Indifferent Universe

Indifferent Universe is one wild ride. From page one, I could tell this wasn’t going to be a straightforward story. It’s messy, hilarious, uncomfortable, and brilliant all at the same time.

The book follows Aldo Go, a guy who just can’t seem to win at life. He’s not a hero, not even close. He’s a man stumbling through jobs he hates, relationships that fall apart, and a sense of melancholy that feels stitched into his DNA. But what makes him weirdly relatable is the way he copes: not with grand gestures or self-improvement arcs, but with bizarre, sometimes cringeworthy choices. For example, as a kid, he builds disastrous Rube Goldberg machines that usually end in toy knights getting “ignited” by static electricity, or so he hopes. Later, he hauls his sister’s guinea pig into a dryer by accident, which, in a tragicomic twist, sort of survives (for a while).

These little episodes are absurd, sometimes horrifying, but they perfectly capture Aldo’s chaotic relationship with the world. He’s curious, imaginative, and a little reckless. And honestly? I saw flashes of my own messy twenty-something experiments in there, the kind of “this will totally work!” ideas that end in spectacular failure.

What really pulled me in was the book’s mix of humor and darkness. Blackhurst doesn’t shy away from tragedy, but he always laces it with wit. Like when Aldo’s family moves to Switzerland, and his biggest takeaway isn’t grief or loss, but the weird thrill of having a balcony and the click-ka-chunky sound of European VHS cases. Or the way his toxic dad flips from tenderness to cruelty, creating a home life that’s both ridiculous and heartbreaking. These details feel like the kind of memories we all hold onto: random, mundane, yet oddly defining.

The themes here are heavy and include death, isolation, and the futility of happiness, but they’re presented with such an offbeat voice that I found myself laughing in places I probably shouldn’t have. That’s part of the book’s charm. It makes you question what deserves seriousness and what doesn’t. Is Aldo pathetic, or is he just brutally honest about the absurdity of living? Is the universe really indifferent, or is that just the excuse we use when life doesn’t turn out how we planned?

As a younger reader, I didn’t come away crushed by the bleakness. Instead, I felt energized by the sheer audacity of it. Blackhurst seems to be saying: yeah, life is messy, random, and often disappointing—but that’s where the comedy lies. There’s freedom in admitting that the universe doesn’t care.

Indifferent Universe isn’t for the faint of heart, but if you like your fiction strange, funny, and a little bit twisted, this is absolutely worth the read. You won’t get a clean moral or a happy ending, but you will walk away with a ton of questions.