Diary of an Oxygen Thief: Fiction Book Review

Fiction Book Review: Diary of an Oxygen Thief

Anonymous’ the name. Who’s name? Well, it wouldn’t be Anonymous if I knew, now would it?

Anonymous is the name attributed to writing Diary of an Oxygen Thief. The title is implicit, describing someone who is prone to taking the air out of the room with his presence. If I’m being honest, my initial thought was that the hacktivist group known as Anonymous went out and, collectively, penned a novel. Alas, they did not. I could not remember exactly how this book came into my possession. Perhaps it was given to me, or maybe I picked it up at a library sale. I can’t see myself browsing the bookshelves at Barnes & Noble and being enamored by the book’s cover art and saying, to no one in particular, “This looks interesting.” The cover depicts a pathetic, melting snowman impaled by a wooden broom with what looks like baby carrots for hair. Now that I think about it, it does look rather interesting! I do remember, however, the number of scathing reviews left by booktubers and other readers alike. One star, two stars, zero star ratings! Nope, I put it off to the side and forgot about it for what may very well be a few years.

Recently, while looking through the pile of books inside the closet of my home office, as I looked for my next read, I came upon Diary of an Oxygen Thief. “What’s this?” again to no one in particular. Then I remembered. Not of what the book was about, but of all the negative reviews. And so, I did exactly what one might expect. I took the book out of the closet and threw it into my messenger bag to bring to work with me. I wanted to read about what the hoopla was all about and why this book was the bane of so many’s existence. A book that can elicit strong feelings, and even divisiveness, enticed me to give it a read, if at least to pique my curiosity. Besides, nothing is stopping me from putting it down and closing it if it failed to grab my attention. Back to the top of my small DNF (did not finish) reading pile it would go.

And so, I started reading. Almost immediately, the powerful reactions to the book became apparent. Diary of an Oxygen Thief is a purported “real diary” of the anonymous author and it becomes clear early on why he did not want his identity known. Because of the book’s format, there is not really a story until, eventually, a plot unfolds. It is the writing and musings of a degenerate or, more appropriately, an alcoholic, misogynistic douchebag who thrives on treating women like absolute garbage and gets a thrill in breaking their hearts. The author spends most of his time detailing his feelings towards women and basking at the thought of hurting them, emotionally, not physically, as he quickly points out, as if trying to convince us of his humanity. While the author makes no qualms about his actions or his personality, he tries to get the audience on board with him as he confesses about his struggle with alcohol and a strained relationship with his dad, as if any of this forgives his actions. There is certainly an aspect of woe is me that doesn’t translate well. Let me rephrase that. If it were anyone else, then sure, sympathy towards the narrator would make sense. But not here, not with this guy. The author made it so hard to care about him, which is odd to not want to be on the same side as the protagonist. But, that could have been by design. He is true to his nature and never apologizes for his actions. Later, there is a shift in that the anonymous goes to AA (alcoholics anonymous) meetings, gets sober and gets his life together. He tones down his behavior and is no longer the raging alcoholic who gets into bar fights, passing out and disrespecting woman much.

Diary of an Oxygen Thief reminded me of another book I read years ago, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max. I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell is a memoir of a former college frat, a self-described asshole who relished in “douchebaggery” in his youth. Anonymous and Tucker Max could very well be the same person. In fact, one might be inclined to believe that Tucker Max is Anonymous if hadn’t already published a book with his face on full display on the cover. Like Anonymous, Tucker Max makes no apologies for who he was. But, unlike Tucker Max, the author of Diary of an Oxygen Thief hid in the shadows in the cover of anonymity. I do not understand why. I will touch on this further later.

There was a moral to the story told in Diary – karma is a bitch. This is what we find out in the end, something I didn’t see coming. Something that, while messed up, was cosmic justice and satisfying. Again, the ending was akin to a film that I will not mention because it will give away what happens in the book if you’ve seen the movie. Anonymous got what he deserved and I don’t feel bad for him. Good! I understood why so many people hated this book. But I didn’t. I didn’t love it either. I enjoyed reading the book and thought the author had an engaging style of writing, even though things were all over the place at times.

I think the point of the book was for you to hate the narrator and that may have been missed by some, hence, the strong negative reactions to the book. But, then again, the powerful reactions make the book a successful one if that was the goal, right? After I finished the book, I wanted to do my due diligence and see if I could uncover the identity of this Anonymous author. Surely, there has to be some evidence in the book that I can trace back by doing a quick Google search. I turned to the back cover to see if there was anything that can point me in the right direction. That’s when I saw it. There, on the top left corner of the very top of the book, were the words “Fiction.” I was gutted. Then, I laughed at the one last middle finger from the misogynistic douchebag known as Anonymous. 

Going back to what I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, pertaining to the author’s need (want?) to remain anonymous, I don’t understand why, after all, the book is billed as being a work of fiction. Could it be that the author wrote what he knew and was afraid that those around him, or anyone who reads the book, for that matter, will question their associations with him? Or, could be as simple as relating the author to the narrator in that they are one and the same and a lot of the events that happen in the book did, indeed, happen in the author’s real life. Or, maybe he is afraid of fracturing his ego by negative reviews of the book. Something to ponder.