Nick Hornby likes to tell me secrets. He sits me down and forces me stop moving and just listen. Very few people can do that. And so when Hornby tells me that I’m going to talk to Tony Hawk and look into the future and live in parallel universes for short spurts of time, I say “yes.” Because I trust him, even with all this weird business.
Slam is preachy in moments (because it’s a young adult novel about accidental pregnancy from the male’s perspective), but it’s easily forgiven because, come on, it’s Hornby. He can do no wrong. If anything, I’m angry that I’m not angry about the “message” of the book. But I suppose someone needs to remind guys to wrap it up.