An entertaining Urban Fantasy romp diluted with a pretentious essay on the nature of thought and reality. Every time something interesting starts to happen, the book then gets bogged down in ten pages of forced philosophical waffle that completely destroys any momentum in the story.

The End of My. Y isn't a bad book, the writing style is pleasant, and the main character is interesting (although she seems like a bit of a Mary Sue). It just suffers from being two very different books mashed together, and neither of them are very effective because of that.