Mitchell Graham
The fifth ring

Some books are remarkable for their plot. Others are remarkable for their prose. A few are remarkable for both. The Fifth Ring is remarkable for both.

Consider the plot: an psychpathic despot rules the East after having had his last attempt to conquer the world stopped by a coalition of the free states. He finds a new magical artifact, but it requires something possessed by a young farmboy who is also a skilled fencer. The farmboy heads to town for a fencing tournament, but meets a dark and forbidding stranger on the road, looking for someone. It goes on, but I did not.

The prose was also remarkably bad. The dialogue was wooden, the situations contrived, the few interesting moments carved with a chainsaw not shaped with a knife.

I could not decide which was more annoying, the plot or the prose, and after changing my mind a few times I resolved to end the debate by closing the book never to re-open it. I think I got 40 pages before my cliche quota was overwhelmed, and my prose filter clogged.