Many years ago, Mr Upstream was driving through Indiana on his way to a Labradoodle convention in Columbus, and was listening to the radio. A DJ was interviewing John Cougar Mellencamp, and giving him hell about the awfulness of his very first album (as an aside, what the hell happened to you, Johnnie?)
Now John told the DJ that he'd grown since then, yadda yadda, and that he'd learned pick the good fruit, not just the low-lying fruit. He also said he wished he could buy up every copy of that first, wretched album.
David Dalglish never heard that interview.
The Weight of Blood is, apparently, Dalglish's very first novel. He's gone on to write a bunch more (The Half-Orcs is a five book series, and he's got at least two other novels out there).
The Weight of Blood is, well, bad. It's not The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches bad -- but then, what is? But it's bad. Bad in a way that makes you throw the book across the room, then curse because that was your ebook reader kind of way. Cardboard characters? Check. Generic, derivative world building? Check. Dialog that is the spiritual equivalent of cold, lumpy oatmeal? Check. And the best part? Of the two main characters, the likeable one is a serial child killer.
All of which might be forgivable in a first novel, if the author, you know, repented of his sins, the way Johnny Cougar did. Instead, Dalglish puts it out there for free, as an intro to his body of work. That's like Mr Upstream telling the world, "Hey, come bump uglies with me, it's free and you only get syphilis the first time!"
I despair.
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