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The Week You Werent Here review by Amy Morgan 041103 This review was published in the London School of Economics student newspaper on the 4th November 2003. The Week You Weren’t Here is the debut novel from American writer Charles Blackstone. It’s a postmodernist novel written almost entirely within the head of 24yearold male Hunter Flanagan, wannabe writer and occasional philosopher. The book follows Hunter through his daytoday life as he nervously applies to grad school and, more importantly from his point of view, attempts to find true love through an Internet dating service. Woody Allen meets James Joyce so to speak. Hunter’s head is quite an interesting place to visit but I certainly wouldn’t want to live there – he is obsessive and overanalyses everything and everyone he meets. He is also a 24yearold male so you can guess what occupies his mind most of the time (it’s not quite every six seconds but it’s pretty close). Hunter dates a number of different women at the same time during this book and his rationale is so good it has to be mentioned – he can be a much better date if she’s not the only prospect he has lined up, as he’s much less nervous. Not a strategy I suggest to the majority of males who might be thinking he’s onto something. This book demands that you give it your full attention as Hunter’s thoughts fly from one moment to the next. If you have a tendency (like me) to go into ‘skim reading mode’ you can get utterly lost. It’s also not always interesting enough to hold your full attention, as, like most of us, a lot of Hunter’s thoughts are pretty meaningless. There are however a few gems that will make you laugh out loud and shock you into silence. For a female, it is also a rather interesting peek into the male psyche (crazy place that it is). Mind you I have to say if I thought all men were like Hunter Flanagan I might just give up now. Nobody could call him boring though and if you are looking for something a bit different then you might want to give this a go. It’s not destined to become one of my all time favourites but I am glad I read it and as a voyeuristic peek into someone else’s mind, Charles Blackstone could have done a lot worse than the lovably neurotic Hunter Flanagan. © Amy Morgan