The First Bad Man by Miranda July

Cheryl Glickman, lead lady in indie filmmaker Miranda July's debut novel, bumbles through life as a chaotic bundle of neurotic ticks and bad habits. A lot of her behaviour is at least a little crazy and her irrational inner monologue does nothing to combat the idea that she's somewhat different, but beneath the crazy lie fears and insecurities that are universally relatable. Which is possibly why, at least in the beginning, she's not so much with the likeable – no-one likes having their flaws reflected back at them, even in a funhouse mirror.

The book's easy wit keeps it floating lightly along on turns of phrase and sharp social observations but, by the end, it still seems to run a little out of steam. The plot is propelled by the pseudo-sexual relationship Cheryl forms with a young woman named Clee, and the tension builds as they take to acting out scenarios from female self-defence videos in cathartic bouts of controlled violence. But once it rises to its climax, the energy quickly dissipates and the remaining chapters are spent shooting awkward glances and wondering when it's polite to leave.

Still, it brings to the surface a lot of the weird lurking in every modern soul, with humour and endearing oddness. [Ross McIndoe]