I have a lot of natural wood toys for my birds. Comparatively, the wood used for this ladder is dry, cracked, discoloured, and overall quite unpleasant. Worse, there's copious amounts of dry glue globbed around where the rope meets the wood (conveniently missing in the sample picture) and though I've read that it's non-toxic I'd really rather that my birds not accidentally ingest the stuff.

Overall I am very displeased with the quality. Save yourself some money & a whole lot of concern and either make one yourself or just abandon the notion of using this kind of ladder.

I always plan - carefully - which books I intend to purchase. Usually, this process takes me through dozens of reviews (which I often disregard) and, where applicable, excerpts. Rarely have I ever found myself so wholly in want of a book as I was when I first discovered Pilgrim. Penned by one of my favourite authors, with whom I have found very little fault, I began reading with heightened expectations.

Findley combines the past with an interpretation of Jungian psychology, exploring elements like the naturality of polygamy and the power and extent of the theory of a collective unconscious. For the first 90% of the story, everything works together wonderfully; events are tied together or created with a level of believability that can, at times, astound the reader.

Unfortunately, much of the story proves to be a cop-out. I won't spoil the ending here, but will say that it comes off as lazy.

Overall, it's a good read ... if you don't mind the disappointment that comes after it ends.

I had reasonably high hopes for this novel, not because of Atwood's repute, not because of the accolades and nominations it received, but because I find it interesting how others interpret the fall of humanity. While Oryx and Crake proved to be a semi-interesting read, there are many areas in which this novel is lacking.
Other reviewers have touched upon the poor character development, and I have to agree. I didn't care about Jimmy/Snowman, Crake, Oryx, or any of the sub-characters. It is evident that considerably less time was used creating them than the plot and intricacies of her wasteland. This becomes a problem near the end as we're asked to understand and sympathise with these people but lack that closeness resulting from proper development.

Some parts of Oryx and Crake wear thin, quickly. Most prevalent are the names she uses for futuristic compounds and man-made lifeforms: names like RejoovenEssence, Pigoon, Wolvogs and ChickieNobs grow more ridiculous as you read them again, and again, and again. Take the Wolvogs for instance: with the appearance of domesticated dog breeds, they actually have the feral instincts of a wolf. Fine, but why not just call them wolves? Feral Dogs? Or why not come up with something new entirely?

Ultimately, the book can be interesting, but for something so subtly based on character, one should expect that the characters be more than the two-dimensional yawns that they are. The ending is a collosal let-down and rather predicatble, given the progression of the story. Overall, I'm left thinking "so what?" about virtually everything.

The fanfare and general idolation of this novel is decidedly undeserved. Why? At points it can be entertaining (though it drags on in description far too often) but it is not long before an odd sense of familiarity sinks in: a sensation of deja-vu begs you to find its source.

And find it you shall. Nothing in this book is original, each idea a poorly manipulated classic akin to what you would find in a slightly better than average fan fiction.

What results is a kid trying to achieve the level of literary finesse that his presumed idols have achieved and abandoning the most important element of the writer's craft: creativity. By borrowing upon these well-known themes, characters, elements Paolini is only hindering the success of fantasy and other genred fictions. Instead of evolving these now overused and cliched ideals of magic and fantasy, he has left them unchanged.

There is plenty of quality fantasy stories available that do not blatantly (no, it is not a cutesy homage to his favourite writers) steal the most recognisable elements of popular literary achievements.

I can only hope that his next book will truly be his own and not just a compilation of the ideas of others.