First I guess I need to mention the premise, because it’s a cool one: Basically, it follows the final years of the life of Charles Dickens in the 1860s. It offers a supernatural (maybe) explanation behind his failing health, eccentric behavior, and the inspiration for his unfinished final novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood. The novel is narrated by his friend and fellow author, Wilkie Collins. The central mystery of the book is whether or not a mysterious and terrifying figure known only as Drood actually exists and did he enter into some sort of diabolical bargain with Charles Dickens? Weird, but so weird I was very excited to read it.
The best thing I can say after readying all 771 pages of this book is that I still like the premise. But DEAR GOD it’s boring. Simmons does a good job, I suppose, of writing in the style of an author from the 1800s, but I’ve read shit like that before and it’s dry as hell. I just don’t appreciate the “Classics.” I’ve never finished a novel by Dickens and I’ve never read Collins. In Drood, you get 300 pages of nothing happening, about 200 pages of something almost happening, and 271 pages of something sort of happening. It takes forever to actually get to the point.
