Book 18: The Perfect Poison

I started reading Amanda Quick's novels in college. They were confectionary escapes from the much more heavy stuff I read for my grades. Plucky heroines, grumpy heroes, a little intrigue and some sex. Occasionally, there was even humor.

It pains me to say that I think Quick and I must part ways. She's gotten into this Arcane Society rut and I don't even know how many of her last handful of novels were based on these paranormal and lovelorn goofballs. Even her contemporary novels, under the author's actual name, Jayne Ann Krentz revolve around the psychic thrillers. Except they aren't thrilling. They read like she's phoning it in. And so I phoned it in for about the last 50 pages-- when I used my speed reading techniques. That always feels like cheating, but that sucker was due back at OPL today.

The humor is gone, the sex is less interesting than the actual sex I have, and the intrigue is all about the stupid Founder's Formula Alchemy Blah Blah y Blah. I am reminded of how many series of genre fiction I've cast aside when they have Jumped the Shark.

Let Us Bow Our Heads For a Moment of Silence As I Present A List of Some of the Dead:

Piers Anthony's Xanth Books
Ann Rice's Vampire Books
The Anita Blake Series
The Dresden Files
The Gaslight Mysteries

Go in peace, to love and read the pulp.