Rating: 1.5* of five (p66)Strike one: Teenaged protagonist.Strike two, and ball one of strike three: Majgicqk. Or something like it.Strike three: David Mitchell's writing reminds me of all the MFA program writing I've ever read.I thought The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet and Cloud Atlas were disorganized, and NO I did NOT misunderstand the fractured POV he used, I thought he did a poor job of executing it, and I found the preciosity of his phrasemaking in each of the three books I've either read through or Pearl Ruled unpleasant to the point of actual snort of derision coming out of me as I read.I don't think he's a good writer, I don't like the story he told here (which has nothing to do with him, only to do with my response), and I won't be reading more stuff like this:The first torrent of vomit kicked a GUUURRRRRR noise out of me, and poured on the muddy grass. In the hot slurry were bits of prawn and carrot. Some'd got n my splayed fingers. It was warm as warm rice pudding. More was coming, Inside my eyelids was a Lambert and Butler cigarette sticking out of its box, like in an advert. The second torrent was a mustardier yellow. I guppered for fresh oxygen like a man in an airlock. Prayed that was the last of it. Then came three short, boiling subslurries, slicker and sweeter, as if composed of the Baked Alaska.If you can make a kid puking tedious, brother, you can make ANYthing tedious. And he does. Poke me with a fork, I'm done.