I love a dragon. And when I first saw this book I was all "omg dragon! And omg! Tom Holt!". I should have known there would be a lot of chit-chatting, it actually felt like an old woman firing away about inflation rates, new iPhones, gay marriages, porn, diarrhea, hypochondriacs, insurance policies, new nail polishes, begonias, petunias, dog poop and their connection to the weather.
Doesn't make any sense? Exactly.
Tom Holt never fails to prove he has a bad case of diarrhea . . . of the mouth. And I tell you, this book is the worst so far. No unexpected twists or bad ass endings to redeem the rubbish. It's like you woke up with the bed sheets all ruffled, went to deal with shit at work all day, came back only to find out the sheets are still ruffled, the bed undone, and the house a complete toddler mess. Bad...bad...bad. I need a long break Holt, I'll be seeing you when I read the other stories other writers have. TTFN!