" Gideon Lewis-Kraus arrives with the potential of any young writer-- that he'll write work that transcends his own experience, that he'll illuminate something about the larger world. This book attempts that, but ultimately becomes an act of immature self-indulgence and immense ego (which would match his persona, if his author appearances are any indication). The "restless and hopeful" mentioned is, predictably, himself, and the book reads like another flimsy MFA thesis about ME ME ME, which results in, for the reader, YAWN YAWN YAWN. "
— Brin, 2/11/2014