29 Seconds by T. M. Logan

 

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.