Readers of Joel Golby’s previous collection, ‘Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant’ will have little doubt over his ability to turn out sharply written, acutely observed and properly funny essays. In Four Stars, the essays are bound around a central premise: reviewing ‘life’, no matter how abstract or trivial it may appear. Unlike previous work, Golby attempts to impose an overarching narrative. This he does through a semi-fictional memoir of his deteriorating life; a job loss; a break-up; and a series of embarrassing social incidents.

Unfortunately, despite consistent humour, Golby fails to deliver a tale of substance or originality. The highs and lows of Four Star’s protagonist feel lacklustre, his reflections and developments tepid. Angst about office jobs and non-conformity feel so teenage in outlook that you could be forgiven for forgetting that the author is in his mid-thirties. The sneering condescension of comparable predecessors in Nick Hornby’s work, for instance, illuminates a moral failure needing to be reconciled. Golby instead seems content in his view of the world, only frustrated that he’s not more successful, likeable or happy.

The most successful elements of the story come when the protagonist finally looks beyond himself - in his imagined conversations with his late father and the existential awe brought on by a visit to a Mexican museum. Frustratingly, these episodes don’t translate to real change. Rather, we are left with a protagonist who is only perturbed enough by his self-induced misfortunes to take up running and talk to a therapist.

The essays, taken individually, are good enough that the book remains highly readable; his review of the McDonald’s Chicken Big Mac is sublime (yes, really). But I couldn't help but want a little more - and I wish he had too.

Published by Mudlark

Text: Connor Bluemel