Just over three hundred pages of a novelist realizing his story contained several stories, or that his several stories were all the same. Written as though "fragmented" and "kaleidoscopic" are the same thing, with characters who are all dragged through the events of their stories by the actions of others, with no climax and bloody little resolution. Shocking how the "brilliant" literary fiction of fifteen years ago completely fails to hold up--almost as though "literary" were just a lie, not even a genre like all the others.
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Stiletto by Daniel O'Malley
This is another spies-in-a-magic-world novel, a sequel to *The Rook.* It's laden with startlingly funny turns of phrase, and the chara...

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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...
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This is a surprisingly good thrillerish crime novel--there are elements of twisty whodunit mystery at play, and interesting layers of inno...
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I read this in a coffee shop this afternoon. Like so many other people I owe bigolas dickolas wolfwood a deep debt of gratitude, this book...
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