The other day I was tidying up my room and what do I find? My old, battered and vaguely sand-smelling copy of Fallen.
So I thought: "Let's take a trip down memory lane! It'll be fun!"
This book isn't just bad. It's terrible, horrible, a catastrophe, a waste of paper.
Why did I hate it so much, you say?
The writing would be alright, if the author didn't have issuses with descriptions. Sometimes she comes up with pearls like:
The walls here were the color of a dusty blackboardPlease, Kate, I'm begging you. Just say they're black. Or grey. I'm not even sure what color she means with that expression!
The characterization is poor and the story moves with the speed of a lethargic sloth, honoring the paranormal romance tradition of running in circles for hundreds of pages and then cramming what little actual plot there is in the last ten percent of the novel.
And don't even get me started on the love story. When I first read it, I thought that the insta-love wasn't that bad because it was justified.
I was wrong. I can't think of one single reason why this two people should be together. And if he really loved her, he'd do something to stop the cycle of reincarnation and horrible, painful death at a young age. I mean, seeing your One True Love TM burn to death time after time may be heartbreaking, but it's nothing compared to what she feels every single time. And what about the people she leaves behind? He seems to have no regard whatsoever for them and their feelings.
Too sum it up, Fallen sucks and I don't wish it on my worst enemy.