I once walked around Seattle for a bit with a dozen or so pointy “Happy Birthday!” hats placed randomly about my entire head at odd angles. Stone cold sober.
This is the what I mean when I say that I can’t believe some of the things I let myself get talked into.
Another example? This book.
Here we have the tale of Kestral, an apparently beautiful woman who was once a Galarchy Ranger(note: The word Galarchy makes me want to stomp on defenseless bunnies. Repeatedly). For some reason, the Galarchy(sorry Thumper!*stomp*) is fighting against alien spiders. Because humans as a race are bad and want to expand their territory. Or something. After an incident during a battle, she’s forced out of the military she loved and has to create a new civilian role for herself. She gets a ship of her own and gathers a crew to help her start this new chapter of her life.
It is at this point that the author would like you to draw the parallel to Firefly. Don’t.
Really, just don’t.
While on the surface, I’m talking high altitude glance here, there seems to be a passing resemblance to that beloved geek staple, the truth is that it is only a passing resemblance. Like two cars going at high speeds on the autobahn. In different directions.
And for some odd reason one of the cars is made of rotten cheese.
So no, it’s nothing like Firefly.
Back to this book.
Kestral, in all her glorious and head turning beauty, has gathered about herself a ragtag crew and sets out on her new life as a freighter captain. She takes a seemingly innocent job from a mysterious guy who has some sort of ulterior motive that she has no idea about.
There’s the usual getting-to-know-each-other portion of the story. Some action. A chase.
Oh, and two sex scenes that feel tacked on for no reason. One involving pubic feathers.
No, I am not kidding.
All in all, random sex scenes and silly names aside, what this book suffers from is blandness. There’s no meat here. No fun and funny. No action or suspense. Nothing to make it stand out or be memorable, except for feathers.
At least, like bad sex, it was over quickly.
One sad and lonely feather drifting on the wind.