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BunWat

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All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation
Rebecca Traister
The Children's Hospital - Chris Adrian For the first fifty pages I was interested and excited about this, the prose was excellent, the premise was interesting, I was eager to see where he was going with it. For the next two hundred pages I was increasingly irritated as it became apparent that he was not going much of anywhere. Then I skimmed for awhile. Then I threw it across the room and gave up.

I just... come on, you find yourself trapped in a hospital that appears to have turned into a magical ark filled with the sole survivors of a second flood, complete with replicators that will give you anything you ask for. A voice speaks to you out of the walls, the hospital appears to be moving, whole floors and corridors have appeared that weren't there before. These are not spoilers, all of this happens before the book begins and is covered in the first few pages.

In response to this fairly shattering occurance the whole cast of characters just shrugs and goes on about their daily routines pretty much as if nothing at all had happened. They do their jobs, complain about their bosses, have uninteresting sex with their co workers, get sprayed with various bodily fluids by the sick children, sigh and change their scrubs, grab some bad coffee from the replicator and do their jobs, complain about their bosses, have uninteresting sex with their co workers, get sprayed with various bodily fluids by the sick children, sigh and change their scrubs. For hundreds and hundreds of pages.

These are the most unimaginative people I've ever met. There are REPLICATORS in the walls! They could be replicating boats to go exploring, they could be replicating new drugs for the kids, they could be replicating floor scrubbing robots or telescopes or dresses made of diamonds in which to go dancing. But they just ask for coffee and danish and a new set of scrubs and go on trudging through their routines. Its absurd. By the time things start to happen I've ceased to care. The book wore out its welcome with me.