Every now and then, you read... try to read a book that you thought would be good.
The one I've just thrown across the room started off brilliant. I'm not Christian so to read about a devout Christian was an interesting exercise. No bible-thumping, though, just some kick ass action... in the first part.
The second part descended into a self-indulgent lecture on what goes on at a convention and the personalities involved; including - if you can believe it - the ill-disguised names of real writers, slush parties, the 'outsider' angst of the people who attend and, even more unnecessary, a comment on the 'women don't understand science fiction' argument from SFWA, thinly disguised as either a real comment or a tongue-in-cheek snark. (Since I'm not a part of the 'in' crowd the author runs with, I don't know and couldn't care less.) I couldn't cope. It bored me to f***ing tears.
And it was a waste, too, because the subject matter was intriguing. Unfortunately, I have no interest in wading through all the bullshit loosely disguised as a search for information on a killer. Why the editor allowed this section is beyond me; it's worse than a pot boiler!
In the writer's defence, I've just come back from the public wrestling match that is Christmas shopping, so that may explain the virulence. I sure as hell won't try to finish the tripe and I will, in future, hesitate to buy more.
Life is too damn short to waste on stupid fiction.
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