Hands down (and I mean way down) to Anselm Audley's first book, Heresy.
Sigh. It looks like Simon & Schuster, taking a one up from Knopf Books (publisher of Christopher Paolini's Eragon), decided to manufacture a teenage fantasy writer of their very own.
And as expected, his book reads like a teenage creative effort--something that should be locked into a truck and shoved into a deep, dark basement so as never to see the light of day. Why this travesty was actually published is confounding.
The book is exactly what the title proposes it to be: An act of Heresy upon the English language. It's gramamtically unsound, ravishingly banal, putrefyingly boring--an indelible denigration of the novel form.
Its got a plot held together by toothpicks, a story so boring it would put a dead man to sleep, and characters about as interesting as a George Bush speech.
Shuffle over Robert Stanek, move over Robert Newcomb, make some space Terry Goodkind, Audrian Hudley is here to join your ranks as one of the worst fantasy writers ever.
Sigh. It looks like Simon & Schuster, taking a one up from Knopf Books (publisher of Christopher Paolini's Eragon), decided to manufacture a teenage fantasy writer of their very own.
And as expected, his book reads like a teenage creative effort--something that should be locked into a truck and shoved into a deep, dark basement so as never to see the light of day. Why this travesty was actually published is confounding.
The book is exactly what the title proposes it to be: An act of Heresy upon the English language. It's gramamtically unsound, ravishingly banal, putrefyingly boring--an indelible denigration of the novel form.
Its got a plot held together by toothpicks, a story so boring it would put a dead man to sleep, and characters about as interesting as a George Bush speech.
Shuffle over Robert Stanek, move over Robert Newcomb, make some space Terry Goodkind, Audrian Hudley is here to join your ranks as one of the worst fantasy writers ever.
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