Flight to Thlassa Mey

I hate this book.  That statement is too simple to really contain the depth of irritation I felt while ever so slowly slogging through the mockery that passes for dialog in Flight to Thlassa Mey.  I read a lot of bad books but rarely do I feel this level of contempt for one of them.  Even the most phoned-in me-too version of Rand Al’don’tsueme’s epic adventures at least has something that feels like the author took pride in it.  Maybe it’s a secondary character, or some interesting detail in the setting, or just some clever wordplay.  Flight to Thlassa Mey has nothing endearing.  It’s a book so bad that I couldn’t bring myself to stop my 11 month old daughter from gleefully tearing off the covers.

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