Whupped

I am here to confess that for the first time, that I can remember, in my life I have been soundly thrashed by a book.

I was doing some research recently and I sellected two books from the library from a particular "Universe."

Many years ago, like ten, I had attempted to read some books from this Universe for two reasons: one, I love the universe that has been created and two I was curious to see what some of my friends loved so much about them.

The universe that was created was this awesome blend of super advanced technology and old west rough and tumble swagger. My favorite two things melded together in an awesome package. So I read a couple of books, four, maybe five, I'm sure that it wasn't six, all by different authors, all taking place in this created Universe and I came up with one sound conclusion: they were all stupid. Some of the foundational ideas where good, but the delivery was ineffectual and without error they all took the same in-universe cliched turn.

So I stopped reading books from that part of the gallaxy, until recently.

As I was saying, I was doing research.

The first book was based on a recent video game so understandably the author had contraints that he had to work within, but he didn't quite pull it off, especially as at the end the hero dies, albeit to save his comrads, but nontheless ingloriously, and with a cliched bang.

The second book . . .I only made it to page 77. From the very begining I was having moments where I thought that the author was channeling Clive Cussler. This new author was a pedantic hack who was in love with the sound of his own voice and fifteen letter words. I can understand the sporadic use of unknown words, like coriacious, but to use great big obscure words from a foreign, forgotten dialect of Ancient English every other sentance is a bit over-whelming. And then his story was virtually a patch quilt of other people's literary inventions from the same Universe; from great master warriors being easily killed by cannon fodder pawn-like foot soldiers and robots on quests and criminal syndicate henchmen striving to rise in the ranks of their orginizations and the scourge of the Galaxy searching for one specific individual . . . . . . . . .I could continue but my blood pressure is rising.

If it weren't for Belle, I would probly be shouting at the book right now like I did with Clive Cussler. I am glad that she encouraged me to put it down. There's nothing wrong with NOT reading a lousy story. I am not any less of a man.