Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan
A few unconnected thoughts: Why is Ian McEwan obsessed with false rape accusations? Why does he write so many clueless, un-self-aware, privileged straight white men whom he seems to hold in some level of contempt? (Self-hatred?) Why has he gone so far over from starting with people to starting with concepts, hypotheticals, constructed moral dilemmas? It’s almost like he’s becoming a science fiction writer, although not really writing about the future. And with this book, it’s an odd only-slightly-alternate universe. Most things are the same, but things just unfold a tiny bit differently. It has both ideas and feelings — but it’s unpleasantly dominated by the former. Being me, I think ultimately I would’ve found the book much more interesting without the android. It forces thoughts, instead of coaxing them from readers presented with a careful rendering of instantly recognizable human experience.