Martin Byrne

This is, hand to heart, the worst book I have ever read in my entire life. It is the definition of pablum; not a single sentence has even an iota of originality to it, the plot is so basic it’s surprising that it wasn’t written by AI (which is higher praise for AI than it is for the author) and it is shocking how inconsistent it is, misquoting itself even from one page to another. This review is not coming from a high literature perspective, simply one that hopes an author would aspire to something more than a payout from a D-level Hollywood adaption, which it is barely capable of achieving. This novel can only serve as an example of what screenwriters should be terrified of adapting even in their darkest moments of cynicism of a toxic production system. Red Rising’s prose is so painfully inept it suggests it’s editors spent less time with the manuscript than I did with this review. I hardly know how to address the fact that this author even remotely reached a New York Times bestseller, not to mention the repeated rape scenes that go entirely unaddressed, as noted by other reviews. One does not even need to read the first sentence to know this book is atrocious. The Kirkus Review, a *pay-to-review publication*, could only say that this book is “reminiscent” of Hunger Games and GOT. Even that is an uncomfortable stretch. I would rather beat myself to death with this book than read it again. It is so bad that I would not hesitate to say that it does not even qualify as a novel, only an awful collection of words that are not worth the paper they are printed on. But if some people like it, that’s cool too I guess.