These days, I'll usually DNF anything I'm not enjoying - life's too short, and my TBR is too long. But once in a while I'll push through, in this case because Guillermo del Toro is one of my absolute favourite people and creators; hopefully my sense that he comes up with concepts and Chuck Hogan does the writing is correct, because damn,
It's a pain, too, because the synopsis for The Hollow Ones is pretty much my catnip - secret supernatural goings on investigated by a man haunted with centuries of regret? I went into this expecting great things. But alas, 'twas not to be. Unlike this book, let me do some showing, rather than just telling...
"Luddite?" He glanced at her. "If you are referring to the early-nineteenth-century protest by textile workers who smashed their looms in fear of being replaced by lesser-paid, lesser-skilled works, then no. I would gladly welcome obsolescence. If you refer to the modern misconception of that protest, implying an aversion to technological advancement in general, then yes."
URGH. We all know that guy - usually they grow out of it. Apparently not here, if it hasn't happened in 450 years.
His height surprised her, yet he was trim in a way most men of modern diets are not. Vegetarian, she thought.
Vegetarian? Huh? This vegetarianism or carnivore status is literally never brought up again.
"It is very important to you not to appear submissive or subservient in any way, isn't it."
Same guy from the first quote, our paranormal protagonist, who is addressing the fact that the FBI agent whose house he just broke into for their first meeting isn't offering him assistance - just as well, if he thinks assistance is some sort of servitude.
"Pigmeat?" said the cook.
"That's pork," explained Solomon.
Good news, folks, Solomon is here to translate the entirely arcane utterings of short-order cooks.
"How old do I look?"
Odessa shrugged, walking along the table behind him. "Thirty-five."
"Then I am thirty-five," he said.
She passed a collection of writing instruments in an old glass jar. "How long have you been thirty-five years old?"
"Ah," he said. "Now you are asking the right questions."
The Simpsons Twilight did it first.
I'm getting snarky towards the end here. I almost never get snarky in book reviews, because no matter how much I didn't like it, a) reading is incredibly subjective and far be it from me to declare myself the last word in opinions, and b) writing is hard, and anyone who does the work of getting a novel out there deserves better than me getting all sarcastic with them. But whichever listed author did the work here, they both know better. If, like me, you're partway through this and tempted to give up? I vote do it. As I said above, life is just too short.