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This review is from: Entangled: The Eater of Souls (Paperback)
I'm a enthusiast of the paranormal, the entheogenic, alien gods, expanding earth, and crazy-ass conspiracy theories of all sorts. I believe everything, at least potentially, and my mind is probably too open, if anything. Like Mulder, I want to believe. And I'm a fan of great literature. I bought this book along with Fingerprints Of The Gods, which wasn't great, but did contain some interesting material. I expected to really enjoy this book, based on the blurb, so I bought it without looking inside first.
Wow, have I suffered for that decision. This is one of the worst-written piles of crap ever assembled, and the potentially interesting subject matter cannot make up for the horrendous writing and "thinking" behind this abortion. Graham Hancock is a marginal writer and a mediocre thinker at best, but FOTG did its job and presented the material. But whoever told Hancock that he could write fiction was terribly misguided.
This book is flatly idiotic and abominably written, and if you cannot detect that within a few pages, you are probably moving your lips while you read this. "Derp! But I liked it!" Quiet, Mongo.
Fiction requires engaging characters, vivid settings, and quality prose. Some humor wouldn't hurt, either. Supernatural fiction requires a brilliant imagination to make it all work. This book lacks all of that, as well as psychological truth, historical veracity, common sense, a plausible plot, coherent perspective, and every other attribute of a book worth reading, except for pages with little black marks on them.
At one point, one alleged protagonist says she feels like she's in a video game. Okay, this awful book might serve as the basis for a good game, like "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" served, in a very tangential way, as the basis for Blade Runner- not that DADOES was awful; quite the contrary, but the movie was only very loosely based thereupon. So similarly, somebody interesting could possibly take this book and use it as an inspiration for something that might actually be good. That is the highest and only compliment I can reasonably pay this asinine tome.
I could cite hundreds of examples of blatant awfulness and I'm only halfway through, but I'll spare you the suffering I have endured. I am left with the feeling that perhaps Mr. Hancock and the publisher, the aptly-named "disinformation", are having a cruel joke at the expense of readers. Not amused.
I almost never abandon a book, and I'll chew through the rest of this one, because I may learn something interesting despite the way it's presented, and I will definitely learn more about how _not_ to write good fiction. I will never attempt to read fiction by Graham Hancock again in this lifetime, that's for sure. Do yourself a favor and buy something, anything, else. Read something else by Hancock, even- I can recommend FOTG as being interesting if ineptly written, if you appreciate that sort of subject matter as I do. Or get yourself some DMT and have a first-person experience. Or just flush fifteen dollars down the toilet and watch it spin away; that way you will at least be spared the agony of enduring the mind-crippling idiocy and soul-crushing "writing" of this utterly terrible excuse for a book. If you still want to read it, my copy is for sale, any offer accepted!
[Edit to add: I finished the book, no matter the cost. My copy is no longer for sale, as it is no longer extant. Justice has been served on this one copy at least...]