Miéville’s always been one of those names, you know? I’d heard of him, heard he was a bit of a Marmite guy, but everyone agrees he’s an author that you have to try at least once in your life. So I bookmarked the guy, decided to pick up his latest story about a boy on a hill in a houseful of keys. I was excited to see if it was my cuppa tea.
I’ve pulled up my ranty-pants, I’m fuelled by rage and coffee, let’s kick this review off with a summary of my reading experience, shall we? To my great displeasure, reading this book was like chewing on a lump of black mould just to check it ain’t caviar.
This book can seriously do one. It can go to hell, and it can come back once it has learned its lesson. I got so annoyed at this failure of a novel, and not because it was a terrible book, but because it was choc-a-bloc with annoying, tedious, and completely unnecessary tropes.
In a world where everyone over the age of fifteen suddenly vanishes without a trace and the kids are now in control of the town and their own survival, somehow the story manages to be rubbish. I really didn’t expect this one to go wrong. The whole thing was right up my alley: a whole bunch of kids suddenly have the run of the land after every older teen & adult vanishes. They also start to discover that some of them have strange new powers like shooting fire out of their hands or super-healing abilities. It’s survivalist, it’s paranormal, it’s Lord of the Flies meets Heroes but it sucked.