The League of Evil Should Stick to Mustache Twirling

Yay, a cover that looks NOTHING like the two before it!

The Golden City

by John Twelve Hawks

p. 2009
 


[There are a ton of spoilers in this review, to the extent that there was just no point in blacking them out, since the substance of this review primarily revolves around the events of the novel, so be warned.]



You can chart the evolution of the League of Evil with my reviews of:

• Book 1: The Traveler
• Book 2: The Dark River

Despite my lukewarm feelings about the first two books in John Twelve Hawks’ Fourth Realm Trilogy, I was eager to power through the final installment and find out what it all amounted to, to decide whether the story redeemed itself in its final act, to know that I hadn’t been wasting precious hours of my life investing myself in a story that goes nowhere...

... But some times, life disappoints.

I don’t know why I expected more; the complete lack of buzz surrounding this trilogy probably should have clued me in to its mediocrity. But I guess a small part of me hoped the trilogy would get better as it went along. The second book certainly hooked me better than the first, and there was a lot of potential, but in the end, the series just failed to satisfy on every level. The heroes never graduated beyond boring tropes delivering weary, wispy platitudes, the villains never emitted the remotest sense of true villainy (despite a great deal of proverbial mustache twirling), many of the plot points of the first two books (which had the potential to be interesting) are resolved with minimal payoff, if they’re resolved at all, and the whole thing ends on an open note that leaves you with far too many questions, the most important of which being WHY?

Why ANY of it?

I thought it was a great idea when Book 2, The Dark River, sent the heroes on an international romp. The first book took place entirely on the east and west coasts of the United States, the second took us abroad, to parts of Ireland, England, Italy, Ethiopia. It seemed appropriate then that The Golden City would take it one step further and spend most of the time exploring the notorious otherworldly realms [that form the whole basis for the trilogy and yet have barely been touched upon...] Twelve Hawks had made us wait long enough; it was time to figure out what the big deal was. Plus, at the end of The Dark River, our Harlequin heroine Maya had been left stranded in the first realm. Surely now was the time to reveal the secrets of the five other realms, only two of which we’d gotten a glimpse of.

Nope. Maya’s vacation was cut short without much fuss and yet we still inexplicably had to deal with some half-assed attempt at what I suppose was meant to be a PTSD storyline, wherein Maya has a hard time dealing with her experiences, withdraws, and reverts a bit back to her old stoicism. But none of that even made sense to me. Maya only went to the first realm to rescue Gabriel, who had been imprisoned and tortured there for days, if not weeks, and yet he came back relatively well-adjusted (and actually a bit 'enlightened'). Maya, on the other hand, despite being a rigidly-trained and highly capable warrior, capable of defending herself, seemed to suffer way more, for no apparent reason. And no one ever talks about their experiences nor are they relevant, so what was the point?!

Speaking of things that don’t have a point, we finally meet the fabled Corrigan patriarch and fellow Traveler, Matthew Corrigan, in what you would think would be a turning point for the series and our hero. Instead, Gabriel improbably gets over his daddy abandonment issues in about thirty seconds and Matthew dumps a lot of dimestore philosophy on Gabriel, who has already become a bit of a smug tool after play-acting at revolutionary leader for so long. After playing Yoda to Gabriel’s Luke Skywalker for awhile, Matthew promptly vanishes, never to be a plot contrivance again, and not really accomplishing anything at all. Seriously. Absolutely nothing learned in the super special sixth realm (the realm of the Gods and the 'Golden City' after which this novel is named) does anything at all to further the plot.

Also doing pointless things this time around is Gabriel’s ally, Hollis, who—in The Dark River—lost his girlfriend to an untimely, violent death at the hands of the evil Bretheren. Hollis spends almost the entire final book traveling to Japan, and leaving a few bodies in his wake, JUST to talk to the spirit of his dead girlfriend for two minutes so she can chearlead him on to giving up his vengeance and converting to Harlequinism, or whatever the fuck they call it. It was at this point that I had to refrain from chucking the book across the room and limited myself to a simple eye roll and a muttered “Are you kidding me?!” so that I could soldier on in the vain hope that the story was leading somewhere.

And then there was the bullshit non-ending, where Gabriel ‘defeats’ his brother/nemesis by... what, exactly? No, I’m seriously asking, because it’s a truly ambiguous copout defeat. Micheal Corrigan, power-hungry and a bit psychotic, confronts his brother in the Golden City and Gabriel refuses to back down but also refuses to definitively defeat his brother, leaving the pair at a stalemate in another realm. We know they aren’t dead, but we also know they probably won’t ever come back, leaving our Traveler in an eternal limbo while his friends and unborn soon-to-be-a-Traveler baby (of COURSE there was one of those in this story; had you ever any doubt?!) try to move on without him. I kept waiting for the part where it is revealed that Gabriel—who learned to Travel through legitimate and natural ways, versus his brother’s drug-induced cheatin’ ways—has the edge and lays the smackdown on Michael, but this never happened. So what was the point of all that buildup?

I could honestly go on and on; there is so much here to disappoint the reader. I could see it all coming when I got down to the last thirty pages and I realized there was no way all the open threads were going to be tied off in a satisfying way. But in spite of the torture, I had to see it through to the bitter end. I guess I could validate my reading experience by using the Fourth Realm Trilogy as an example of how not to write; it’s the best I can do to justify the time I wasted reading these books, since I certainly won’t be taking anything substantive away from the experience.

The League of Evil Needs a New Marketing Strategy

The Dark River:
Book Two of the Fourth Realm Trilogy
by John Twelve Hawks
p 2007



Back in the summer of 2012 I read the first book in a science fiction trilogy that capitalized on technoparanoia and fear of Big Government. I’d picked the book up off the discount rack at a Borders Books that was wheezing its last paper-thin breath and I gave it a go. 

And I wasn’t terribly impressed.

Nonetheless, when I was browsing a used book store selection and I happened upon the second book in the Fourth Realm Trilogy by John Twelve Hawks (Yeah. Take a second to parse that one out, brain!), I decided it was just too coincidental to pass up. I tossed the book on the pile and didn’t touch it for about ten months until finally decided to give John Twelve Hawks a second chance.

I spent the better portion of my review of The Traveler explaining why I think that the trilogy is an example of the trend of collaborative fiction, which is to say that it was written by multiple authors under a ‘mysterious’ pseudonym to draw attention to an otherwise banal series. I still think that—or, at the very least, that the enigmatic, private ‘John Twelve Hawks’ is a fully created persona. His scant biography, his lack of interviews, and his insistence on ‘living off the grid’ (not unlike his main characters!) just jives a little too well with the main plot of his story to be anything but a gimmick to draw in readers. But there’s no point in rehashing a minor detail, so I will not be focusing on that in my review of The Dark River.

I didn’t talk much about the plot in my first review, so I will attempt to here, however briefly. The Fourth Realm trilogy supposes that there are these people called Travelers, who are the only ones who can spiritually travel through realms. For some reason not yet touched upon, this is a much coveted power and a group called The Bretheren (John Twelve Hawks’ take on Big Brother and the aforementioned League of Evil People Doing Evil Things) want to first put a stop to then harness it for themselves. Most Travelers have been killed off, but for two adult brothers who knew nothing about their potential prior to the novel. Luckily there is a third group, the Harlequins, a class of stoic warrior types who believe they have a lifelong debt to protect Travelers, even laying down their lives to do so. Our male and female leads are, respectively, Gabriel, the younger of the two brothers, and Maya, one of the few remaining Harlequins, reluctantly roped back into her duties after attempting to escape the life. As you can imagine, romantic tension ensues, but—graciously due to the lack of the ever popular love triangle—it doesn’t feel tedious, just obligatory.

And that’s the main thing keeping this trilogy from being something I can’t be more excited about. Everything just feels... obligatory. Every character is beyond cliché, and none more so than the villains. I just cannot get over the villains. They are simply so evil, and for nothing but the pure sake of being evil. I’m not saying that when I write books I will avoid all clichés, because I won’t (in this day and age, it is downright impossible not to hit on common tropes here and there), but at the very least I’d like to think that my villains will at least have some purpose in being villains. Nobody just wakes up one day and decides to be evil; there has to be some motivation for their actions. Hell, even Hitler thought he was doing the right thing at some point down the line. The Bretheren just sort of run around laughing at civilian naïveté and drinking expensive whiskey just before their board meetings at their gloomy Gothic castle on DARK ISLAND.

I shit you not. That’s what they call it!

I have no problem buying the dystopian mantra that Big Brother is bad news. But you’re going to have to try harder to make me feel for the heroes. There’s too much running around and pontificating on the evils of Big Brother and not enough characterization. As a consequence, these heroes don’t feel like real people, just means to an end. I didn’t care at all when the several strategically-placed-to-maximize-drama deaths occurred in The Dark River because I realized I didn’t know a damn thing about these characters.

But—

I would be lying if I said I didn’t still enjoy the book in spite of all this. The Dark River is much better than its predecessor. It has the perfect blend of action and dialogue and introspection. You never had to go very far before things were stirred up with a fight scene and said fight scenes never felt forced. I got through this book a lot faster and it was about a hundred pages before the end that I realized I wanted to get my hands on the third book right away so I can finish the trilogy off. The characters’ motives may be vague and prosaic, but it makes the story much more digestible and accessible.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the book ends on a massive cliffhanger. The first book may have left the door wide open for the story to continue, but it certainly lacked the urgency of The Dark River’s ultimate chapter. I look forward to seeing how the whole thing concludes just as soon as I get my copy of The Golden City.

Katniss Everdeen and the Awkward Shipper Name

Mockingjay

by Suzanne Collins

Warning: Spoilers abound; steer clear if you haven’t read the books or don’t want to know.

I gave myself a few days to think about this book, but I’m afraid this review will still come out rather jumbled because Suzanne Collins’ now famous trilogy is a messy story, in more ways than one. It’s difficult to have complete conviction about the events that take place in the books because they invite a wide variety of opinions; unfortunately they are not presented with the grace or poetry that the concept demands and the ending falls disappointingly short of expectations.

The Hunger Games—and dystopic future stories in general—make for a pretty epic setting. Spread out over three books with information delivered to the reader in little bursts then all at once (in keeping with the limited point of view of Katniss Everdeen), the reader was given the distinct impression that they were building to something big—that life as everyone had known it for close to a century HAD to change.

And it did. The Hunger Games were abolished and the Capitol’s heavy hand was stilled, opening up for a potential democratic Panem. Katniss and her fellow tributes and rebels did in fact change the world... but the characters themselves did very little evolving, and that’s where the disappointment leaks in. By story’s end, with the exception of Katniss and Peeta, none of the survivors are any better off or more well-rounded than they were at the start of the trilogy. Haymitch is still a sorrowful, lonely drunk, Gale is still brooding and defiant (this may be a controversial opinion but if you ask me, there was never much to work with there anyway), Johanna is bitter and alone, Plutarch doesn’t really seem to understand the gravitas behind the whole damn business, the replacement leaders seem painfully out of touch and even evil President Snow died laughing.

For an author with a penchant for foreshadowing and revolutionary ideas, I felt horribly let down by the many open threads and the abrupt end to the rebellion. When the bomb went off blowing poor little Prim to bits and Katniss woke up in her biggest catatonic state ever (and for Katniss, that’s saying something), I kept waiting for her to ‘wake up’ and realize she was concussed and still in the heat of battle then get shit done and put an arrow through Snow’s head herself out of vengeance for her little sister. Maybe Haymitch and Johanna could come flying in on their appropriated hovercraft and blast some Capitol flunkies away and Peeta could fight off his insanity for good and help out. But no. Mockingjay went out with a fizzle instead of a bang with everyone reverting back to their old ways (horrifyingly even to the point of suggesting another Games) until Katniss’s temporary moment of clarity where she puts an arrow through Coin’s head.

‘Now what?’ The ending begs. Sure we get a brief epilogue wherein it is implied that life went on and was generally better, but very few specifics. Collins spent so much time explaining Katniss’s various mental breakdowns that everyone else’s characterization is shoved to the side. Where is the reconciliation between Katniss and her still unnamed mother? Why even bring it up if you weren’t going to do something with it? What the hell was Effie Trinket up to during the rebellion? And most importantly, when exactly did Peeta get over his murderous PTSD and why? Should I be afraid that one day he’s gonna snap at the sound of a car backfiring and murder the mother of his children? The guy really got the shaft throughout the trilogy and—as he is generally considered the most honorable person around—I think he really deserves a happy ending, but something didn’t sit right with me there.

On that note, you can color me surprised that Peeta ‘won’ in the end... (You’ll have to forgive me here; out of fear of spoilers, I mostly steered clear of the online aspect of the Hunger Games fandom so I don’t know what it is you kids are calling them these days—Peeniss? KatPee?). I’ve I thought for sure that a future with Gale was inevitable so when she eventually chose Peeta, I was surprised, but also pleased because by this point it finally felt more natural. Still though, I don’t know that you can really call a future with moody miss Katatonia a ‘win’ so maybe Gale’s the real winner here...

The flow of Collins’ writing was consistently well done in all three books. It was hard to put this down for the night and go to bed because you really want to know what happens next. I enjoyed the first part of the book where we get a window into the elusive District 13 (I couldn’t help but be reminded of another post-apocalyptic bunker that also housed the nukes...). One thing that frustrated me though was the senseless lack of communication. When Peeta was in the Capitol’s custody he was forced to do interviews in which he initially appeared healthy as he begged the rebels for a ceasefire, seemingly at the Capitol’s behest. The main driving force for Katniss to become the symbol of the rebellion, the Mockingjay, was to create a pact to protect the captured victors from being executed as traitors, but I have no idea why this was even necessary. Katniss was no longer being controlled by the Capitol so there was no reason to keep up the charade that she and Peeta were an item. She could at any point have explained to District 13 that it had been a ruse which Peeta was forced to continue under duress to protect her, especially since they seemed aware of this anyway. Why she had to bend to their will to diffuse an obvious misunderstanding is beyond me but it all feeds into the convoluted situations Katniss constantly finds herself in. Perhaps if she were in less impossible situations all the time, she could actually have a chance to be more active about her fate. But alas, she is never given the opportunity.

For once in my life, I actually sort of hope the movie takes a different tack, but I know it won’t. If the purpose of this series is to highlight the dangers of using icons and propoganda to fight your wars, then I can accept a protagonist like Katniss, but if she was meant to be a folk hero, then I have to disagree. We are told again and again how special and wonderful Katniss Everdeen is... so much so that a country moved for her. But you’re gonna have to work a bit harder to convince this reader.

Let's have a moment of silence for our fallen:

Cinna: You probably initially had a purpose but when Mockingjay came to an end, with that fate of yours still ambiguous, Collins couldn't figure out what that purpose might be, so you were nothing more than a hug dispenser with a kicky fashion sense. But damn did you ever rock at hugs and fashion!

 

Finnick: Bless you, you handsome bastard. Your backstory was probably the darkest thing in this entire trilogy and your death was an afterthought and barely acknowledged but at least you earned the cliché posthumous baby to live on by. Also, the second coolest shipper name, which I shall henceforth refer to as Fannie.

Prim: As the indirect kindling that started the fire, it's rather appropriate you burned in the end-you were just too sweet to live. Along with Finnick, you had the most positive character development, so naturally you had to die for no reason.

Boggs: Way to be the only awesome representative of District 13. That is all.

Katniss: The Girl Who Stumbled Into Relevance

Catching Fire
by Suzanne Collins
p.2009





Warning: This review is ridden with spoilers so if you haven’t already read the books and have any intention at all of seeing how this trilogy progresses, I would suggest avoiding this review, because the best thing this trilogy has going for it is the element of surprise. I haven’t even bothered to spoiler blackbar it because they are littered throughout.

My review of book one in the trilogy can be read here (though it is really more of a comparison between book and movie).

The story picks up not very long after the end of the first book, with Peeta and Katniss coming home anomalous double victors of the 74^th Hunger Games thanks to their trick on the Capitol. The ruse isn’t over with the games, of course. The 17-year-olds have to keep up their faux relationship to maintain the already flimsy excuse, for if they revealed the true nature of their relationship, they would lose public favor, and it’s the only thing keeping them and their families alive.

It quickly becomes obvious that the Capitol (led by President Snow, who is often and unsubtly described as snakelike) isn’t buying any of this shit and that they fully intend on ruining Katniss’s life, which starts by disrupting her routines and cracking down on illegal activities in District 12, escalates to physical attacks on anyone who helps her, and culminates in shoehorning Katniss and Peeta back into the Games a second year in a row. That’s right, the not-quite-lovebirds are heading back the arena. I’ve stated already that Suzanne Collins’ ability to catch the reader off guard is the best thing this trilogy has to offer but I’ll admit this is one thing I was fully expecting. Still, it was devastating to see the inevitable set in motion, to see our characters never catch a break.

The reason for this unprecedented move is spurred by ‘special occasion’; it is the 75^th anniversary of the Games and as such a ‘Quarter Quell’ has determined that only previous victors may compete. I’m sure this had 99% of Panem breathing a big fucking sigh of relief—until they realized they would have to watch their former idols and icons kill each other off. I personally was happy to see this rule, not only because it got our main duo back in action, but because it meant this year almost everyone competing was an adult. The one thing that has always bothered me about the premise of Collins’ trilogy is how much I have to suspend my disbelief that any self-respecting adult would stand by and allow children to compete. If the Hunger Games trilogy were written for adults and featured adults I would not have a hard time buying the premise at all, but it is written for a younger set so I understand why the age range was set in place. Seeing adults go in for the fight was sad—most especially the mother of three and Mags, the elderly volunteer tribute—but somehow still less sad than say a twelve-year-old who never had a chance at a proper life. ‘Children in peril’ is a natural if unoriginal plot device that works every time because the need to protect an innocent child evokes something in almost everyone.

Of course, no one deserves to die this way at all, and thank goodness some sense finally came out as the rebel plotline was slowly introduced and the Games thwarted for the second time in history.

It’s obvious that everything that transpires—from Katniss and Peeta’s reentry to the crackdowns in the Districts and other setbacks—is a direct result of the Capitol’s meddling. They know everything there is to know and Katniss is left with very little power. As I understand it, this is one of the chief complaints about Katniss as a hero—her lack of awareness that causes her to be constantly manipulated. This is a valid complaint, but I can see a few stylistic reasons for this.

For one, as the books are written solely in limited first person perspective, we can only know what Katniss knows, and to know for certain about external events would detract from the twists that Collins wanted to keep the readers engaged.

Secondly, Katniss is a role model of sorts for young readers, and this is both good and bad. Bad, obviously, because she is not an active controller of her fate and lets things happen to her, but good too because she presents as a confused, hapless youth doing the best she can. Again and again she protests her status symbol, maintaining that she doesn’t want to be a heroine, that she doesn’t know how and can’t see what she’s doing to make herself seem so special, and this is a feeling that many teens and young adults can relate to—that feeling that you’ve been immersed in something beyond your control and don’t belong. How many of us can say we'd react any better if placed in her situation? For better or worse, Katniss is an inherently relatable character.

I can’t say for certain whether this will turn out for the best, not until I’ve read the final installment in this trilogy, but this is a train of thought worth putting out there in the meantime, something to consider going forward. Perhaps I will be back here in a few days raging; we'll see...

My feelings about Katniss haven’t changed much from book one—I don’t loathe her, but I don’t love her either. In spite of her initial selflessness that got her into this mess—saving her sister—Katniss presents as a very self-centered person, though less so than in book one, when she was still afraid to let others in. Catching Fire Katniss has a wider array of people in the net of her concerns: Gale, Peeta, Haymitch, Madge, Cinna, to name a few. And she’s growing softer, however reluctantly.

Peeta I still have a special fondness for, the poor friend-zoned thing. It was less awkward than in the first book (though I have every expectation that the movie will ruin this as it did last year), but still painful to sit through. I tend to have a soft spot for the ‘nice guy’ archetype, and I like that—even if he doesn’t know it—he’s finding a place as a leader who is good with words and people, even if the list of people who care about him is a lot shorter. He is stalwart and possesses a surprising strength—I actually guffawed at his ‘love child’ bomb dropping in the interview and I don’t look forward to what befalls him in book three, but if he comes out of it, he’ll be even stronger. I just hope he finds someone to care about him the way everyone loves Katniss, because on the whole he’s a lot more likeable.

Finnick Odair is the newcomer and written to be every bit as likeable as he is made out to be in the Capitol, where he carries Golden Boy status among the victors. I was thrilled to see the Games thwarted because he was a shoe-in for tragic death scene if things progressed the way they did in book one. I know he grew up in what is essentially America, but I’ll be damned if I had a hard time reading Finnick’s lines in anything but a Scottish brogue. I mean, his name is Finnick Odair for chrissake. If he doesn’t present with some sort of European accent in the film they’ve made a huge mistake.

Mags was definitely written to be a fan favorite and, if her age is any indication, a top contender for the sacrificial death pool. True to feisty form though, Mags’ death—while tragic—still evoked a smile from me when she kissed the Adonis-like Finnick full on the lips. Because, let’s face it, if I were going to my certain death, I’d probably lay some sugar on the hottest tribute that ever lived too. Might as well.

Other characters were a disappointment. Gale does a bit more, but most of it’s brooding and stonewalling Katniss. Katniss and Prim’s relationship is barely touched, which is a shame since it is that closeness that spurred events in the first place. Katniss never bothers to mend her relationship with her mother, who doesn’t even have a name. Cinna is just there to chew the scenery and dispense hugs. Haymitch is back to drinking and rubbing off on a traumatized Katniss. But all of this seems to be setting the stage for what’s to come. I don’t expect to see all of this resolved, but I’m most interested in Haymitch and the rebels, led (somewhat surprisingly) by the new Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee (about to be played by the brilliant Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the new movie, so here’s to hoping the movie isn’t all bad!)

Oh, and I totally called District 13 right from the first time it was mentioned, and I hope everyone else did too. Collins is in top form when she’s setting the scene for later events. Everything alluded to early in the book comes back to be of consequence later on. Foreshadow and illusion are definitely the tricks of her trade here, and it all lends itself to a story you don’t want to put down for any distraction.

... And speaking of, I’ve got to go pick up Mockingjay now, as it’s been mocking me for the last three days.

The League of Evil Does Some Evil Things

The Traveler

Book One of the Fourth Realm Trilogy

By John Twelve Hawks 
p. 2005
 

There is a phenomenon going around these days called collaborative fiction, wherein two or more authors collaborate on a joint novel and operate under a pseudonym. It’s not exactly a new technique, but rumor has it, it is being used to market specific types of novels to specific young demographics, in order to increase sales and promote possible book-to-movie franchises. The Lorien Legacies series, by authors Jobie Hughes and James Frey under the pseudonym Pittacus Lore, is one such series. I’m not saying The Traveler is one of these books, but I will say it’s ironic (or perhaps just reactionary) that a story that promotes themes of paranoia and Big Brother conspiracy has planted this theory in my head.

The Traveler, first in the Fourth Realm Trilogy by author John Twelve Hawks (yes, it’s a pseudonym), just feels like a collaborative novel. It’s convoluted, but I suppose no more convoluted than your average modern day sci-fi romp; it’s disjointed and slow, but I suppose no more disjointed and slow than your average first installment in a complex sci-fi trilogy, and the characters are somewhat bland and cliché, but... but actually there is no excuse for that besides sub-par writing.

I did, for the most part, enjoy The Traveler—enough to plunge through 500 pages in a few days, enough to consider seeking out the rest of the trilogy instead of just spoiling myself by reading the synopsis online, enough to contend that—okay, maybe John Twelve Hawks isn’t a boring writer, he just needs some time to set the stage. I can forgive the 500-page exposition dump, because he broke it up quite consistently with introductions, action sequences, and a few crucial [potential] deaths*.

*Note: I generally don’t trust any deaths that aren’t explicitly witnessed by loved ones in action/science fiction stories. Death is always subject to change when you don’t know all the rules.

What I can’t forgive is the glaring clichés staining every inch of this novel like red wine on beige carpet. There’s the little-girl-kicks-the-ass-of-much-larger-men, who later becomes the beautiful ice queen warrior adult, to whom men are attracted despite lacking any discernible personality traits beyond ‘focused.’ There’s the unsuspecting hero thrust into a foreign situation, family betrayal, not-so-dead-dads, but the worst offenders are the bad guys.

Villains in The Traveler talk in polysyllabic sentences, wear gloves and crisp suits, and listen to jazz in neat, sterile rooms while sipping expensive whiskey and reveling in their own wisdom about power and fear and control. They own a sprawling, scary government complex... but it is busted into via air ducts, no less. For fuck’s sake, there’s one guy who is literally found sitting in a chair in a dark room, stroking a Persian cat! There is nothing impressively original about Twelve Hawks’ story or style, but at least he could have found better ways of crafting adversaries without plucking them out of a Bond movie. Some times, authors do this on purpose, to be tongue-in-cheek, thus warranting the benefit of the doubt. But nothing else about this novel carries the tone of someone being coy or poking fun at clichés, so why start there? I can only assume their cringe-worthy villainy is just a shortcoming of the writing.

Apart from the lame, disappointing offerings from Evil’s side, I liked a few of the characters in The Traveler. The hero and heroine are nice enough, if a bit dull. Their allies are easy to root for too, since nearly everyone in this book can kick a little ass. Unfortunately my favorite character, and the one with the most potential, is allegedly killed before the end. What’s worse is that the death is actually described in a throwaway line on the back cover of the book! No names were mentioned, of course, but it just felt like a disservice to the character, even though it wasn’t the author’s fault. What should have been a moving death comes off almost like a bullet point.

Furthering my theory that this book is a gimmick is the mystery shrouding its origins. There is virtually nothing about the author, who has no other works under his name. His pseudonym’s origin story is pretty groan-inducing, and the official website for the series—coded and uninformative—plays off like you’re really taking part in the conspiracy. The whole business feels suspiciously like I’m being targeted—not by a shadowy secret society hellbent on controlling my civil liberties and enslaving me with fear... but by a clever marketing company hellbent on crafting the newest sensation by manipulating young readers.