THROW THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THE TRASH! Bradstreet Gate by Robin Kirman (1 out of 5)

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Oh, this is a shame. I had high hopes for this one.
Before I go further, the FCC requires that I inform the reader that I got a copy of this for free, in return for a honest review, from Blogging For Books. The novel itself is courtesy of Penguin Random House. And it is a debut, so I had high hopes for it. Vanquish those hopes, kids. Definitely not what I thought.

This book reminded me greatly of a Bret Easton Ellis novel, except that it was not as great as an Ellis novel would be. At least, in regards to the class warfare and social standings so stacked up here. Then again, it is important to the plot of the book. Or is it? This one takes place at Harvard. At the center of the book is the murder of Julie Patel. Georgia, Charlie, and Alice all arrive to attend, with different visions of what to expect from the goliath and its occupants. Julie’s murder puts a horrifying spin on what they thought there were going to be dealing with in the first year of college. Instead, it ends up being about their classmate, a seemingly sweet young lady, being murdered. Their professor, the enigmatic Rufus Storrow, is the prime suspect. Georgia’s odd relationship with him is a subplot, unresolved sexual tension between Alice and Georgia is a subplot, Charlie’s Internet security business is a subplot. Essentially, you have a story full of subplots, but none going anywhere. And worse yet, you don’t care! I didn’t care! I kept waiting for one of these to have anything to do with Julie’s murder, and ultimately, you get to some answer, but it really doesn’t fit with the rest of the equation. It’s like a algebraic equation that is never going to be solved because key components have vanished into the ether. Moreover, if you’re going to use Harvard as a background, you would expect more of a feel for the place. The surface is barely scratched. The ending?? Holy crap, wait until you read the ending and the “resolution” to the murder. You think you’ve ripped all your eyebrow hairs out, and then you get to that. Unbelievable.

People who know me accuse me of being overemotional. Yes. I’d rather show some emotion than be a block of ice. THIS book? No emotion. Emotionless. Flat. You just don’t care about the characters. I kept hoping for a huge bronze statue of Salman Rushdie to fall on Storrow. What an insipid, narcissistic tree branch. I kept hoping for justice for Julie, but to read the book…is doing no one justice. You know what you need to do with this title.

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~ by generationgbooks on August 18, 2015.

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