So empty the vacuum drew energy from me as I read. I gave it time, I gave it me, I gave it thought. It gave me nothing: it took. So full of nothing, it deserves some sort of respect to be able to cover so many pages with so many words ultimately signifying nothing. Packed with platitudes and clichés the authors try and package as original thought. Banal to the point of offensiveness, especially when one considers the title and so-called point of the product. My inspiration ran for cover and cowered whenever the book came into its orbit.
Alarms bells rang when they referenced ‘The Black Swan’ in the early pages, another book that, if it was half as deep as it thought it was, it would still struggle to form a condensation ring on a window-ledge. I didn’t listen to those alarm bells or any of the other early warning signs – more fool me – and got far too far into it before realising it wasn’t worth the effort. Don’t do the same.
Not quite as offensive as the aforementioned ‘The Black Swan’ as it’s either more naive in its intent or is better at hiding its cynicism, but still dire.