I stumbled upon this today. It is an old book review I wrote of a book called The Giraffe. I don’t still have the book and it doesn’t come up in Google. When you read my review it’s probably easy to understand why.
THE GIRAFFE BOOK REVIEW
I have to be honest, initially what attracted me to The Giraffe was the cover. Secondly, the subject matter: a giraffe. But this book, The Giraffe, is not all about a cute giraffe. It’s about an introverted, psychologically disturbed, sexually dysfunctional teenager who works in a zoo taking care of this poor, innocent giraffe and spends his coffee breaks jerking off behind abandoned buildings. The climax of the book is when the giraffe gets raped by another giraffe, and the dysfunctional teenager is so traumatized by this that he has to kill the first giraffe, the one he’s been taking care of, because he can’t live with the fact that he wasn’t her first, I think. Actually, he ends up killing both giraffes. He kills the rapist by throwing him a poisonous poundcake, and he kills the rape victim by closing her head in a trap door or something. But that’s not where the book ends. Except after that the author really lost me; I have no idea what the last forty pages were about. I guess you could say I asked for it, judging the book by its cover. Anyway, that’s it. But as a final statement I would like to say that this book had no plot, made no sense, and made me feel like throwing up more than once.