Daniel Dvorkin
"I'm at least as smart as you, so spare me the sermon"
The Bobiverse series has everything I need in a book: humor, adventure, action, and hard sci-fi. If I had to choose only one series to read forever, it'd be the Bobiverse and hope Dennis E. Taylor keeps ‘em coming.
After [b:Heaven's River|42950440|Heaven's River (Bobiverse, #4)|Dennis E. Taylor|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1593705196l/42950440.SX50.jpg|66753562], which felt a bit too long and wandered into some strange territory, Not Till We Are Lost brings the series back to what it does best. It's packed with creative space exploration, clever problem-solving, and plenty of that signature Bob humor. The book also hints at lots of new directions for future stories, which is exciting without feeling frustrating due to lack of resolution.
One of the things that always makes this series stand out is Bob himself. The idea of a regular geek turned into a von Neumann probe exploring the universe is so much fun, and Bob's perspective keeps everything grounded and relatable. This book dives into questions about long-gone galactic civilizations, FTL travel, and other classic sci-fi ideas, but it does it in a way that feels fresh and engaging. Even when the story slows down a little, the intriguing concepts and scenarios make up for it.
One small criticism for this installment: the individual Bob stories in this book don't feel as interconnected as they usually do. It's almost like reading separate novellas rather than one big, cohesive narrative. Still, each story is enjoyable on its own, and it feels like these threads are setting up some big arcs for the next books. That's something I'm definitely looking forward to.
On the flip side, something in [b:Heaven's River|42950440|Heaven's River (Bobiverse, #4)|Dennis E. Taylor|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1593705196l/42950440.SX50.jpg|66753562] that I didn't like and this book improves on:
The entire story arc of the Skippies in Heaven's River is very one-sided, where the old Bobs make it sounds like all of them are crazy. We hear a lot from Hugh, but he's the most "Bob" of them all. But the Skippies are Bobs too, it was obvious to me that hearing from their perspective first hand would be an interesting experience. And while Not Till We Are Lost doesn't give us a lot of that, the final conversation with Mud gives me enough to enjoy. Still, I'd love a small novella written from the POV of Fearless Leader.
Overall, Not Till We Are Lost is another fantastic addition to the Bobiverse series. It's funny, thought-provoking, and endlessly entertaining. If you've been following Bob's adventures, this book won't disappoint. Five stars from me!
That said, no one falls off their chair laughing. WTF was that?
The pacing in this one is fantastic—there's never a dull moment, and the plot is a notch above the previous two books for me. Knowing now that this was actually the first book he wrote, I had to rethink my take on his evolution as a writer, but either way, this one feels like a step up.
The book is packed with action, political maneuvering, and the kind of high-stakes drama that makes Mitch Rapp such a great character to follow.
Overall, it's just a really fun read. The pacing, the stakes, and the action all come together in a way that kept me hooked. Solid 4 stars.
Gregg Hurwitz's The Nowhere Man continues to build on the fast-paced and thrilling world introduced in Orphan X. I hope Hurwitz doesn't make it an habit to reintroduce the main character modus operandi and his skills in every book. The first few chapters felt a bit unnecessary for those who have already read the first book. It's almost like being stuck in a tutorial level of a video game you've already beaten.
Hurwitz's ability to describe scenes is incredible. He manages to be precise and vivid without going overboard. Each moment is easy to visualize in sharp detail, like watching a movie, yet he avoids wasting pages and pages making it boring. He's very precise.
As on the first book, some of the tech and gadgets feel so exaggerated it's almost funny. I couldn't help but wonder who they're really written for. My dad, maybe? But then I'd like to believe my dad was smart enough he would probably have asked, “Where do you even get a shower faucet handle with a fingerprint scanner?” or “How do you build a hidden Batcave in your bathroom without contractors realizing something's up?” That absurdity might just be part of the fun, though. Evan is more James Bond than Jack Ryan, so a little flair is probably to be expected.
When it comes to villains, Hurwitz is undeniably creative. René is a terrifying antagonist with a unique and twisted way of inflicting pain, but sometimes the evilness is so over the top that it risks becoming cartoonish. Did he really need to steal blood from young people on top of everything else? That felt like overkill, and it didn't add much to the story. Then again, maybe that's intentional and part of the fun. It's a fine line, though, and I'm not sure it always works.
The plot itself has its share of predictable moments, but Hurwitz still managed to surprise me. I was certain the second half of the book would go in a particular direction, tying up various side stories, but I was completely wrong. That's not something I'd usually expect from this series, and I'm glad to have been caught off guard.
Speaking of surprises, Jack is alive?? WTF! I'm here for it and excited about the possibilities, but I wish it had been handled differently. Bringing him back at the last possible second felt like a Hail Mary. He deserved better than a rushed reintroduction, and honestly, I'd have kept him “dead” for another book or two before pulling this card. It would have been a bigger, more satisfying twist later in the series.
Overall, The Nowhere Man delivers a satisfying resolution and plenty of action, even if it leans a bit too hard on the ridiculous at times. Hurwitz knows how to create tension, craft memorable villains, and surprise readers in just the right ways. The series continues to be fun and engaging, and I'm definitely looking forward to the rest of the series.
I'm always excited to spend more time with Murderbot and ART, they're easily some of my favorite characters. But honestly, System Collapse felt like a weak installment. It had all the usual Murderbot elements I enjoy—funny internal dialogues, sarcastic humor, and the unique dynamic between Murderbot and ART—but something felt off. The weak plot got messy and overloaded with too many characters and confusing factions. Instead of an exciting continuation after the amazing Network Effect, this story mostly dealt with aftermath and side-effects, making it feel more like filler than a meaningful progression.
Still, even when the plot stumbles, Murderbot's character exploration keeps me hooked. So even though I was disappointed overall, I'm still excited for whatever comes next. Hopefully, the next book will get us back on track with a stronger story.
If you're planning to read this book, do yourself a favor and choose the audiobook version. Jennette's own narration adds depth and color to her experiences, making everything feel (even more) incredibly real.
Most memoirs I read in the past fall into one of three categories: either they're just listing facts like a history book, they're a journey of introspection and growth for the author, or they're exposing some big secret or scandal. This book, however, doesn't really fit neatly into any of these boxes. Jennette McCurdy chose to write entirely in the present tense, which was an unusual choice for me. At times, it made connecting with her emotional growth a bit challenging, especially when some chapters jumped days and others years, making the narrative feel a little fragmented.
Despite this, McCurdy's story is extremely raw and unfiltered, which really drew me in. It was deeply personal, almost as if I was witnessing her private, painful moments firsthand. To be honest, at some points it felt a bit like just trauma porn. Don't get me wrong—I enjoy other people's miseries as much as anyone else, and reading this made me feel slightly voyeuristic. It also made me wonder about the role this book might be playing in her healing process. But then again, who cares? I'm not her psychiatrist. I'm okay consuming the story of her pain as entertainment, though I'm left with a nagging feeling that perhaps this book isn't the healthiest route for her mental recovery. Again, what do I know?
It's a powerful book with some heavy topics, so definitely check for trigger warnings first. Overall, I ended up really appreciating this memoir, primarily because of the strong connection and empathy I felt toward Jennette and her journey.
So... I was about three quarters into the audiobook (because you NEED to listen to Sedaris read his own books—it's like 50% of the appeal), and I was thinking this is yet another great Sedaris book. More of the same, but no complaints, because I genuinely enjoy it. And then we got to “Lady Marmalade” and WTF, man. Crying during Sedaris was definitely not on my bingo card for the month. It hit so damn hard. Especially if you've been following him for years and have built this weird kind of relationship with his family through all the stories. That one just punched me in the gut.
That said, there's still plenty of Sedaris being Sedaris. His pandemic stories are hilarious in that brutally honest way only he can pull off. He's self-aware enough to know he lives a pretty privileged life, and he doesn't try to hide that—he just leans into the absurdity of it. If you're new to Sedaris, maybe don't start with this one. But if you've been reading him for a while, “Happy-Go-Lucky” feels like both a continuation and a kind of turning point. It's not his funniest book, but maybe it's his most sincere.
I'm very conflicted about this one. My three-star rating isn't because it's “meh”—it's more like an average of the parts I really liked and the parts I just couldn't get into.
“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Heaven's River is a good book, and I'd still recommend it to anyone who enjoyed the first three in the Bobiverse series. That said, it didn't quite hit the same highs as the earlier ones for me. While there's plenty to like—especially the mega-structure plot—it just felt like it dragged in places.
The Manny action scenes in Real were a nice change of pace from the usual Bobiverse formula. But do we really needed 25 of them? At first, they were exciting, but after a while, it was just the same thing on repeat: another close call, another narrow escape, and then the same thing again a few chapters later. It wasn't a dealbreaker, but it did make the book feel much longer than it needed to be.
The Civil War arc had some cool ideas and a lot of promise, but it didn't go deep enough into politics, which was a missed opportunity. There was so much potential for exploring the dynamics there, but it felt like it barely scratched the surface.
All in all, it's not a bad book, still Bob in spirit. If you've been following the series, you'll still find plenty to enjoy, but it's definitely not as strong as the earlier ones. For me, it was just too long and repetitive to fully love.
“Ugh, emotions.”
Murderbot's internal struggle in a nutshell, and honestly, mine too while reading Network Effect. I wasn't convinced this series needed a full-length novel, but I take it all back—this was everything I wanted and more.
First of all, ART is back! And I don't care how much Murderbot pretends otherwise, their bromance is the best thing that ever happened, period. The way they push each other's buttons (figuratively and literally) is pure gold. Add in a situation that forces Murderbot to actually confront its feelings—about humans, about itself, and about its weird, dysfunctional found-family dynamic—and you've got a book that's as hilarious as it is unexpectedly heartfelt.
Of course, there's plenty of action too. Murderbot gets thrown into chaos (again), has to save a bunch of humans (again), and complains the whole way through (again). But in between the sarcasm and gunfire, there's a real evolution happening. Murderbot doesn't want to be human, but it's figuring out what kind of person it actually is.
More of this, please. Everyone needs a MurderBot in their lives.
“Humans touch stuff all the time, I wish they wouldn't.”
I was so disappointed, after the finish of [b:Exit Strategy|35519109|Exit Strategy (The Murderbot Diaries, #4)|Martha Wells|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1518642623l/35519109.SY75.jpg|56934601], to realize this is not part of the ART story arch. My bad, I didn't realize publication order is not chronological order. So that's on me, I guess.
That said, I enjoyed going back to the shorter format in Fugitive Telemetry. The shorter form seems like a natural fit for Murderbot's style, especially with its humor and snarky observations, it can get a bit repetitive on the longer novel. It feels more focused and keeps things moving fast.
The murder mystery was entertaining. Murderbot's interactions with Preservation Station's security team—who clearly don't trust it—are as amusing. I love how Murderbot constantly points out human shortcomings. Despite some limitations imposed by the humans around it, Murderbot finds clever ways to navigate these challenges, all while begrudgingly showing more humanity than it admits to.
I need Murderbot in my life.
Hellbent was still a fun read, but I have to admit I'm starting to feel a bit of franchise fatigue with the Orphan X series. This one opens strong and doesn't waste much time rehashing the whole backstory, which I appreciated after the previous book spent way too long on that. It gets right into the action, which makes it feel more fluid and less like it's trying to onboard new readers at the cost of annoying the loyal ones.
That said, I'm not finding myself getting more invested in the series as it goes on. The plot holes are starting to stand out more, the tech is often borderline ridiculous, and the “surprises” aren't all that surprising. Some scenes felt like they were written just to keep the story going, not because they made sense for the characters. Also, if I never read another detailed description of vodka distillation again, I'll be okay. Still, it's kind of like a decent popcorn movie—fun while it lasts, but not something I feel the urge to continue right away. I'll probably take a break before picking up the next one.
Reading Me Talk Pretty One Day right after [b:The Best of Me 53487334 The Best of Me David Sedaris https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1598245328l/53487334.SX50.jpg 83709164] probably wasn't the best idea. Sedaris's humor, assholeness and sharp observations are still there, but this book doesn't have the same punch as the “best of” collection, obviously. Still, his way of turning everyday moments into something funny is impressive. But his style works better for me when I take breaks between his books, as it can get pretty repetitive and boring. I'll give his work some time before coming back to check out his diaries. For now, I'd give Me Talk Pretty One Day three stars—fun, but not amazing.
“I was having an emotion, and I hate that.”
That one line sums up everything I love about Murderbot. Exit Strategy wraps up the story that started in book one and brings the crew back together for a fast-paced, fun ride. It doesn't dive as deep emotionally as book two or lean as heavily into the snark of book three, but the balance and pacing really worked for me. Murderbot's awkward but heartfelt growth, especially when it starts talking about “being a person,” really hit the spot.
I'm so glad I read this knowing there are more books after it because I'm definitely not ready to say goodbye to Murderbot. The ending ties things up well but still leaves the future open, which feels perfect for the series. This book could've been a satisfying conclusion, but honestly, I'm just happy there's more Murderbot to look forward to.
I'll be honest, I wasn't too excited to start this one. A lot of the online reviews made it sound like a chore, and I went in thinking I'd have to power through just to get to Dark Age. But lesson learned! I need to ignore online reviews. As I kept reading, I found myself getting more and more into it. By the end, I really enjoyed it and gave it a solid 4 stars.
“I will love you until the sun dies. And when it does, I will love you in the darkness.”
Buy a Bullet is a quick and entertaining glimpse into the Orphan X universe. In this short story, Evan Smoak rescues a woman from her abusive Silicon Valley millionaire boyfriend. The setup is classic: a over-the-top antagonist paired with a flawless, justice-driven hero archetype. While the antagonist's one-dimensionality might make you roll your eyes, it also sets the stage for Evan's ruthlessly satisfying takedown. The story feels like a distilled revenge fantasy—simple, absurd, and undeniably fun. If you enjoy action sequences where justice is swift and decisive, this delivers exactly that.
At just a few pages long, Buy a Bullet doesn't have enough meat so rating 3-stars, but it's still an entertaining diversion for fans of the series. Think of it as a quick dose of Orphan X's signature style: efficient, sharp, and to the point. Pure popcorn.
Pierce Brown did it again. The man ripped my heart out and left it in a million tiny pieces. Light Bringer is amazing, and pretty comfortably one of my favorite books in the series so far.. It has everything I love about Red Rising—the chaos, the heartbreak, the badass moments—but in each book Brown is showing an uncanny improvement on his pacing and writing style.
What I love most about this series is that Brown keeps pushing himself to improve with every release. It sets insane expectations, and just when you start doubting, he goes and blows your mind all over again. Light Bringer feels like a return to the emotional depth and character dynamics of the original trilogy, but with the brutal scope of Iron Gold and Dark Age. The pacing is different—more methodical, more intense—but it keeps everything that makes the series so damn addictive. The dialogue is sharp, driving the action forward in a way that felt a bit missing at times in the last two books.
And the emotions? Off the charts. The small gestures of affection between characters hit me almost as hard as the action. These people have suffered so much, and it shows, not just in their scars but in the way they hold onto each other. It makes the brutality of war feel even more real. Because this book doesn't shy away from the cost of war—but it also remembers that hope matters just as much. I'm so glad Brown leaned into that balance.
And then there's the action. Clang. Clang. Clang. That sound is going to live in my head rent free for a while. The battles in Light Bringer are some of the best in the series, and that duel? Ashvar? Holy shit.
Let's talk for a second about Sevro, because I missed him in Dark Age.
Sevro's verbal takedown of Cassius was one of the most brutal things I've seen him do, and he didn't even lift a blade. And when he shows up at the last second in a starShell to save Darrow and Cassius? I was literally jumping up and down. I swear, when this series gets adapted, I'll be the guy in the theater jumping up and screaming. Lastly, of all characters that can make my eyes tear up, I wasn't expecting Sevro in that list. But when he puts Ares' helmet in Cassius coffin, I had to stop reading for a minute.
There's only one thing I really didn't like and made me even consider rating this a 4 star: Why did we waste time with the Figment in Lyria's head just for her to have it removed in this book? Felt like a pretty big waste of a plot device.
I don't know how Red God is going to top this, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that Brown will find a way. I'm not ready. But I also can't wait.
Pierce Brown has outdone himself with Dark Age. If Iron Gold was his transition into a grander, more complex narrative style, Dark Age is his full mastery of it. The pacing is relentless from the very beginning, a full-throttle, no-breathing-allowed kind of read. It's an absolute page-turner that had me sacrificing sleep, telling myself “just one more chapter” over and over.I know a lot of people were put off by the use of multiple POVs in Iron Gold, but I actually liked it. In Dark Age, Brown takes it to another level. In Part I, he masterfully bounces between Darrow and Lysander, showing both sides of the same brutal conflict. The sheer scale of the battles, the way they unfold through different perspectives—it's nothing short of cinematic. The Institute in Red Rising feels like child's play compared to what Brown is doing here. He's fully stepped into the realm of grand space opera, with a complexity and scope that keeps you wondering what's next.Speaking of Lysander, I'm fully on board. He was already my favorite character in Iron Gold, and now, there's no doubt—he's my absolute favorite. His battle against Seneca and his men? I was practically jumping out of my chair. I know I might be in the minority, but I find myself deeply rooting for him, even when I probably shouldn't.Virginia's chapters, though, might have been my favorite POV. There's something about her introspection, her constant questioning, and her balance of intellect and leadership that resonated with me. “Or would I grow to be the villain in someone else's story?” That's the kind of question that lingers in your mind long after you put the book down.Ephraim really surprised me. He was already funny in Iron Gold, but here, he's even better. His humor doesn't feel out of place, and I genuinely enjoyed his chapters. More than that, his arc feels like one of the emotional cores of the book—this could easily be called his redemption story.Lyria, though, might be the biggest improvement. I didn't dislike her in Iron Gold, but she felt more like a plot device than a fully developed character. Dark Age completely changes that. She's full of personality now, and I found myself loving her journey. I'd be so excited for a spin-off about her adventures as a freelancer.And then there's the big twist— the Jackal clone. I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, it's a wild, exciting development. On the other, it does feel a bit like a cheap plot device. The fact that the clone is ten years old and so brilliant immediately made me think of Ender Wiggin. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I'll give Brown the benefit of the doubt.Finally, the ending. No massive, shocking revelation, but a rock-solid setup for what's next. Brown leaves a lot of threads open—more than in any of his previous books. It's not a conclusion; it's a launching pad. And I can't wait to start [b:Lightbringer 72174599 Lightbringer (Red Rising, 6) Pierce Brown https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1691857705l/72174599.SY75.jpg 49466217].
Unpopular opinion coming. I think the reason Careless People is getting so many glowing five-star reviews is mostly because people love seeing someone stick it to Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg right now. And I totally get the appeal of criticizing big tech, but if you judge the book just on its merits, it definitely doesn't deserve this much praise.
Wynn-Williams is not a bad writer, especially considering it's her first book, and there are a few interesting or amusing anecdotes. But from the very first chapter, her tone is so exaggerated, it's hard to take seriously. She constantly presents herself as smarter, more ethical, and generally superior to everyone around her, including suggesting that Zuckerberg wouldn't even have had access to some influential people without her help. It's so exaggerated it quickly becomes annoying.
The book feels driven by bitterness, and the author often seems more interested in settling personal scores than offering meaningful insights or analysis. Almost every page comes across as a way for Wynn-Williams to highlight how everyone else around her is either incompetent, unethical, or just plain stupid. It completely undermines the credibility of her story and weakens any genuine critique she might have.
Additionally, the book suffers from a lack of focus. Many chapters feel random, filled with irrelevant anecdotes that go nowhere—like her long section about struggling to find a manual breast pump in Turkey or being worried about getting Zika. It's not deep enough to be a biography, so not sure what role those stories play.
If you still want to read it, I'd suggest approaching it as casual entertainment rather than expecting deep insights into big tech. Wynn-Williams certainly has potential as a writer, but this book would have benefited greatly from being shorter, sharper, and far less self-centered.
I'll start by saying that my expectations for Global Payments were probably off, and that's on me. I could have checked some reviews or even just look at the page count before buying it. But in my defense, when Glenbrook publishes something on payments, I assume it's going to be thorough, detailed, and insightful—because that's the standard they've set with Payments Systems in the U.S and other publications / workshops.
Unfortunately, Global Payments falls short of that bar. The content itself isn't bad, but the book feels more like a magazine than a proper industry resource. It's extremely short, which means no topic gets the depth or detail I was hoping for. Payments is a nuanced, complex space, and this book is too light on context to be truly useful for professionals who already understand the basics.
The title promises a lot but Fintech innovations are barely covered, and some major topics, like cross-border payments, are given just a couple of pages. In the end, this feels more like a high-level introduction rather than a serious exploration of global payments.
It's fine for what it is, but given the title and the publisher, it feels like a missed opportunity.
I had a good time with this one, though I wouldn't recommend trying to go through all 48 lectures in a row. It's super informative and quite entertaining, but the delivery can get a bit monotone over time. I ended up listening to it in chunks, mixing it with other books, and that worked much better. I think this series is best treated more like a podcast you dip in and out of than something you binge all at once, but to each their own.
What I really liked was how it focused on the lives of regular people instead of just the kings and generals we usually hear about. You get to imagine what it was like to be a farmer in ancient Egypt, a Roman gladiator, or even just a regular Athenian dealing with old age. Garland does a great job at humanizing history and pointing out the things that haven't really changed that much—our need for community, our struggles, our beliefs.
That said, the later chapters on the medieval period didn't feel as strong. Garland is clearly more comfortable with the ancient world, and it shows. Some of his takes on medieval life, religion, and events like the Crusades felt a bit off or oversimplified. Still, those sections are a small part of the whole. If you're curious about how people actually lived day to day in different eras, this is a solid and often fun listen. Just don't expect a deep dive into medieval history, and you'll probably enjoy it a lot.
Adam Higginbotham's Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster on the Edge of Space is more than just a story about the Challenger shuttle tragedy in 1986. It actually goes way back, starting from the Apollo program, showing how decisions, politics, and mistakes piled up until things went horribly wrong. Some people call it a thriller, but honestly, it's not exactly that. There are tense parts, but mostly it feels like a detailed history rather than something that keeps you on edge all the time.
What Higginbotham does really well is mix the technical stuff with personal stories. He shows the complicated relationships inside NASA, especially between the managers and the engineers, and also with Morton Thiokol, the company responsible for building the solid rocket boosters. He also dives into NASA's big public relations push with projects like sending a teacher, Christa McAuliffe, into space.
The human side of things is interesting, but sometimes he goes a bit too deep into personal details, making the book feel longer than it needs to be. I think this could have been edited to last maybe 200 pages less.
This isn't the kind of book that explains every tiny technical detail or fully explores NASA's culture. If that's what you're after, there are other books out there that do it better. But it gives a clear, easy-to-follow picture of how and why the Challenger disaster happened. The writing is straightforward, the research is solid, and although some sections move slowly, overall, it's a good read.
Because I've worked in big companies, I get how even when everyone means well, things like decisions and communication can easily get complicated and messy. This book does a good job showing exactly how small missteps and confusion can build up and lead to something really terrible.
Speaker for the Dead is one of those books that hit me hard in all the right ways. It's so close to perfect that I'd easily put it on my short list of favorite books ever. I liked Ender's Game a lot, but this one takes everything to a whole new level. The writing, the emotional depth, the way the characters develop—it all feels so much more mature. Ender feels like he grew up along with the story. This book stayed with me long after I finished it.
The worlds and cultures Card creates are so detailed that they feel real, like you could book a flight there if you had the right tech. The alien race in this story was described so vividly that I could easily imagine them. And while the sci-fi elements are super creative, the heart of the book is its people (well, ramen). Card's known for writing “hard science fiction,” but what makes his work special is how completely character-driven it is.
If I had to nitpick, the only thing that pulled me out of the story now and then was how every character seemed ready to spout wisdom like they'd been rehearsing it in front of a mirror. Card wanted to make sure we got the message, and sometimes that made the characters sound a little samey. Still, this is a tiny hiccup in a story that's otherwise incredible.
Speaker for the Dead is the real deal: a thoughtful, layered story that takes everything Ender's Game set up and digs much deeper. It sets the bar so high that Xenocide will have a hard time not being disappointing. We'll see.
I can see why so many people love Good Omens, but for me, it just didn't click. And I typically like Pratchett books, so it's not that.
At first, I thought this book had so much potential. The premise is very clever. Crowley and Aziraphale's odd-couple dynamic is by far the best part of the story, and I could have happily spent the entire book following their adventures. But despite these bright spots, the book just didn't hold together for me. It tries to juggle too many threads and ends up losing focus. It tries to be too many things. The shift to the young anti-Christ and his group of friends was especially boring, as their conversations felt flat and uninspired.
The humor, while sharp at first, eventually wore thin. It's like spending hours with that one friend who's always trying to be funny all the time—at some point, you just want to say “Relax, Tony.” The pacing didn't help either; it skips quickly through some interesting setups and then drags painfully in others, especially during the final stretch leading up to doomsday. By the end, I was skimming pages, frustrated that something with so much promise felt like such a slog.
The broken English from some of the characters, but in particular Adam and Shadwell was also quite annoying after a while and didn't let me connect with the book as much as I wanted to.
The TV adaptation managed to capture what the book couldn't for me. It kept the wit and charm but brought the characters to life in a way that felt much more engaging. Maybe that was the intention all along. If you're curious about the story, I'd honestly recommend watching the show instead.