Book Review: “Diary of an Oxygen Thief”

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Book Review: “Diary of an Oxygen Thief”

Victoria Gong, Copy Editor

I am going to give you a chance to stop reading right now. This novel isn’t worth a second of your time or an ounce of the credit you might give it for once being a “New York Times” bestseller. It is a sick, twisted, crass, lewd, whiny, disorganized, crude, impudent, and entirely inane piece of formless, noxious gelatin that you would probably burn, along with your shoe, if you had stepped in it.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I advise you to maneuver your mouse pointer to the upper left hand corner of the screen (or your finger, if you are on mobile), click that “back” arrow, and peruse some of the other fantastic articles you may find on our website.

“Diary of an Oxygen Thief,” self-reported as an autobiography, was published first in 2006 in the Netherlands by an anonymous author. The likewise anonymous narrator begins by stating, “I like hurting girls” — and if that is not enough to turn you away, I guarantee that one of the next 150 pages certainly will. No, it does not get better, nor does it employ reverse psychology (as I did in deceiving you to read this article). “Diary of an Oxygen Thief” truly stays a piece of parasitic, brain-sucking compost for its entirety.

Here is what you get to look forward to after that stunning opening line: Our cheeky alcoholic Irish narrator explains, in acute detail, how he inflicts emotional abuse upon women, all the while subjecting you to his paranoiac delusions. He then moves to Minnesota for two boring years (that to you will feel like two millennia) and falls in love, which leads to a sequence of ridiculous events that attempts to convey the story’s petty message but drastically fails at doing so.

If at any point in the future you find yourself picking up this book, DO NOT open it. Place it back where you found it — in fact, throw it — and calmly remove yourself from its vicinity before calling the nearest pest control exterminator.

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