite band wasn't literally The Beatles. The pace is fast and Rob's voice is both infuriating and funny so this book is good for a fast easy read. Rob's view on love can be explained by Mitski's devastating lines in 'Last Words Of A Shooting Star': You learned from movies how love ought to be/ And you'd say you love me and look in my eyes/ but I know you were looking at yours