Excerpt: "She knows what it's like to die. Now Death wants her back. Seventeen-year-old Pierce knows what happens to us when we die. That's how she met John Hayden, the mysterious stranger who's made returning to normal life—or at least life as Pierce knew it before the accident—next to impossible. Though she thought she escaped him—starting a new school in a whole new place—it turns out she was wrong. He finds her. What does John want from her? Pierce thinks she knows... just like she knows he's no guardian angel, and his dark world isn't exactly heaven. But she can't stay away from him, either, especially since he's always there when she least expects it, but exactly when she needs him most. But if she lets herself fall any further, she might find herself back in the place she fears the most. And when Pierce discovers the shocking truth, that’s exactly where John sweeps her: The Underworld."
This book was so promising. The summary was beautiful, the cover was beautiful—which was what had drawn me to the book in the first place, because I do judge books by their covers—but, jeez, the protagonist, Pierce, is so, overwhelmingly shallow. The following passage demonstrates just how much she cares for others.
"Sure, I'd been kicked out of school. I couldn't seem to go more than an hour without craving a caffeinated beverage. And a guy I'd met while I was dead had popped by unexpectedly and caused me to be slapped with a seven-figure civil suit.But I was feeling positive about the future."
Really—really? What a wonderful character—one that’s shallow, passive, irresponsible, and flaky. Just what I wanted to read during my four o’clock mug of coffee.
Through this book, I desperately tried to keep in mind that I love Greek mythology, and any sort of mythology, but the writing was so watered-down. It dragged. It was slow. There’s no other way to put it—except that it was like being a rabbit and having a carrot being dangled just out of reach, but you could never get the carrot, and it makes you angry. Cabot drags out Pierce’s story so that it no longer becomes suspenseful, just terrible, horrible, dull words on pages.
Before I continue, she does not know who Homer is. Not that yellow man from the Simpsons—the poet… Let the crickets commence while I horrendously murder this girl.
The romance is the stereotypical “oh-my-goodness-this-guy-is-so-hot-and-he’s-dark-and-mysterious-and-he-wants-me-oh-my-gosh” romance. Think—I cannot believe I will say this— Twilight. It’s really, honestly, that horrendous.
Overall, I had faith in this book. So. Much. Faith. It claimed to be a dark retelling of the myth of Persephone, so I took a chance. Yet it failed me, and I struggled to get through it. To be completely and totally honest, I skipped many of the fluff passages.
Up next is Dark Visions, by L.J Smith.
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