At first it's exhilarating, dialogue is crisp, the idea is great, intriguing, the characters are endearing, bright, unusual. In short the promise is the best, and I confess myself to be discarded as hangs around the neck of a new love. With the odd little thing at the bottom of the belly, like when we know that we take into the hands something that will stay.
And the descent starts. The sappesantit style, conversations become dull if shiny, red wire is hacked and now serves only as a pretext, poorly managed, less well written ... It quickly becomes a tool weighing a pride that draws line to a pad that is after a pretentious display of knowledge and pseudo philosophical debates. Whole pages delivered to thesis concepts, architectural culture that remains obscure, to theological content that never end. That talkative hundreds of pages and the wall that was thought well constructed, intelligently designed, crumbles and even be out of cardboard in places. The characters become unrecognizable and exist only through a pen that boasts the glory of its author.
This book was killed by lack of humility. This book was ruined and it makes me terribly angry.
