I like Ethan Hawke as an actor. He’s quite understated, yet intense. Sensitive and self-aware. And he surely has playing the broody, conflicted man/boy down. Those character-centric qualities are ever-present in his first novel, The Hottest State, though they certainly don’t translate as well through his words as they do through his performances.

With disarming emotional honesty, Ethan Hawke’s first novel captures that agitated, electric moment between youth and adulthood when every new feeling becomes a source of mystery and wonder, and every experience seems overlaid with staggering possibility or certain doom. Hawke’s narrator will be disconcertingly familiar to anyone who has ever felt the fierceness of young love: Meeting Sarah catapults William into a world of shame and ardor and unspeakable tenderness, and in six head-spinning months he comes to know both the restless, overmastering ache of first love and the wild and ruinous grief it leaves behind.

In the voice of William–anguished, funny, improbably earnest and affecting–Hawke renders a painfully authentic portrait of a young man’s search for self-acceptance in the face of heartbreak and rejection. The Hottest State vividly evokes the violent self-interrogation that marks the end of youth and–with wisdom, compassion, and humor–offers a poignant story of a young man standing on the cusp of great change.

I must admit I was intrigued to read this because I had read most negative reviews of it. Why that piques my interest, I couldn’t say. I don’t typically seek out reading novels written by celebrities. In fact, I don’t think I ever have read one written by anyone else. But I just sort of stumbled on it while perusing the bookshelves at the library and thought, why not give it a go?

It’s not bad. It’s just…forgettable. The protagonist is needy and pathetic. He latches on to a plain-Jane girl, Sarah, and becomes instantly enamored with her and grows increasingly frustrated when he can’t quite figure her out, or why she doesn’t reciprocate his feelings in the some comparable manner. She is guarded and cautious, scared and self-conscious. And because it told in first person from William’s perspective, as readers, we aren’t privy to the inner workings of Sarah. But William speculates and obsesses. And he has strange urges, such as hoping she will get pregnant or spontaneously proposing marriage. He recognizes his oddities and attributes them to a childhood of being raised without a father. He laments on the memories he has of his father, how he wishes he could have been there. How he wouldn’t be so fucked up of he were.

It’s isn’t some psychological examination, this novel. It takes place in a rather short span of time. A few weeks, really. That’s how long it takes for this relationship to begin and blossom and then deteriorate and end. More than anything it is a coming-of-age story about a man in his early twenties trying to figure out a way to exist in a world he doesn’t quite like or understand.

As for the creative merits of the book, there are few. The prose is pedestrian and plain, lacking any sense of whimsy or flow. It could almost be a diary for William. Likewise, the dialogue is sort of odd an unnatural in many instances, often times taking you out of the story.

I can’t say I recommend it. Again, it’s not bad. It’s just missing something, I think. And I suppose it didn’t help that I found the protagonist kind of unlikable. He even creeped me out a bit. In the end, I just didn’t understand how he formed such intense emotions and pursued this romantic relationship. At times, he didn’t even seem to like Sarah. SO why bother?

I guess the same could be said for The Hottest State.