Nope. I've written post-it notes better than this. As much as it pains me to make the obvious joke, The Rotten Something ... is this book. Two nights of my (reading) life I won't get back.
I feel really bad sometimes, especially when I criticise other writers work, because it makes me think that mine must have similar issues or tonal problems and I just can't see them. Like these two authors, who openly pose as a fictional author of a work of fiction, which contains another, worse, work of fiction within it. I get the idea, a play within a play, a book within a book, so much Hamlet!
Every character spouts exposition in long dialogues, there's a weird fascination with baths and showers, and hair. The story is ridiculous and the characters with less depth than cardboard cut outs.
Two good things, if this can published surely anything can? And it was short, mercifully so.
No comments:
Post a Comment