The Metro, not to be mistaken for The Road
I cannot say reading this was a complete waste of time. But it was close enough. There’s really no plot, just a series of arbitrarily connected episodes in a world that is certainly suggestive, but so unrealistic and anchored in 50s sci fi (thing
radioactive mutants and blobs…) to make the whole read feel pretty pointless. Metro 2033 has some good moments, but they drown in long boring stretches where the author ponders about the meaning of life and death with all the eloquence of a middle schooler. And throughout the 440 pages, the reader has a nagging feeling that the ingredients were there, if not the skill, to cook this up a lot better.
Now, there’s a strange hypnotic force that is making me give the book two stars while it clearly deserves just one. And why rat kebabs for dinner suddenly feel so appetizing?