This is clearly supposed to be a satire--both the shape of the text and the stuff on the cover support this. I fell asleep about halfway through, woke up, finished the thing for no real reason I could put my finger on, vaguely regret finishing it. There are occasional glimmers of absurdity in the novel, but there is practically nothing actually funny about it. Some of that might be the intentional choice to have as a first-person narrator an incompetent manager-type who cannot get out of his own head. Nothing in the novel matters to the world or characters in it, there is nothing here worth paying attention to.
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Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury
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