I just finished the third book in the Thursday Next series of books. You may note, if you pay any attention to this blog at all that there is no review for the second book. That’s my mistake. It’s not that i didn’t like it. Not at all. It’s just that i am a little behind on my blogging. As in a lot behind. By which i mean to say ridiculously behind – as in i have been struggling mightily against equipment and general frustrations and therefore by the time i get to the point of actually writing anything i just don’t feel like it. That kind of behind.
Well all is well now. Everything has been fixed at not a little expense to myself. Nothing to worry about. Just a little hemorrhage of the pocket book and i’m right as rain.
But you don’t care about that at all and i don’t blame you. You’re here, i presume, for the review of The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde. Well, if you’re here for that i will happily presume that you have read the other books in that series and i have no need to recap thereby causing some bit of a fiction infraction in BookWorld. I would hate to invoke the ire of the Jurisfiction agents, because – frankly – i enjoy reading very much and The Well of Lost Plots is VERY enjoyable to read.
Fforde just keeps getting better. Just when you think there is no way he can sustain the dazzling light show of his imagination, when you think this will be the last hurrah, there is another and another. I hate to say it but, honestly, there is little i can say about this that won’t in some way diminish it. Fforde and his brilliant crew have so carefully monopolized all of the decent adjectives, culled them for his own use and there are none to lend to average reviewers like myself.
I am not at all saddened by this except to say that you will have to read it for yourself because there isn’t much i am permitted to say. I think it is clear to say that i loved it. And boy i wish, i really do wish, i could tell you how it ended but i can’t. I mean – from a writers perspective, rattling down the lists of do’s and don’ts in writing, what he did was almost unconscionable but perfectly wonderful. I’m sure there will be astute snobby readers who will groan when they get to the end. There was even a part of me that groaned but then it started to smile and smirk and feel awfully smarmy in the great inside joke.
Unfortunately, as i mentioned, there is very little else i can say about this wonderful and brilliantly fun book. When you read it, and i highly recommend that you do at some point, you will understand my hesitation much better.
Anyway. I’ve got to run. Literarily. There’s a minotaur at the door. I think he wants some spare plot points.