This is so tasteless; and so funny. And serious and thought-provoking and generally entertaining. It’s also another of those books I’d never even consider if I went on looks of book cover alone.
Long before I met Anthony McGowan a few weeks ago, I’d meant to read Henry Tumour, because it got glowing reviews. Then more recently Meg Rosoff praised it, and I still didn’t get to it. But Henry and his host Hector and I have just had a few fun hours together.
You have to make yourself not feel sick at the thought of the brain tumour that Henry really is. Even if he was “only” a friend of Hector’s, I still wouldn’t like him. His personality leaves a little something to be desired. Though he improves. I mean his behaviour improves.
This book is another good example of how teenage boys live, and all I can say is I’m glad I’m neither a teenager or a boy.
I kept debating with myself how the book would end. You know – good or bad? Anthony solved the problem with something else altogether.
The Occasional Bookwitch 