The more Liz waxes lyrical, the less "invisible" she becomes. She speaks of the "endless brain-churning buzzing" that accompanies a lonely life, a reference perhaps to those urgent strings in the Beatles' classic track. The acute documentation of Liz's "fevered" mind makes her a sympathetic, engaging everyman.
You feel things can't have been so glum for Liz. Her delivery is deadpan, but never drab - her folksy voice is just too funny. She mouths sarcastic comebacks, as though Coupland cannot resist a few of his old quips. But the subversive edge beneath Liz's carapace of blandness is an important part of the book's strategy. Eleanor Rigby is one of Coupland's subtlest indictments yet of Yankee-yuppie culture.