Total Screaming Rubbish

When I put down Nectar by Lily Prior, I snorted in disgust. An hour later, I skimmed the pages again, looking to see how many people died over the course of the story: eleven.

I don’t generally care how many people kick it by the end of the book, so long as it’s justified in the story. This book didn’t justify a single thing: it’s callous to the point of excruciation.

Eleven people died, from main characters to characters who get a grand total of two paragraphs. The whole book is disjointed and impersonal, skidding from one plot point to the next without anyone learning anything. I like to get invested in my books, but this one… It left me with questions:

 

How is this supposed to be a comedy? The only indication that this might be intended as a comedy is the review from People on the cover of this book – the overall ruthlessness of the story makes the stooge responsible for the review a blatant liar.

Is such a massive ensemble cast of characters necessary? (I will tolerate lists of names and professions at the beginning of a book is when it is several hundred pages long, and written by a Russian. Not here!)

Why bother to curse someone when it doesn’t go after the true culprit? (Frankly, it would have been great to axe the main character and see someone more interesting.)

How does someone with that much sexual experience not understand how prostitution works?

The author gave someone a third ear that grew out of the back of his head. He wasn’t even a main character! Where is HIS book?

How did this book get published?

Hooow?

 

The worst part is that I was drawn to this book because of its cover: a riot of lush flowers, clever fonts, and color schemes. If you in some way acquire this book, if you feel a connection to it: tear off the front cover and frame it. The art is truly commendable and does in its way mirror the book, the lushness bound to decay. (Just like your expectations for the story…)

As much as I try – as we all try – not to be snookered by great cover art, this book is a great example of how even the watchful can be fooled bigtime. I can’t help but wonder if books of this ilk – no story but great cover – are the last-ditch effort on the part of the publishing house to get the thing sold. In this case, at least, I can save myself a smirk: I didn’t pay a dime for this dreck.