Phase 1: Infection
It happened to me last summer. I walked into the living room of my apartment to see my roommate “Clarence” lounging on the couch reading a book.
“What’s up, Clarence?”
“Not much, just reading a book.”
“Cool. What’ve you got there?”
“The Geographer’s Library. It’s a cool mystery. It’s about a murder that’s mixed up with all sorts of alchemical mysticism.”
“Awesome! Can I check it out when you finish with it?”
A week later I was cracking open Jon Fasman’s debut novel
Phase 2: Contagion
For a hundred pages, I was delighted. Mysterious murder, check! Likeable young protagonist slowly being drawn into an investigation that’s way beyond his depth, check! Interesting intercalated chapters detailing the strange histories of alchemical artifacts in the victim’s possession when he died, check!
So, when my mom saw me reading the book and asked me about it, it was only natural that I gave her a glowing recommendation and offered to lend it to her when I was done.
Phase 3: Sickness
At about page 150, a sickening realization set in. Nothing more was going to happen. The young protagonist (becoming less likeable with every page) was going to keep running in circles and learning nothing at all. The artifact chapters became almost indistinguishable tales of people somewhere in the Soviet Union being tricked out of artifacts and then murdered by a sinister organization. The only consolation was that the book had to end eventually, at which point the author would be obligated by the conventions of fiction to conclude the story. Right?
Phase 4: Aftermath
Not really. When the book could no longer physically contain any more aimless ramblings, all I found was a slapdash ending that explained none of the book’s earlier events. The chapters about the alchemical artifacts ended up having no relevance to the book’s plot at all. It took me a while to get over my rage at the author, but eventually the healing began. That’s when my mom called to yell at me for recommending the book.
