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2.0 out of 5 stars
I *so* wanted to like this book., Mar 28 2003
You know, if this book had been about two hundred pages shorter, I would have probably given it five stars. Literally, there was no reason for half of this book to have been written. And that half, of course, was the history Slade injected into this book. Pages and pages of it. Chapters and chapters of history. Then fivep ages of good writing. Then MORE history. I hate to admit this, but it's obvious to me that Mr. Slade (or rather Mr. Clarke) was just churning this one out on his own to get it done, and sacrificed expanding the admittingly great plot and usual great characters just to finish the book and make a buck. It's a shame too, because if you discount the textook-esque history sections, there's a GREAT story here. I really wanted to like this book, and I really wanted to care about these characters. But the numerous history sections just got in the way. I think the real main problem with this book is not really Mr. Clarke's (the main writer behind Michael Slade) fault...for unlike this book, he always has one or two writing partners when these books are written. I have the impression that with this novel, there was no one to hold him in 'check,' and thus he expanded on the history sections just to fill a page limit. A shame. Headhunter, Ripper, and Primal Scream are Slade at his best. This one...well this one, sadly, is Slade at his worst. I'm feverently hoping that the addition of Slade's daughter increases the quality of his future books (and I've heard only good things about the new duo behind Slade, so I'm eager to pick up Death's Door). Take a pass on this one unless you have a LOT of patience for dry textbook-esque prose.
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