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The sun is shining, the temperature is above freezing, and I don't have it in me to post a book rant. So I tried to come up with a list of the last twenty books I read (not sure if I got them all).

I rated the books according to the ten point scale of subjectivity that is neither fair nor comprehensible and depends solely on my momentary mood. It spans from 1 (don't bother) to 10 (can't read a second time because I drooled all over the pages and now they stick together which is seriously annoying).

( 20 Books )

It's time for some Friday afternoon ranting.

This time, I'm not going to introduce a book that calls itself literature. It's urban fantasy, the first one in a series, and never claimed to be anything but a formula-style quick read. This means, I'm not going to complain about the lack of character development or style, or the ineffective use of language, even though you'll find it in heaps. I'm not even going to touch the idiotic views of the main character - because if well written, main characters with idiotic views are fun.

No. What I'm going to complain about is an author who tries to be funny and witty, and manages only to embarrass himself page after page.

Please do not click the link if you expect a well thought-out, unbiased critique.

( Kids. You gotta love them. I adore children. A little salt, a squeeze of lemon--perfect. )

I'm no fan of Neil Gaiman. But this line is gold and too precious to go unmentioned:

"The house smelled musty and damp, and a little sweet, as if it were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead cookies." -American Gods