By Matt Haig
Publication Date: 2013
Genre: Contemporary, Sci-Fi
Rating: 🪐🪐🪐🪐½
Let’s start with a confession: The very first Matt Haig book I ever read was The Midnight Library. Now, if you’ve been anywhere near the bookish internet, you know that book splits readers into two very distinct, very passionate camps. There’s the “I hated it” camp, and the “I absolutely loved it” camp. Personally? I pitched my tent firmly in the loved it camp.
Because of that love affair, Matt Haig has been on my radar. Yet, I have absolutely no idea how his 2013 novel, The Humans, actually ended up in my Kobo library. It’s highly plausible it popped up as a cheeky Kobo recommendation, or I snapped it up during a late-night “it’s on sale!” buying spree. Honestly, it was probably both. (We’ve all been there, right?)
Either way, this book was the most delightful, pleasant surprise.
The premise is brilliantly absurd: An alien comes to Earth on a deadly serious mission to erase anyone who has solved an impossible mathematical formula. The catch? To do this, our extraterrestrial visitor has to possess the body of a Cambridge professor named Andrew Martin. And along the way, this cold, calculating alien accidentally learns how to be… well, human.
In the first half of the book, we get to watch “Andrew” desperately struggle to pass as a normal person. It’s hilarious, awkward, and deeply insightful. Honestly, watching him try to navigate our weird societal norms felt a lot like watching a highly functional autistic person trying to mask and survive in a confusing, non-neurodivergent world.
But by the second half? The tables turn. Andrew becomes completely captivated by the messy, beautiful complexities of humanity. He falls in love with the very things his species despises: poetry, peanut butter, dogs, and connection.
What I completely adored about The Humans is its core message: we all need to be our true, authentic selves. Sure, failures happen (and boy, does Andrew have some spectacular ones), but we grow because of them. It’s a gorgeous reminder to live our lives as the best possible versions of ourselves.
My absolute, hands-down favourite part of the book was a chapter consisting of a letter Andrew writes to his teenage son, Gulliver. It’s a list of advice on how to be a human, filled with such genuine, heartwarming sentiment that it immediately triggered a wave of 90s nostalgia for me. It is total Baz Luhrmann “Sunscreen Song” vibes.
If you are looking for a read that effortlessly shifts from laugh-out-loud comedic to utterly heartbreaking, with a slight side of the macabre, then buckle up. Prepare to step onto this beautiful rollercoaster and look at humanity.