Wow! This is embarrassing. See, there isn’t any. I did not finish a single book this month. It’s not that I wasn’t reading, cause I was, but I kept picking up lemons.
The first book I really tried to read, but between typos galore, chapters of backstory, unrealistic dialogue, descriptions so detailed they read like technical manuals, and dialogue tags that were just plain weird, I couldn’t make it past the first few chapters. And it wasn’t a self-published novel, so it can’t be blamed on a lack of editing. This novel went the whole route of querying, editing and proofreading. Come to think of it, maybe the problem lies with me. In fact, all the reviews I’ve seen of the novel were praising its brilliance, leaving me somewhat confused because I just can’t see it.
For my second attempt I chose a James Patterson. I’d never read anything of his before, but my dad’s a big fan and has all his books, so I plundered my dad’s bookcase. Jester, which Patterson co-authored with Andrew Gross, is a historic novel about a French dude who goes to the Crusades and comes back to find his wife has been carried off by raiders. Sounds fun, right? Edge of your seat, sword battles, jumping castle walls with a catapult…wait, I think I’m describing a different story now. Continue reading “On my February reading”