I was lured into buying this by the promise of a tale of an alternative reality where Prohibition was never repealed, and where superheroes went bad. And everything went really, really well until I started to read it. The first page established, at considerable length, that two men were in a car. On the second page we learned that the author is overly fond of adjectives, tending towards the inexperienced writer’s belief that where none are necessary, three are better. We also learned that he is apparently incapable of remembering the tenor of his narrative over a period of more than two sentences, in as much as that his point-of-view character switches opinion and attitude abruptly, with no explanation given as to why. If this were literary fiction of an experimental nature, I might forgive this, but Mr Christopher is not yet a nature enough writer to be capable of perpetrating literature. Let us hope that some day he may be.
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