I won't say I didn't enjoy some of this, and it took a long time for it to dawn on me, but it's YA, and I don't like YA. I mean, I like YA for my kids and young people (and would prefer my 15-year old daughter read more of it instead of the Michel Houellebecq she has asked for), but there's often something flat about it.
I tried to put my finger on what makes YA YA, but can't define it. It should be told from the point of view of a young adult, but that's not it, since Lord of the Flies is not YA, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is not YA, and The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is not YA. I leave it to the genre experts who have poked around here more deeply than my impatient self.
Anyway, decent flavor-of-the-day plot. Quick, interesting read. But I can't pretend to have a lot of patience for self-absorbed, OCD young narrators with Aspergers/autism. At some point it seems this book is meant to test that patience/emotional generosity, and I will tell you that I failed.