Imagine a preteen sat at home. They’re shut up in their room writing fanfiction like they actually understand love. They’ve just finished their homework and they want to actually use their new knowledge. They fill the fanfiction with facts and figures they learned at school. Perhaps it is an in-depth analysis of a poem or accurate description of how the respiration system works.
That is how I imagine Ernest Cline. He longed to put his extensive knowledge of 80s pop culture to use so decided to cram as much as he could in the three-hundred-and-something pages of this novel. It is full of unnecessary information that adds nothing to the story and makes it so much duller. So much of the text is fact, not fiction, and I was forced to bypass whole paragraphs.
If you want a book that looks something like: Story/Story/Story/Irrelevant facts/Story/
Irrelevant facts/Story/Story, then Ready Player One is the book for you.