I’ve already finished another three books, and haven’t found the time yet to write a review. Apparently, I have too much time on my hands at the moment; I read as many books in the first three months of this year as I had in the whole of last year.
As I predicted, the middle book of the trilogy is better than the first, but worse than the second. Fforde’s writing is slowly picking up speed, and the ideas are slowly getting more absurd.
I don’t know whether I’ll read the trilogy again – the first two books were a disappointment, and all in all, Fforde is no match for a Douglas Adams or Robert Pirsig.
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