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.
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Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie
This is labeled as an epistolary novel, but that's not entirely right. There are entries that could not possibly have been written, fr...
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I read this book like thirty years ago (ack!) when I was in college, and I remembered liking it, and when my wife picked it as a classic-i...
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The cover text calls this something like "one of the most important novels" blah blah blah. It's not a novel, it's a disc...
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Not a novel, which ... well ... some of the events described in the book would stretch credulity in fiction. It's a book about the lie...
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