Finally found and finished Alan Moore’s Watchmen, which was as mind-blowing as I expected it to be. Had read about 3-4th of the book in 2003. Bitterly regretted leaving London without finishing it, but the last few months were just so hectic I couldnt even step into a bookstore.
Anyway. Also read, well, speed-read Septimus Heap Book 1: Magyk by someone whose name is on the cover but the book isnt in visibility range right now. Immensely depressing. Not the book, which is just boring and inane, but the fact that THIS tripe gets published by Bloomsbury. Hello? Hellooo?
Wouldnt have finished it if I didnt have to review it; really wondering what to say about it. I hate these pudding-type books: No redeeming features whatsoever, and not even bad enough to thoroughly rip apart. People who write really bad books are actually doing critics a huge favour.