A Certain Chemistry. Mil Millington.
While frequently funny, the plot is basically everything going to hell, people being jerks, people hurting people. None of the characters, least of all the narrator, is at all sympathetic. It reminded me a lot of Murial's Wedding, alleged to be a comedy but in fact just a psychic mugging. I think it's safe to say I'll be steering clear of Millington's fiction in the future.

Red Thunder. John Varley.
I was very excited to find a new Varley novel, and then increasingly disappointed to discover that it's basically a juvenille; the plot, characters, and narrator's voice are one-dimensional and naive, and so while it's pleasant enough it leaves little trace and seems marooned in the wrong decade. Key evidence for that theory would be the unexpected and unwelcome Chinese-baiting.