Obscene muttering
There are books which are just not very good ... they have wonky characterisation, or lack internal consistency, or just aren't evry interesting. And that's annoying (especially if you paid the exoirbatant Australian retail price for them). But ultimately, you shrug and move on.
And then there are books which are good ... they have solid characterisation, an interesting story, well-constructed prose ... which suddenly turn around and throw up a scene or plot point which takes all that goodness you've been enjoying, tears it to pieces, and urinates all over the remains. And it's far, far worse than a book that was just never very good to begin with, because you were invested in what was happening. You've actually lost something that, until that point, you had gained.
In other words, it's the kind of thing to make you write obscure, nerdragey LJ posts at 7:30 in the morning. Damn you, Kate Elliott and your novel The Law of Becoming, for giving me the literary equivalent of a punch to the nuts.
And then there are books which are good ... they have solid characterisation, an interesting story, well-constructed prose ... which suddenly turn around and throw up a scene or plot point which takes all that goodness you've been enjoying, tears it to pieces, and urinates all over the remains. And it's far, far worse than a book that was just never very good to begin with, because you were invested in what was happening. You've actually lost something that, until that point, you had gained.
In other words, it's the kind of thing to make you write obscure, nerdragey LJ posts at 7:30 in the morning. Damn you, Kate Elliott and your novel The Law of Becoming, for giving me the literary equivalent of a punch to the nuts.