John Dies at the End may very well be the book I can't review. I have no idea what to say about it, nor what I feel about it.Ostensibly, this is a horror book, if you are judging by the copious amounts of gore and flowing body fluids that abound. You could also say it's a bit of a sci-fi novel; after all, the idea is that the "soy sauce" is some sort of drug that allows access to another dimension. That's in the blurb, which makes about as much sense as the book does in that regard.It took me longer to read John Dies at the End because I was constantly torn between loving it and hating it, and I never could decide which it was. Was it brilliant? Possibly, but then the sheer amount of dick and fart jokes made me feel at times like I was talking to an 11-year-old boy (something I can assure you I'm an expert at doing). Sometimes the writing seemed genius, but at other times, it felt like an attempt to create an atmosphere others have done better: Victor LaVale's Lucretia and the Kroons, for example.There's a sequel, but I'm unsure I want to read it. Part of me does, but the other part doesn't. In other words, this review is probably helpful to exactly no one, least of all me. I'm left shaking my head and wondering what on earth I just experienced.