I tried, Canaries. I really tried.
I pushed my way through so much boring action, so many quaint appearances by Niccolo Machiavelli, and so much freaking talking, but I have reached my wit’s end with Michael Scott’s The Magician.
“[Some expletive statement that theothercanary has blocked out for the sake of saving space for more broadway musical lyrics]!” she said, feelingly.
Feelingly. Not ‘with feeling.’ Feelingly.
When I was in graduate school, my main advisor once threatened to torch my thesis because of an overabundance of ‘ly’ words. “They don’t mean anything,” she said. “It’s a lazy-man’s way of avoiding actual descriptive words.”
She was right, of course. Saying things like ‘she walked slowly’ doesn’t really mean much. Slowly compared to what? A turtle? A snail? A Roman god high on pixie sticks? It’s just a word that takes up space without saying anything important at all.
And I have never seen an example more glaring than feelingly. I honestly have no idea what that means. Earnestly? Sadly? Pissedoffedly? This man has spent so much time writing paragraph-blocks of dialogue that he couldn’t spare a few words to at least tell us which emotion it was like?
I’ll spare you an actual review – the book was utterly benign, not bad, but certainly not good. Suffice to say, there are far better things to read out there. Get ye a copy of Artemis Fowl, or maybe The Throne of Fire in preparation for the third Kane Chronicles book. Stay away from this coal mine.