STATUS: Put down at 100 pages
It’s just awful. I could leave it there, but this book deserves a rant targeted at it. The writing makes E. L. James seem like C21’s Virginia Woolf in comparison. Truly, this is an insult to publishing and to readers. If you read it and enjoyed it, shame on you. Seriously. I have no problem with commercial, blockbuster fiction that is poor yet entertaining, but this is about as entertaining as cholera. As soon as our narrator, whose name I have forgotten, describes himself as a skilled sex god, able to reduce his hot scientist fuck-buddy to breathless idiocy, I almost put the book down. I actually think the description “hot scientist fuck-buddy” is used in the book. It reads like it has been written by a senior school kid on the bus – in crayon on the back of text books. I began reading it on the train and, if Zoo wasn’t a successful television series now, I would have hidden it out of embarrassment. The concept, however, is fantastic! How can Patterson have got this so wrong? How? I feel insulted, nauseous and angry. I considered changing my rule to 50 pages, but I won’t let Zoo win. I won’t. There are other books and Zoo should be pulped to give those novels a little more room on the shelf.