The Old Me reading Halle Butler’s The New Me

In most things, I like to be entertained. I’m oft to quit a chore (like folding clothes) if the monotony is too overpowering or take on another’s tasks at work if my own job ventures too far into the mundane. When I watch movies or television shows, I need the plot line to move forward. I need something to happen. While I’m not asking for an action thriller full of explosions and suspense, I don’t want to look around as the credits roll and wonder why I wasted my time. The same can be true for books.

When I read, there is a clearly defined purpose - I either want to be entertained or I want to learn. I want to walk away with something: an emotional tie to a character, a new perspective, some kind of random introspection, a tidbit, a morsel of romantic language or poetry - something.

”The New Me” breaks all of my rules and expectations. I thought the main character, Millie, was a bit of a twat, certainly not someone I’d prefer as a colleague or friend. I didn’t see myself in her, and thank goodness as she is the type of millennial boomers rage about. Unmotivated and dispassionate, she meanders through temp work in Chicago, harshly judging everyone, including herself.

“The New Me” is uneventful, soothing almost in how accurately it depicts day-to-day life. The satire has a Fleabag-quality to it and in the end it can be appreciated like a work of still-life art. You won’t love Millie, but that is the point. No one is perfect and sometimes nothing happens. It was a quick read, and although it was unlike anything I’ve read before, it was like everything I’ve experienced in an office.