The Story of a Photograph: Walker Evans, Ellie Mae Burroughs, and the Great Depression by Jerry L. Thompson
This was a bunch of crap. The title implies this would be the story behind the photograph. It isn’t. Not really. The Story of a Photograph is, at its core, an aristocratic justification of socially and financially manipulative art. And it is not at all well-written.
D
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Blackout
Blackout by Mira Grant
When I read the first book of the Newsflesh Trilogy, Feed, I loved George. When I read Deadline, I loved Becks. If you read my review for Feed, you know how I feel about what happened to George. In a different way, I felt horrible about what happened to Becks in Deadline. I could see it coming, but it didn’t make it any better. I wanted her to have a better go of things in the finale. Deep down, though, I knew no one would have a better anything.
No one ever having a better anything is one of the things I love most about Mira Grant’s trilogy. The crew of After the End Times has no illusions about their futures. They know their lives are destined to end at the wrong end of some government conspiracy, yet they never let fear stop them.
If you’ve read the first two books of this series, then you know that cloned George returns. It was great to read Grant write in Georgia’s voice again. In both Deadline and Blackout, I felt it took her a few chapters to really get into the groove of Shaun’s voice. No problem with George. She was back—as a replica, true—and I loved her all over again.
The author’s biggest success in Blackout was the reintroduction of George to the group. There were so many ways for that to go, and 97% of them were awful. Grant did such a great job with it, though, that it felt like one of the most realistic scenes in a trilogy that I’ve repeatedly praised for its realism. The success of the entire novel—and the series as a whole—is largely dependent upon that reunion. It couldn’t have been written better.
SPOILER ALERT
I was a little disappointed, though. I never imagined this series would end in anything other than George, Shaun, and Becks going out in a blaze of glory. I never considered Mira Grant would end it any other way. The fact that she did just seems wrong to me.
B+
When I read the first book of the Newsflesh Trilogy, Feed, I loved George. When I read Deadline, I loved Becks. If you read my review for Feed, you know how I feel about what happened to George. In a different way, I felt horrible about what happened to Becks in Deadline. I could see it coming, but it didn’t make it any better. I wanted her to have a better go of things in the finale. Deep down, though, I knew no one would have a better anything.
No one ever having a better anything is one of the things I love most about Mira Grant’s trilogy. The crew of After the End Times has no illusions about their futures. They know their lives are destined to end at the wrong end of some government conspiracy, yet they never let fear stop them.
If you’ve read the first two books of this series, then you know that cloned George returns. It was great to read Grant write in Georgia’s voice again. In both Deadline and Blackout, I felt it took her a few chapters to really get into the groove of Shaun’s voice. No problem with George. She was back—as a replica, true—and I loved her all over again.
The author’s biggest success in Blackout was the reintroduction of George to the group. There were so many ways for that to go, and 97% of them were awful. Grant did such a great job with it, though, that it felt like one of the most realistic scenes in a trilogy that I’ve repeatedly praised for its realism. The success of the entire novel—and the series as a whole—is largely dependent upon that reunion. It couldn’t have been written better.
SPOILER ALERT
I was a little disappointed, though. I never imagined this series would end in anything other than George, Shaun, and Becks going out in a blaze of glory. I never considered Mira Grant would end it any other way. The fact that she did just seems wrong to me.
B+
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The Rook
The Rook by Daniel O'Malley
“Dear You,
The body you are wearing used to be mine.”
This novel is the story of a brand new Myfanwy Thomas. This new Myfanwy Thomas wakes up standing in a rainy park to find four dead bodies lying around her. Without any knowledge of who she is—or any memories whatsoever—she fumbled around in her coat pocket for some clue as to who she is. She finds a letter whose author identifies herself as the original Myfanwy Thomas.
As you can see, The Rook grabs you from the very beginning. The above quote is the book’s opening sentence. It is an ambitious beginning, for it promises an epic tale. It is a lot for any novel to live up to. For the most part, The Rook does.
I love this book. I mean, I really, really love it. The author does a wonderful job of telling Myfanwy’s tales (original and new). The reader is learning everything about this world at the same time the new Myfanwy does. Through dozens of letters left behind by the original, Myfanwy learns of the role she must fulfill if she is to survive her new life. She is, she learns, a Rook, a member of the Court of the Checquy, a secret British organization who deals almost entirely in the realm of the supernatural (more Mi-5 than Men in Black). She also learns that she has been betrayed by a fellow member of the Court.
The best thing about this novel is the way the author, Daniel O’Malley, feels Myfanwy’s way through her new life. She knows nothing of the people—or the horrors—that her predecessor dealt with on a daily basis. These people and these things must become familiar to her. She stumbles through them, but in an earnest and mostly realistic way. Character-wise, the new Myfanwy Thomas is the best a new Myfanwy Thomas could be.
Living a secret life is not easy. This is especially true when one is thrust into that life with no safety net and no time for learning the ropes. The way Myfanwy navigated the Checquy felt very realistic to me. Even though I don’t fully buy that Myfanwy’s secret could have been kept throughout the Court, I was willing to ride with it. The author made me want to believe. That is a very good thing.
I also love the way O’Malley wrote Myfanwy’s relationships with people. They were all very different, and it was interesting to read her personality as it came across via her interactions with different people. In this way, we were able to see the development and multifaceted pieces of her. The reader is witness to the makings of a person.
We get to see her make a friend, and feel all her nervousness and joy at finding a person with whom she feels a real connection. That part of the novel is one of the best.
At the same time, in a very different way, we learn the original Myfanwy Thomas. Unlike the new woman, the original is someone we neither see nor feel in this novel. Instead, we hear the opinions her colleagues in the Court had of her as spoken to the new Myfanwy. We also have the letters she left behind for her successor.
The letters. They were brilliant. They may annoy certain readers because they are, I admit, a bit of a copout, a form of information dumping. More than information, though, they tell you who the original Myfanwy Thomas was. They tell the reader why she was betrayed. They show us what was really important to her. A fair assessment of the woman is that she was not a particularly good person. She shied away from responsibility and seemed to lack drive. She was a disappointment. Yet, she did this one thing, this one honorable thing: she researched her butt off, wrote these letters, and prepared the new Myfanwy to survive and thrive. The time and care and diligence required to write those letters was heroic. It was, without hyperbole, one of the most selfless and loving things any human being could do for any other. So she couldn’t have been that terrible a person, right?
The Rook is Myfanwy’s story. Sure, there are battles and murders and treason and treachery, but this story is all about Myfanwy. There are times when the action dies down and the story seems to meander, but at its heart, The Rook is the tale of development of Myfanwy. That never meanders. It is full and rich and complete. For this reason, I hope there is no sequel. Myfanwy’s story is fine. I hope other novels about the Checquy revolve around the other characters, who were great. The other members of the Court, especially the Gestalts, were fascinating. The portrayal of the Eckhart family was very poignant. Shantay and Bronwyn and Alrich and Ingrid—especially Ingrid—were all great. I’d love to read more about each of them.
The Rook wasn’t perfect. There were some things that bothered me. Four stand out, and they are the reason I did not give The Rook an A+ rating. First is a moment when Myfanwy references Grease. I find it unlikely that the original Myfanwy would have ever seen it, but it was impossible for the new one to know anything about it.
Within the same scene, she thinks, “This is clearly a person experienced in the realms of supernatural warfare but who has had practically nothing to do with normal people. Especially girls.” Myfanwy, herself, knows nothing of normal people, even girls. It is why her finding a friend is impactful. This threw me out of the novel for a short while because it was very much out of place and out of character for a woman the author had previously crafted very carefully.
Third is a scene about a quarter of the way into the novel that really threw me out for a while. Throughout the entire novel, the only scene which is not Myfanwy-centric occurs in the aftermath of her calling for a meeting of the Court. We read each other member of the Court learning of the meeting. That was fine. It actually fits with the novel. However, after we go back to Myfanwy, O’Malley interjects a random sentence: “Alrich woke up.” Then it’s back to Myfanwy. Who is Alrich? Eventually we find out, but that was random and just doesn’t at all fit with the rest of the novel. From that moment, it was clear to me that the author loves the Alrich character. His introduction hurt the novel, though.
The final thing was a biggie for me, but it wasn’t enough to make me not love this book. In describing the Checquy’s ventures into America, O’Malley wrote of an operative who, “had noticed that the natives had a far higher incidence of powered births.” Really, man? And, of course, we have the Magical Negro: “Slaves were rigorously screened and purchased. Upon their integration into the Croatoan, they were granted their freedom. Some operatives spoke out indignantly at the prospect of freeing slaves and letting them operate as equals. These protests died down quickly when the general level of ability among the Africans outstripped that of most of the other operative.” I hate this stuff. This stuff makes my blood boil.
Still, The Rook is a fantastic novel. I love the new Myfanwy Thomas. And Chapter 36, one of the original Myfanwy’s letters, is one of the best chapters I have ever read. That chapter is…everything. It is the original Myfanwy’s unintentional treatise on life, death, family, loyalty, duty, responsibility, and, most importantly, her place in the world. No matter how many times I reread this book, I will probably read Chapter 36 a few hundred times throughout the rest of my life. It’s that good. And so is this novel.
A-
“Dear You,
The body you are wearing used to be mine.”
This novel is the story of a brand new Myfanwy Thomas. This new Myfanwy Thomas wakes up standing in a rainy park to find four dead bodies lying around her. Without any knowledge of who she is—or any memories whatsoever—she fumbled around in her coat pocket for some clue as to who she is. She finds a letter whose author identifies herself as the original Myfanwy Thomas.
As you can see, The Rook grabs you from the very beginning. The above quote is the book’s opening sentence. It is an ambitious beginning, for it promises an epic tale. It is a lot for any novel to live up to. For the most part, The Rook does.
I love this book. I mean, I really, really love it. The author does a wonderful job of telling Myfanwy’s tales (original and new). The reader is learning everything about this world at the same time the new Myfanwy does. Through dozens of letters left behind by the original, Myfanwy learns of the role she must fulfill if she is to survive her new life. She is, she learns, a Rook, a member of the Court of the Checquy, a secret British organization who deals almost entirely in the realm of the supernatural (more Mi-5 than Men in Black). She also learns that she has been betrayed by a fellow member of the Court.
The best thing about this novel is the way the author, Daniel O’Malley, feels Myfanwy’s way through her new life. She knows nothing of the people—or the horrors—that her predecessor dealt with on a daily basis. These people and these things must become familiar to her. She stumbles through them, but in an earnest and mostly realistic way. Character-wise, the new Myfanwy Thomas is the best a new Myfanwy Thomas could be.
Living a secret life is not easy. This is especially true when one is thrust into that life with no safety net and no time for learning the ropes. The way Myfanwy navigated the Checquy felt very realistic to me. Even though I don’t fully buy that Myfanwy’s secret could have been kept throughout the Court, I was willing to ride with it. The author made me want to believe. That is a very good thing.
I also love the way O’Malley wrote Myfanwy’s relationships with people. They were all very different, and it was interesting to read her personality as it came across via her interactions with different people. In this way, we were able to see the development and multifaceted pieces of her. The reader is witness to the makings of a person.
We get to see her make a friend, and feel all her nervousness and joy at finding a person with whom she feels a real connection. That part of the novel is one of the best.
At the same time, in a very different way, we learn the original Myfanwy Thomas. Unlike the new woman, the original is someone we neither see nor feel in this novel. Instead, we hear the opinions her colleagues in the Court had of her as spoken to the new Myfanwy. We also have the letters she left behind for her successor.
The letters. They were brilliant. They may annoy certain readers because they are, I admit, a bit of a copout, a form of information dumping. More than information, though, they tell you who the original Myfanwy Thomas was. They tell the reader why she was betrayed. They show us what was really important to her. A fair assessment of the woman is that she was not a particularly good person. She shied away from responsibility and seemed to lack drive. She was a disappointment. Yet, she did this one thing, this one honorable thing: she researched her butt off, wrote these letters, and prepared the new Myfanwy to survive and thrive. The time and care and diligence required to write those letters was heroic. It was, without hyperbole, one of the most selfless and loving things any human being could do for any other. So she couldn’t have been that terrible a person, right?
The Rook is Myfanwy’s story. Sure, there are battles and murders and treason and treachery, but this story is all about Myfanwy. There are times when the action dies down and the story seems to meander, but at its heart, The Rook is the tale of development of Myfanwy. That never meanders. It is full and rich and complete. For this reason, I hope there is no sequel. Myfanwy’s story is fine. I hope other novels about the Checquy revolve around the other characters, who were great. The other members of the Court, especially the Gestalts, were fascinating. The portrayal of the Eckhart family was very poignant. Shantay and Bronwyn and Alrich and Ingrid—especially Ingrid—were all great. I’d love to read more about each of them.
The Rook wasn’t perfect. There were some things that bothered me. Four stand out, and they are the reason I did not give The Rook an A+ rating. First is a moment when Myfanwy references Grease. I find it unlikely that the original Myfanwy would have ever seen it, but it was impossible for the new one to know anything about it.
Within the same scene, she thinks, “This is clearly a person experienced in the realms of supernatural warfare but who has had practically nothing to do with normal people. Especially girls.” Myfanwy, herself, knows nothing of normal people, even girls. It is why her finding a friend is impactful. This threw me out of the novel for a short while because it was very much out of place and out of character for a woman the author had previously crafted very carefully.
Third is a scene about a quarter of the way into the novel that really threw me out for a while. Throughout the entire novel, the only scene which is not Myfanwy-centric occurs in the aftermath of her calling for a meeting of the Court. We read each other member of the Court learning of the meeting. That was fine. It actually fits with the novel. However, after we go back to Myfanwy, O’Malley interjects a random sentence: “Alrich woke up.” Then it’s back to Myfanwy. Who is Alrich? Eventually we find out, but that was random and just doesn’t at all fit with the rest of the novel. From that moment, it was clear to me that the author loves the Alrich character. His introduction hurt the novel, though.
The final thing was a biggie for me, but it wasn’t enough to make me not love this book. In describing the Checquy’s ventures into America, O’Malley wrote of an operative who, “had noticed that the natives had a far higher incidence of powered births.” Really, man? And, of course, we have the Magical Negro: “Slaves were rigorously screened and purchased. Upon their integration into the Croatoan, they were granted their freedom. Some operatives spoke out indignantly at the prospect of freeing slaves and letting them operate as equals. These protests died down quickly when the general level of ability among the Africans outstripped that of most of the other operative.” I hate this stuff. This stuff makes my blood boil.
Still, The Rook is a fantastic novel. I love the new Myfanwy Thomas. And Chapter 36, one of the original Myfanwy’s letters, is one of the best chapters I have ever read. That chapter is…everything. It is the original Myfanwy’s unintentional treatise on life, death, family, loyalty, duty, responsibility, and, most importantly, her place in the world. No matter how many times I reread this book, I will probably read Chapter 36 a few hundred times throughout the rest of my life. It’s that good. And so is this novel.
A-
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Ex-Patriots
Ex-Patriots by Peter Clines
Whenever you have an issue with a tiny aspect of something you read or watch, there is often comes a fear that the follow-up book/movie/whatever will spend more time on that aspect and, therefore, infuriate you. This was the case with my reading Ex-Patriots. In my review of the first book, Ex-Heroes, I noted that the racial dynamics of the characters was bothersome. There was so much time spent introducing readers to the heroes that this wasn’t a really big issue. This time around, however, I couldn’t ignore it.
It started right off the bat. Four paragraphs into Chapter 2, we are introduced to a young Latina who is participating in a celebratory cutting of St. George’s hair. It turns out the girl is only an excuse to introduce us to Cesar, her uncle, who wants to disclose his own superpower to St. George. Cesar was previously a gang member. So we’re not into Book 2 of this series and we haven’t yet met a Latino—in Los Angeles, mind you—who isn’t associated with a gang. A little later, the heroes decide it’s finally time to be nominally inclusive. Of course, most of the team objects, but St. George insists. “I expect to see at least one person with a tattoo,” he says. When they finally choose a former gang member to go out with them, he voices his disdain for the team’s new armor: “Shit looks gay.” Come on, man.
The most hilarious racial moment occurred when Colonel Shelley, the man in charge at Yuma, asked one of the heroes how they were able get chickens in the Mount. Shelley was told, “There were a bunch of families from Mexico and South America who kept them in their back yards. Lots in Chinatown and Little Tokyo, too. Some of them found shelter with a group calling themselves the Seventeens.” That is practically an admission that the Mount had been free of Latinos before taking in survivors after the war with the Seventeens. It is confirmation that all the Latinos in this series are associated with the gang.
At least one of them is treated like a good guy at some point. I can’t say the same about Asian people. Throughout the first two books of the series, there have been three named Asian people. There are Sandra Oh, described as being “The bitchy Asian woman,” from Gray’s Anatomy, a Korean ex-hero who was Gorgon’s underaged girlfriend and went by the name Banzai, and Christian Nguyen, a citizen of the Mount who was very anti-hero.
I don’t mind her being anti-hero, but Christian Nguyen represents part of how the plot was not, in my opinion, very well thought out. The survivors of the Mount had been living there safely under the protection of the heroes for about two years when the Army showed up out of the blue one day. There is no way you can convince me that in a post-apocalyptic scenario, the most enthusiastic voice of the “Hey! We’re rescued because the Army is here!” is going to be a non-White person. Not in this America.
In Ex-Heroes, there weren’t really any named Black characters. That changes in Ex-Patriots. In this novel, the heroes of the Mount contend with a band of genetically enhanced super soldiers from a base in Yuma, Arizona. These soldiers, the Unbreakables, are led by a Black man named Captain John Carter Freedom. This guy is a piece of work. Captain Freedom is “Six-eight, maybe six-ten, easy, and built like a fucking linebacker.” What a patriot this guy is. “The Army was where I was supposed to be and I was going to serve until I died. I had a duty to serve my country. The United States had fought a war against itself, spilled its own blood, so my great-great grandfather could be free. So I could have this proud name.” Oh yeah, Freedom’s special gun is called Lady Liberty. Writing from the point of view of the oppressed requires skill and nuance not many people have. Ugh.
It wasn’t just race. This book is seriously flawed in dealing with gender as well. From Danielle, who is too frightened live when not in the Cerberus suit—she sleeps under her kitchen table for crying out loud—to Sergeant Kennedy, who is an eager-to-pleaser under the guise of being a strong soldier, this book is downright demeaning to women. “I’m not supposed to freak out,” Kennedy says. “Girls freak out.” The best part was this: “Mom says having three girls was murder on him. He loved us, don’t get me wrong. He was the greatest dad in the world and he spent every minute he could with us, but it was rough on him not to have a son to keep up the military tradition…I was the youngest. And the tomboy. As soon as I was old enough to understand Dad’s quiet disappointment, I knew what I was going to do with my life.” Right.
In Ex-Heroes, I thought that Stealth was the author’s sexual fantasy put on paper. This is another area in which Ex-Patriots is worse than the original. The text is fairly explicit in this regard. When Stealth asked St. George how he was able to resist someone’s powers of persuasion, he told her he thought of a loophole. “That soldier hit you with his rifle. The second he did that, I realized I didn’t want to beat the bad guy. I just wanted to save the girl.” Stealth says to him, “You have heroic fantasies where I am ‘the girl.’” And then Stealth, the stoic, aloof Vicki-Spock woman, says, “At the moment I find your heroic fantasies somewhat endearing.” What? Essentially, this entire series has been a nerdy hero too afraid to tell the object of his desire how he feels about her saves the damsel in distress tale.
And I haven’t even brought up the Obi-Wan Kenobi zombie. That was too much for me. Had I been reading a paperback, I would have thrown it against the wall. No, man. Just…no.
I thought the autobiographical chapters in Ex-Heroes helped moved the plot. I felt the opposite this time. They took me out of the rhythm of the story and, in some cases, gave away too much as to take some of the intrigue away.
For the most part, I did like the way Peter Clines wrote John Smith. He was actually a great character. From his first appearance, his dialogue and actions were perfect. Everything involving him was very well done…until the end. John Smith had been too smart throughout the entire novel to make the mistake of creating a situation in which he could not be heard.
This book was not for me. If the series continues, I doubt I’ll pick it back up. Interesting concept, but not my style.
D+
Whenever you have an issue with a tiny aspect of something you read or watch, there is often comes a fear that the follow-up book/movie/whatever will spend more time on that aspect and, therefore, infuriate you. This was the case with my reading Ex-Patriots. In my review of the first book, Ex-Heroes, I noted that the racial dynamics of the characters was bothersome. There was so much time spent introducing readers to the heroes that this wasn’t a really big issue. This time around, however, I couldn’t ignore it.
It started right off the bat. Four paragraphs into Chapter 2, we are introduced to a young Latina who is participating in a celebratory cutting of St. George’s hair. It turns out the girl is only an excuse to introduce us to Cesar, her uncle, who wants to disclose his own superpower to St. George. Cesar was previously a gang member. So we’re not into Book 2 of this series and we haven’t yet met a Latino—in Los Angeles, mind you—who isn’t associated with a gang. A little later, the heroes decide it’s finally time to be nominally inclusive. Of course, most of the team objects, but St. George insists. “I expect to see at least one person with a tattoo,” he says. When they finally choose a former gang member to go out with them, he voices his disdain for the team’s new armor: “Shit looks gay.” Come on, man.
The most hilarious racial moment occurred when Colonel Shelley, the man in charge at Yuma, asked one of the heroes how they were able get chickens in the Mount. Shelley was told, “There were a bunch of families from Mexico and South America who kept them in their back yards. Lots in Chinatown and Little Tokyo, too. Some of them found shelter with a group calling themselves the Seventeens.” That is practically an admission that the Mount had been free of Latinos before taking in survivors after the war with the Seventeens. It is confirmation that all the Latinos in this series are associated with the gang.
At least one of them is treated like a good guy at some point. I can’t say the same about Asian people. Throughout the first two books of the series, there have been three named Asian people. There are Sandra Oh, described as being “The bitchy Asian woman,” from Gray’s Anatomy, a Korean ex-hero who was Gorgon’s underaged girlfriend and went by the name Banzai, and Christian Nguyen, a citizen of the Mount who was very anti-hero.
I don’t mind her being anti-hero, but Christian Nguyen represents part of how the plot was not, in my opinion, very well thought out. The survivors of the Mount had been living there safely under the protection of the heroes for about two years when the Army showed up out of the blue one day. There is no way you can convince me that in a post-apocalyptic scenario, the most enthusiastic voice of the “Hey! We’re rescued because the Army is here!” is going to be a non-White person. Not in this America.
In Ex-Heroes, there weren’t really any named Black characters. That changes in Ex-Patriots. In this novel, the heroes of the Mount contend with a band of genetically enhanced super soldiers from a base in Yuma, Arizona. These soldiers, the Unbreakables, are led by a Black man named Captain John Carter Freedom. This guy is a piece of work. Captain Freedom is “Six-eight, maybe six-ten, easy, and built like a fucking linebacker.” What a patriot this guy is. “The Army was where I was supposed to be and I was going to serve until I died. I had a duty to serve my country. The United States had fought a war against itself, spilled its own blood, so my great-great grandfather could be free. So I could have this proud name.” Oh yeah, Freedom’s special gun is called Lady Liberty. Writing from the point of view of the oppressed requires skill and nuance not many people have. Ugh.
It wasn’t just race. This book is seriously flawed in dealing with gender as well. From Danielle, who is too frightened live when not in the Cerberus suit—she sleeps under her kitchen table for crying out loud—to Sergeant Kennedy, who is an eager-to-pleaser under the guise of being a strong soldier, this book is downright demeaning to women. “I’m not supposed to freak out,” Kennedy says. “Girls freak out.” The best part was this: “Mom says having three girls was murder on him. He loved us, don’t get me wrong. He was the greatest dad in the world and he spent every minute he could with us, but it was rough on him not to have a son to keep up the military tradition…I was the youngest. And the tomboy. As soon as I was old enough to understand Dad’s quiet disappointment, I knew what I was going to do with my life.” Right.
In Ex-Heroes, I thought that Stealth was the author’s sexual fantasy put on paper. This is another area in which Ex-Patriots is worse than the original. The text is fairly explicit in this regard. When Stealth asked St. George how he was able to resist someone’s powers of persuasion, he told her he thought of a loophole. “That soldier hit you with his rifle. The second he did that, I realized I didn’t want to beat the bad guy. I just wanted to save the girl.” Stealth says to him, “You have heroic fantasies where I am ‘the girl.’” And then Stealth, the stoic, aloof Vicki-Spock woman, says, “At the moment I find your heroic fantasies somewhat endearing.” What? Essentially, this entire series has been a nerdy hero too afraid to tell the object of his desire how he feels about her saves the damsel in distress tale.
And I haven’t even brought up the Obi-Wan Kenobi zombie. That was too much for me. Had I been reading a paperback, I would have thrown it against the wall. No, man. Just…no.
I thought the autobiographical chapters in Ex-Heroes helped moved the plot. I felt the opposite this time. They took me out of the rhythm of the story and, in some cases, gave away too much as to take some of the intrigue away.
For the most part, I did like the way Peter Clines wrote John Smith. He was actually a great character. From his first appearance, his dialogue and actions were perfect. Everything involving him was very well done…until the end. John Smith had been too smart throughout the entire novel to make the mistake of creating a situation in which he could not be heard.
This book was not for me. If the series continues, I doubt I’ll pick it back up. Interesting concept, but not my style.
D+
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