This kind of stuff was always my issue with most of the genre of 'post-modern' or 'meta-fiction'. It doesn't seem to have a real respect for traditional fiction itself as a complex medium to explore the human condition, the author being so detached that they can only think to use the medium to describe the human condition within fiction. Essentially creating a novel to do the job of the critic and theorist.

While interesting, it has always struck me as not actually that inventive, as this kind of metacriticism has been part and parcel of writing forever, even Aeacylus would include characters that were essentially cheap shots and criticisms of the state of plays and city life.

That doesn't mean the portrayal of the medium of something like House of Leaves isn't interesting, just that it probably isn't as deep as it has pretense towards being.

I was in high school when it came out and loaned it to my English teacher. His assessment was pretty similar and I wasn't happy at the time, but in retrospect, Mr. Hughes had it right.

I thought the whole Johnny being incapable of walking two feet without a beautiful woman offering him sex was going to be revealed as a bit of unreliable narrator. But no, I guess sleep deprived starving tattoo assistants losing their grip on sanity are just hot as fuck.