I’ve never before fallen asleep while reading about the most detailed BJ known to man in written form, but bizarrely did so twice during this book. I snorted myself awake from a nightmare about men’s nipples.
Great heavens, this was rough. The girl has only just seen a peen for the first time a week ago, yet she’s handling them more than her swords that I was so eager to see wielded. Wrong weapons, my friend.
I use the endearment loosely, because oh wow is she a whiny little thing in this one. On and on with her internal complaints and zoning out in endless thought, even between dialogue, to the point where you have to flip back pages to recall what she’s responding to.
All of her pathetic ramblings also had me asking, ‘what are you talking about,’ under my breath, way too often for it to be an issue of misunderstanding solely on my end.
Ex: She continues to be insistent that she doesn’t want to be Queen, to the point of petulant tantrums about it, but challenged the current Queen to the death and therefore her throne if she wins? Mmmkay.
She cries, “No!” to this concept and any new information she learns. Yes, you big baby.
And that’s just an example from the cliffhanger of the last book. I can’t even put into words the many other instances that only increase in this one. They’re just that confusing and not worth having even been addressed in the first place.
It’s so flowery that you can’t help but choke on it like a passing by an old woman in church wearing all of her perfumes.
Her dreams make no sense and we glean nothing from them except the goddesses’ exasperation with this child, who is obviously an idiot, being their only hope on the earthly plane.
Also, Weyland and Axe have no defining characteristics or differences in personality. I’ve been making some up in my head to make them interesting but they’re otherwise both written almost exactly as the same guy.
They love her but they don’t actually know her, are super sexual (which is fine because who cares at this point), overprotective, they speak before thinking which ruins plans or proposals better laid out carefully, and like their hair braided by her. That’s about it.
If one of them died, I genuinely think it would take a while for anyone to notice.
There’s so much excess. We do not need to know the name and life story of every warrior on the battlefield. I read the first one with dread, turning the page and closing my eyes in resignation at the confirmation that she wasn’t going to stop at just one pointless paragraph.
Just. Why?? The writing style is so good, but the things she writes about are just so bad.
The ending is interesting, off putting, and almost enticing enough to tempt me to see if she’s used up all of her extended soliloquies so the next book can have the action. A fool’s hope, but that’s the only thing that got me to the end of this one in the first place.