"The Last Condo Board Of The Apocalypse" reminded me of a Groucho Marx quote:
"It's nice work if you can get it... but I don't get it."
This novel is stuffed with creative ideas, comic juxtapositions, Single Purpose Angels that seem like loner-Minions with a snack obsession, Angels of Destruction wearing business suits and grimly determined smiles and through all of it runs our I'm-good-with-disguises-perhaps-because-I-have-no-idea-who-I-am heroine.
The plot seems to be onion-paper thin. It doesn't drive the action so much as give a group of potentially comic personalities a place to bump into one another and produce random flashes of humour.
This kind of thing either works for you and carries you away or leaves you feeling like the only sober, celibate, vegetarian at a drunken orgy in a steakhouse.
Add to this the irritation of low production standards: missing words, typos and weird fonts in the ebook and my but-it-may-get-better hopefulness was replaced by: "I used to be an optimist, but I knew it wouldn't last." I'm moving on.
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