I was going to give up on this book after the first 20 pages, but upon a friend’s insistence I continued reading. I am glad I did. While The Never Enders doesn’t break any linguistic or thematic boundaries, it does satiate a very specific audience: readers of the clinically depressed, vice-addicted narrator.My original turn-off can be blamed partially on my inability to discern exactly what sort of book The Never Enders was going to be. Every page seemed filled with as many ways as possible to verbalize the narrator’s hatred for life. Honestly, his depression made me simply not care if he lived or died. But when I decided to simply accept this guy as a manic-depressive type, I found myself interested in the ways he navigated his life. Though no true empathy was to be had, or even sympathy, I felt comfortable as a voyeur.