This just didn't work for me at all. It is praised on the cover by some of my contemporary faves, including Benjamin Law, Christos Tsiolkas and Emily Bitto. Many professional reviews indicate Scott is well known in the Melbourne literary scene and for that reason reviewers have been awaiting his first novel. But... it didn't hit the target in this household. Interestingly, what the writers above credit most is what most disappointed me: the "honesty". Honesty is great but extreme verisimilitude in writing is something else altogether.

The Adversary is set over one summer in the inner north of Melbourne where a twentysomething gay man with a university degree in literature avoids his feelings and flits between a number of insubstantial romantic possibilities. Like the heroine in Rebecca, the narrator has no name. His tendency to quote low-grade literary references such as Du Maurier in his Grindr profile (only to realise that he doesn't like any of the types who respond to such references) was about the only thing with which I felt I could relate, despite also being a gay man with a university degree in literature living in Melbourne and until recently a twentysomething. Strange, ain't it, how we can be so painfully different to those inhabiting our social group?

Ultra-naturalism is a time-honoured tradition in Australian literature. From Criena Rohan to Tim Winton, it has a storied history, and that is the vein in which Scott pitches his novel. Characters casually check out what TV series is playing on Stan, they disable internet pop-ups, exchange slang without translation (explicit or implicit) for non-local readers, and speak in a strange ironic tone that often left this reader baffled. (The narrator at one point muses to his housemate what their suburb will look like in a "billion years": "it might look exactly the same or completely different", he says, "[a]nd those are just the two most extreme possibilities".)

I expect this novel will have power for readers who are well-versed in the culture it depicts. Its world is that of a particular type of young gay man: not hugely into "the scene", nor especially hipster, but inner-city and just sort of "there". They aren't always at the latest events - perhaps they even seem self-consciously old fashioned - but exhibit an unblinking eye for drama and mystery where, sometimes, regular human interaction would serve just as well. They inhabit a type of social existence in which picking a hobby or showing enthusiasm for any sort of interest are shunned in favour of days by the pool, dinner parties, and checking hook-up apps numerous times a day even when one has no intention of hooking up. Never be too passionate or eager. Never give too much of yourself away. Reject social norms when it suits you (it's still amusing to make an "adult salad" for dinner) but retain all of the privilege that comes from being solidly middle-class and urban. I've met these people but have never felt welcomed into their world, so perhaps the translation issues are partly due to my inexperience. Scott is neither criticising nor extolling the virtues of this type of shallow existence; he is merely a chronicler of the current moment, of a snapshot in time that will only be relevant for how it progressed the maturity of one young man, largely through what he didn't see rather than what he did.

So this is a novel with what I call a "retrospective why", in which we embark on a seemingly aimless journey, find ourselves flabbergasted by the lack of a point, and then reach the understanding in the final few pages - like the unnamed narrator - of where life has been directing us. In that sense, those last moments carry a neat burst of pathos, and I appreciated that. Still, while it's clear Scott is deliberately robbing the narrator of any personality - perhaps so as to indicate the young man's lack of understanding or introspection - it's a great shame that he felt the need to leave the other characters equally bereft of substance. Why are their conversations so tongue-scrapingly vapid? Why does everyone refer to one of the characters "Chris L." when there is no other Chris with which to compare him? Especially as characters from different areas of his life all seem to do so, implying no mutual second Chris could possibly exist? Why does Richmond Man continue to message and visit our narrator even though all of their meetings seem to last mere minutes and end disappointingly? Why do conversations escalate from monotony to drama and then abruptly end, or vice versa? And why does everyone care about towels so much?

I must be the one at fault here for my lack of comprehension. I don't mean to impugn Scott's talent as a writer. His dialogue is no doubt eerily specific to people whom he has met, but without understanding the the characters uttering it I was left flailing as I tried to grasp at the flow of conversations. Perhaps they are more universal archetypes than I thought, but one wonders if some explanation of this world may have helped the book reach readers outside of the immediate proximity of Collingwood. The emptiness of his exchanges is aimed at creating an ambience, but it felt oppressive rather than amusing. I appreciate that there are lacunae here which more perceptive readers of the Australian experience may be able to shade in. No doubt to readers in the know, every page ripples with recognition and nostalgia.

And that, for me, is the tragedy of The Adversary. To use a metaphor that the novel's narrator would appreciate, I felt I was a lonely soul living next door to a manic house party. I could feel the bass of the music through the walls and smell the smoke from the BBQ. I could almost taste the wafting scent of imported beer. My ears could just make out the sounds of joyous laughter and camaraderie, but without an invitation I couldn't sample the food or understand the jokes. Desperate and dateless, I wish I could have shared in those feelings too. ( )

The protagonist of The Adversary by Australian writer Ronnie Scott is a young man who is an introvert, afraid of sex and in love with his best gay friend.

This was not a real success to me. Scott can certainly write well but he uses sentence structures that had me often read a sentence over before I understood what he was saying. Next to that the text is interspersed with all kinds of words, probably Australian slang, that I had to look up. So reading wasn’t that comfortable to me.

That in itself wouldn’t have kept me from liking the book, but on top of that I could not relate to the millennials that are the only characters here. Their behavior towards each other and the conversations (better: single sentences expressed, because real conversations are hardly there) between them made me think: really? Is this how people talk? I just failed to see it for real.

It felt like all five friends who are the characters in this novel are depressed to various degrees. So, all things combined, this was no fun.