Chris Jane

This book is fucking horrible. It's just a story about one sad, pathetic man. And his sad, pathetic life. Why would anyone want to read about that? Hell, why would anyone want to write about that? Fuck if I know. All I know is, it's boring as fuck.

There's this guy, Dan Palace. His wife hates him. His cat hates him. Everybody hates him. He's a useless fuck. So, he gets a divorce. Bangs a whore or two. Goes to Vegas and blows all his cash at the craps table.

This doesn't sound like fiction to me. It sounds like something that actually happened. Maybe that means that the writing was that good. But, I don't think that's what it means. I think it's just bad fiction. If this is the extent of the author's imagination, it's fucking pathetic.

Dan finds yet another whore, and drags her off to the country to live the country life. To chop wood. To listen to the birdies chirp. To drop a little something into the whore's drink. And rape her silly, like you do.

I don't fucking care. The story is so stupid and pointless, it was drudgery to finish it. But I pushed on, like a snow plow, hoping against all hope that there's a nugget of goodness in this novel. But there wasn't. Not one goddamn nugget. It's all just pure drivel.

If this was an actual book, and not a Kindle book, I would have torn each page out, and put it through the shredder. Just so nobody else would accidentally read it. It's that bad.… (altro)