I’ve had The Asylum, by John Harwood, on my bookshelf for quite a while, and I finally decided I was going to read it.
My first mistake was waiting so long to read it.
I could barely make it 30 pages in to this book before the banality and roteness of it wore me down and I had to, reluctantly, put it away. There is literally nothing to separate this book from any of the other countless period pieces out there. Add to that the cliché-laden presentation of the story of mistaken/stolen identities, and I simply couldn’t force myself to power through to the end.
Thirty pages. That’s a ridiculously low number, and one I’m not proud of, especially since I’ve managed to plow my way through books I’ve found to be lacking before.
But not this one.
Maybe it gets better. Maybe I didn’t give it enough of a chance.
Frankly, I don’t care. My time is too precious to waste on pages that don’t mean anything, simply to get to the “good bits.” If you can’t give me something to latch on to in order to make the journey worth my while, then I don’t have time for your shenanigans.
My verdict: skip it.
[On another note, I have a copy of this book for sale, cheap]