The Blessed is, hands down, the worst book I have ever read in my entire life.
Let's just get this out of the way quick: if it weren't for the rampant transphobia, I would've just called this book comically terrible. But of course, The Blessed, in a really desperate bid to be relevant, throws around the word “tranny” (p. 346), makes a completely unnecessary comment about how Lucy “endures” a pat-down by a “very manly looking woman” (p. 307) , and uses the baffling phrase “trends gender” in a derogatory manner (p. 117).
There's a fair amount of rape in this book, much of it gratuitous and purposelessly sensational (p. 378), none of it addressed with the proper care and compassion. Indeed, when the narrative takes a turn towards the non-consensual, victim-blaming follows in its wake. When Cecelia finds out that Catherine, a young fan of hers, was raped by an acquaintance, she responds with anger: '“New York is not a place for someone like you.” Cecelia railed at the girl's naivete. “I told you. You need to go home.”' (p. 338). A few paragraphs later, Cecelia magnanimously rescinds this statement, saying that, “We all put our trust in the wrong people sometimes.” The onus of the assault still rests on Catherine, and the book makes no attempt to imply that Catherine is not at fault for her own assault. Of course, with all the slut-shaming in The Blessed I guess it's to be expected.
As for the occasional claims of “feminism” I've seen about this book, well – The Blessed is, in a sense, a love story. That doesn't make the book inherently not feminist, but there's a whole lot of female competition, the formation of an ill-conceived and awkward harem around the main male character of the book, Sebastian, and a consistent focus on the power and actions of the male characters in the story. The three girls are motivated by men, defined by men, and reactionary to men. Hurley crafts a very hollow and superficial friendship between the three, but it's not very believable.
All right, with the social justice aspect taken of (for now), let's tackle the biggest formalistic flaw of the book: point of view. There are good ways to write a third-person omniscient point of view – the prerequisite being that there is a good reason for a third-person omniscient point of view. It is immaterial that the point of view in The Blessed is poorly executed, because there is absolutely no reason for the point of view to be third-person omniscient. The book clearly wants to focus on Lucy, Agnes, and Cecelia, and thus could used alternating third-person limited accounts from the three girls. Jesse, Sebastian, and Dr. Frey could have narrated as needed, or Hurley could have cut their sections entirely, finding other ways to communicate the information their narratives provide. It would have streamlined the book and cleared up a lot of the confusion. Instead, the perspective skips around at will, sometimes even within a given paragraph. This negatively impacts the story not only because it is confusing, but also because it undercuts a lot of the mystery and ambiguity of the narrative. For instance, Dr. Frey's motives are supposed to be open to interpretation, but as he spends much of his screen time twirling his handlebar mustache of villainy (a fact of which the audience is made aware via the third-person omniscient perspective) it's kind of hard to imagine him as a beneficent figure.
The dual-narrative of the book (possibly its only redeeming quality) is constantly sabotaged by the absurdity of the plot. We're supposed to believe that Dr. Frey is possibly not the true antagonist of the narrative, despite the fact that, rather than allowing the police to pursue a potentially dangerous idealogue who believes his is a saint, he instead attempts to hunt him down himself using a team of murderous indie-rock junkies for … reasons? I mean, Frey's actions make perfect sense if he is supposed to be the bad guy, but no sense if he actually means well. Thus: the story isn't actually very ambiguous at all.
Whatever narrative ambiguity the story lacks, it certainly makes up for it with focal ambiguity. There's no point to this book. It's not saying or doing anything even remotely meaningful, aside from a few tired references to the “faith versus science conflict” that are half-assed it's almost offensive. I get that, as the first book in a series, the aim of The Blessed is more to ask a question than to give an answer, but the book doesn't manage to do even that. We know that science is evil, psychology is apparently the devil's trade and the girls will probably suffer a lot more in the coming books. The conclusion of The Blessed is on the opposite end of the spectrum of those books who love to sequel-bait; rather than asking “what comes next?” the question becomes “what could you possibly write next?”
Furthermore, the pacing of the book is awful. A whole lot of absolutely nothing happens for the first half of the book, then there's a brief interlude of violence, then a lot more nothing, and then, in the last fifty pages or so, a series of hyper-violent action so over-the-top it reads like it belongs in a Tarantino movie. It's like Hurley is apologizing from the previous 350 pages of plodding drivel by having people getting beheaded with guitars and shit. The outright absurdity of the violence aside, the tonal shift between the first half of the book and the last fifty pages is jarring, and not in emotionally effective kind of way.
All that said, I could forgive the plot for good characters. Alas, Lucy, Agnes, and Cecelia have all the dimension and vivacity of cardboard, and only if one is being generous. Perhaps if Hurley spent even half the time developing her characters as she does describing their outfits they would be something other than overwrought stereotypes, but she doesn't and they aren't. Lucy was, shockingly, the least repellent to me, because even though she was a completely asshole, at least she was upfront about it. Cecelia was a struggle – I got a really strong sense of wish-fulfillment from her, and even if I didn't I found her mostly embarrassing and absurd. Agnes was, to me, the worst of the three. The narrative kept telling me she was compassionate and kind and innocent, but mostly she came across as spoiled, whiny, and romantic to the point of delusion.
If the main characters were shallow, the minor characters were hilarious caricatures that existed mostly to provide the main characters reason to angst. Everyone was comically awful to the leading ladies, in a desperate bid to manipulate the reader into finding said characters somewhat sympathetic. And while that technique might have worked on a less cynical reader, I found myself rooting for the minor characters, the asshole characters, the one-off villains who were so ridiculous in their cruelty I couldn't help but find them delightful.
Of course, all of the aforementioned issues are merely compounded by bad writing. Hurley is eminently guilty of telling her readers, not showing them. This makes the scenes feel flat and inauthentic; aside from a lot of excruciating detail about scenery there's nothing to really pull the reader into the book. Furthermore, Hurley can't keep track of where her characters are or what they're doing. For instance, on page 123 Sebastian is pulling the girls into a building. One paragraph later, he is running through the church toward them, despite the fact that three sentences before he was standing right there. There's also a lot of items that just appear out of nowhere, without prior mention, like the sword Agnes uses to cut some hapless dude's foot off (p. 379) or Dr. Frey's amazing appearing and disappering serial killer friend, Sicarius.
On a more fundamental level, the writing is grammatically unsound. There are a lot of dangling modifiers, sentence fragments, and a generally baffling syntax. All of these elements severely reduce the book's readability, which is reduced even further by the plethora of five-dollar words plucked haphazardly from the unsuspecting pages of a thesaurus. One of the more egregious examples of purple prose comes towards the end of the book, when Lucy begins to cry tears of blood. Or, in Hurley's words: “Sanguineous drops stained her legs as they formed a puddle of plasma on the carpet beneath her” (p. 330). I know every author has their own style, but there's style, and then there, well, this. This book is already somewhat confusing, but awful mechanics make it even more confusing.
There's also a lot more: the abortion that, in true soap operatic style, is later revealed to have been a miscarriage. The mackin' on dead bodies. That one time where Cecelia lays on stage, writhing in her own blood from the stigmata she received from an iron maiden while being lashed by an invisible whip. Agnes' spiritual sexytimes in the koi pond. The stilted, awful dialogue that dogs this book, attempting to be with witty and profound whilst managing neither. The magical romanticized drug-addict, alcoholic ex-beat-poet homeless guy with his vintage typewriter that doesn't have any ink so he types poetry into the ether. Basically, the whole book. I'd like to say that this just wasn't my cup, but this is a book that needs some serious editing by a very critical eye to even be consumable. Not worth it, even for a laugh.