Sex, drugs and punk rock. What more could you want? Well, perhaps a plot.

Greg Everett definitely has talent. At his best, he is witty and offers interesting, insider perspectives on pop culture and society. Unfortunately, those moments don’t come often enough, with him recycling the same self-deprecating jokes.

Screaming at a Wall is an autobiographical look at the author’s transitions from high school skateboarder to college volunteer paramedic to independent publisher. And yet, there is little character development. The book is a series of short episodes, many depressingly similar, as the main character, Greg, meets a girl, falls in bed with her, begins to like her, and then makes an excuse to get out of the relationship.

Similarly, he meets and befriends countless people, to whom he feels superior, and then drifts away from them. Screaming at a Wall is a parade of faceless, interchangeable people who serve the same purpose: as a backdrop for Greg’s constant, self-involved monologue; to be common or mundane or weird so Greg can flaunt his superiority and his so-called rebellion.

The danger of critiquing such a deeply personal book is that it might seem to be a criticism of the author himself. Whether or not the real Greg Everett is like the character in this book doesn’t matter; the book’s structure is the real problem, not effectively guiding the reader’s attention. For example, Everett is deeply influenced by Henry Rollins, and his writing gets meaty when he talks about his hero. And yet, when Greg is attending a Henry Rollins concert, the book only takes us up to him seating himself in the front row. The concert itself is missing.

There is enough raw material in this book that, correctly shaped, it could make for an interesting collection of short stories, or perhaps even a movie script. But in its current state, it’s more like a journal, shared in its raw state. And however many drugs and sex are contained therein, that’s simply not enough.

Grundle Ink Publications; ISBN: 0970815255