Monday, April 4, 2016

The Yellow Crocus by Laila Ibrahim (2014)

This was quite possibly the worst book I've ever actually finished.  There aren't enough synonyms for insipid to adequately describe the plot and characters.  The book was also so fucking earnest in its badness too.

Yet, it was like reading a train wreck. I just couldn't help myself.  Curse you, Laila Ibrahim, for taking away the 3 hours or so of my life it took to read this little demon, drawing me in and not letting me go, you literary succubus.  I bought this book too (well, I downloaded a on sale Kindle version). So not only have you stolen a bit of my IQ away, you have my money too, you witch.

There was only one good part of this book.  It was the best part, and reminded me of reading and being horrified and sexually fascinated by Judith Krantz books as a teenager:  "She stared at the confusing sight before her. Her eyes took in the length of Edward’s body, his pants around his ankles, his knees slightly bent, his naked buttocks, his thighs covered in thick black hair. His entire body pounded up and down with his head arched back and his eyes closed tight, shutting out the world. He was mounted on a field hand, fiercely thrusting himself into her."  Those thighs covered in thick black hair... wow, Edward, you're hot AF.


Yellow CrocusYellow Crocus by Laila Ibrahim
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

This is quite possibly the worst book I've ever finished. There aren't enough to synonyms for insipid to describe the plot and characters. But this was also like reading a train wreck. I just couldn't stop. I wanted to know what happened, even as the clunky writing was occasionally the literary equivalent of someone rubbing a balloon in one corner of a classroom while someone else is running their nails across the chalkboard. I can't explain my finishing the book; perhaps it was because I bought it, so I wanted to get my money's worth (all $3.99). I don't know. I do know that's three hours I will never get back. One consolation: the main character (I can't even remember her name now, that's how BORING she was) caught her fiancé sleeping with one of the slaves, and Ibrahim lovingly described his ass going up and down, with his "thighs covered in thick black hair". That brought back pleasant teenage reader memories of John Jakes and Judith Krantz. Laila Ibrahim, add more hairy black thighs and luscious man butt to your next book and you may gain yourself a new fan.


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1 comment:

  1. I'm going to pass on this since I've read your review. I look at this all the time on kindle, thinking I'll buy it, but now I'll save my money, even if there is man butt in it! lol

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