***Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher and author for this ARC***
I tried kids. I really really did. I got 88% of the way through before I finally gave up. This just got too ridiculous and it dragged and dragged for page after page.
***SPOILERS AHEAD***
The "Undecim" thing was played out, the scenes were all repetitive and over the top and in the end it all became stale. It was just trope after trope and none of it felt original.
This book centers on a "famous" Hollywood screenwriter Kohl Reynolds, and a young and hungry writer named Conner trying to uncover the mystery of why Kohl may be involved in the disappearance of a famous actress.
Imagine "Skulls" and "Almost Famous," but repetitive and cliché: Kohl's "dark, drug addled Hollywood writer" bit is played out, a hyperbolic representation of the "ultimate" in tortured artist tropes, and I'm convinced the author has never worked in The Industry. (I have. For a long time.)
Kohl is just an amalgamation of worn out industry stereotypes, has no redeemable qualities, and for the sheer number of times he got drugged and dumped in some underground lair or seedy NoHo alleyway by this organization, you'd think he'd have learned by now. Nope!
The whole thing just felt boring, with scene after scene of blood drinking masked cult members, flashbacks to his traumatizing childhood, and "nobody loves me!" rants.
And Jacob Perry. Oh, MY GOD. "I SOLD MY ASS TO THE DEVIL SO I COULD PLAY HITLER!" FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. REALLY? REALLY???? He's so "method" this is what he did? Jesus. (No pun intended) I'm convinced anyone who gave this over two stars knows as much about acting and Hollywood as I do about rocket surgery. I know. "But it's fiction!" you cry. Sure. But the premise is all about how this *could* be and *could* have happened, and nothing in this book suggests that outside of Kohl's visit to The Getty. (Which is nice you should go if you're ever in LA)
Miss me with this.
The only two redeemable characters and story arcs are Conner and "Pips," and they're featured so infrequently as to be essentially afterthoughts, their stories mere subplots.
With every utterance of "UNDECIM!" and "I took a bunch of drugs and trashed a hotel room at the Beverly Wilshire" and "they lead me down a dark hallway and I could feel the evil within me," I could feel the boredom and annoyance within ME grow to the point that I wondered why I was still reading this.
It should've been shorter: you don't *need* UNDECIM scenes of underground cult meetings (see what I did there?) to get your point across. OKAY, IT'S A DEVIL CULT, WE GET IT.
I hate to do this to a small author just trying to get his book out there, but if you're looking for cult centered thrillers, horror mysteries etc, you're truly better off with a cookie cutter, unoriginal NY Times mystery "bestseller." If you're interested in dark Hollywood cults where you sell your soul for succes, you're much better served looking into Scientology: THAT'S THE ACTUAL Hollywood cult.
Don't believe? Work there for a couple years and then tell me different.
Two stars. Barely. DNF list.