Is a turd still a turd if you know it will be a turd?

I guess so.

I read Green Rider by Kristen Britain about a year ago and its sequel has been standing in my bookshelf for a while. So far I was afraid to touch it; after all bad writing might prove to be contagious, and I didn’t want to risk it while Express Delivery was still in the works. But now, in the lull between books, I have found myself once again in the mood for something… well… turdy.

First Riders Call picks up about a year after the story of the first book ends. For all intents and purposes it might be ten years or twenty, or even a prequel, seeing as almost all the character relationships are reset to zero. To be easy on the readers that are new to the series, I suspect. Personally, I don’t pick up a book unless I’m certain it is either a standalone or the start of a series. Readers Golden Rule #2.

But not to worry, everything will return to normal after a few hundred pages of headless chicken behaviour by our heroine, Karigan G’ladheon. Pardon, Galadriel. Erm… Galadheon, I mean.

The book’s originality is mind-numbing.

And don’t get me started on the Elves. Elf. Gargh! Elt, I mean. There. Tall, pale, forest dwellers. Shy and elusive. Users of earth magic. Wear pearly white armour and unable to bear the touch of iron. Ring a bell? Yes? Thought so. You’re a clever one, aren’t you?

Unlike our heroine. Karigan Galadriel herself never fails to stun with her razor-sharp powers of reasoning. The silly girl will gladly mistake a sailboat for a chicken if it helps to draw out the plot for another twenty pages. And I pray to God that the never comes up with the idea of setting up a relationship counselling service. That would surely mean the end of the world as we know it. Humanity would cease to reproduce, that is for sure. Miss Britain seems determined to make the inevitable, painful love story last until the final page of the series.  If we find the courage to read it, that is.

Also, and I really need to say this, sorry: if I have to read one more scene, in any book other than the Bible (which I’m highly unlikely to ever read, period) in which a Solomonic judgement is passed off as the next best idea since the invention of the cheesegrater, I’ll go mad. And then I’ll find the author and strangle him, slowly.

Now, any last words? Yes. If you’re in the mood for an easy read, something that will slip by your eyes in a heartbeat – reading light, so to speak, no intellect calories attached – then go ahead. First Rider’s Call is the book for you. If not you might find hitting yourself over the head with a cricket bat to be more pleasant and a better use of your time.