Apparently I'm unable to review this one sufficiently for the gods of Art to give me their blessing. But, for full disclosure, I need to explain that I knew I'd already love this novel. I watched the hollywood version from 15 years ago and was stunned by the audacity and fearlessness of the message, taken in by the macguffin of the the official locus of the plot. Reading it was no different, although I wasn't surprised by the message or the unfolding of the real theme. No, it isn't about hate. I know the narrator begins and ends with how much he hates, but he's a lousy sod of an unreliable narrator. Every character is beautifully drawn to be an aspect of love, instead, from platonic to passionate, logical to parental, and ultimately the biggest affair surrounded the love affair of a more universal nature. The way the novel flowed gorgeously from one point to another was proustian in example and effect, and I'm sure that was the intent. 
 I was amazed by the quality of the prose, and even the way he jabbed at writers using stream of consciousness was very funny even as he did it to great effect. 
 But more than anything, this man had real balls to write as he did. It was very entertaining and emotional. It was also a truly honest discussion of sex and god interwoven through a manic framework of "hate". Truly beautiful and gripping.