Another WOOL novella, another pastiche of dystopian tropes sprinkled liberally with the hackneyed cliches from generic procedural TV series.
Here's all the plot action in a nutshell:
Juliette takes over as Sheriff.
Juliette sticks her pretty little nose where it doesn't belong.
Juliette meets cute a boy in the cafeteria. And not just any boy: one who conveniently works in IT and just happens to chart stars. Aw, talk about your heavy handed star-crossed lovers' reference.
Juliette gets fired by Obvious Villain and trudges down the stairs back to the down deep.
Juliette sticks her pretty little nose where it doesn't belong.
Juliette is caught by Obvious Villain and trudges up...and up...and up...and up to the up-top. (This isn't a spoiler. It's how the novella begins.)
Shock twist that shocks no one familiar with pop culture tropes ensues.
The End.
The originality of a society contained in an underground silo (albeit one with impossibly long staircases) has worn off, and we are left with "CSI: Silo" as Juliette attempts to unravel -- oooh! another knitting analogy! Dibs! -- what happened to Holston, Jahns and Marnes. Because Obvious Villain obviously never thought that killing the Sheriff, the Deputy, the Mayor, a few redshirts, and possibly another Sheriff - all in a matter of what, two weeks? -- would not be, well, obvious.
Nor has the writing improved. Howey actually writes, "Juliette felt her blood run cold" when she meets Obvious Villain for the first time. There's the usual pages upon pages of introspective close third person POV thought that tells the reader instead of showing them. The tortured metaphors seem to have slowed down, but they've been replaced by the world's most linear and least suspenseful detective story. Juliette has few barriers to her investigation; she just happens to, like, just know all the right people who get her any information and clues she needs. How convenient.
I bought the omnibus, and I rarely DNF because I don't think it's fair to the story. Maybe the next few installments will redeem it. Maybe.
But I now know why this is called WOOL. It's what Howey has pulled over the eyes of the readers who praise this to high heaven. Look, I know self-published books can be dire, and by comparison this at least tries to be literate (tries a bit too hard, in my opinion - high falutin' language and tortured metaphors do not good writing make.)
But you gotta pull the wool off sometime.