It's not every day that one comes across a book that sets itself the goal of mediocrity and embraces it so completely. The prose is unremarkable and unmemorable, the story is the sort of convoluted shallow thinkers think is clever, and the main character is remarkably blank--as though the author has no particular insights into her, no clear idea of who she is. So on-the-nose it hurts: The main makes a dangerous deal with a mysterious--and mysteriously honorable--gangster, and she has a PhD in English Literature, specializing in Christopher fucking Marlowe. Not believable for even a page.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
The Ballad of Perilous Graves by Alex Jennings
This really just flat didn't work for me. I thought it was going to something other than it was, I guess. I should have taken a closer...

-
A neat little Horror novel (big shock on the genre, there, I'm sure) that plays some interesting games with PTSD and identity, with ma...
-
Reading this novel reminded me a good deal of reading Processed Cheese . America Fantastica is more subtle, and the points it's makin...
-
Oh, gawds, this novel starts as a bit of a mess and wraps up like someone who read too much Naturalistic fiction and decided to go with no...
No comments:
Post a Comment