I’m reading a gimmicky book and one that’s long but not particularly good, of selling your soul to the devil and dark rituals. It’s exciting but I know I should be reading something that isn’t going to make my head fall apart with disbelief, so yeah, I do essentially hate myself for reading it. I’m not particularly invested in the characters, either; it’s more like the pride of not being able to finish such a book is driving me nuts: here, you’ve already sunk this many hours into it, so you might as well finish it. How do I know this? When the characters muse that “hey, this is a bad idea” but then go ahead and do it anyway just to add some drama into the situations, or when there are illustrations, then yeah, it’s a bad book.
Sure, the illustrations are pretty well done, purporting to be real articles from websites I’ve read, like The New York Times or Vanity Fair but they’re a gimmick, and there’s no particular reason why they are needed except maybe they know this is an e-book and … yeah, I’m reading a book with illustrations. ’nuff said. One last jab, then: it reads almost as if the author(s) decided they wanted to cash in as quickly as possible on a movie deal or options and so it reads like! some! great! thriller! breathless and full of foreshadowing and foreboding that reads less dramatic and more … sad. Oh my god the next page is terrible and then … well, not so much.