A long while ago I disemboweled this self-published piece of watery shit to cries of BULLYING!!! or something, and then I found my notes and remembered why I went after this author in the first place. Celebrate! Here’s part two and an explanation on why Melissa Goldberg is a racist little crybaby who’s not much better at being a progressive liberal than she is at writing. It must really suck to be so politically tone-deaf, unintelligent, self-centered and talentless at the same time.
Jeff Winston was 43 and trapped in a tepid marriage and a dead-end job, waiting for that time when he could be truly happy, when he died.
And when he woke and he was 18 again, with all his memories of the next 25 years intact. He could live his life again, avoiding the mistakes, making money from his knowledge of the future, seeking happiness.
Until he dies at 43 and wakes up back in college again…
This book was published in 1987, and yea, there shalt be many cries of “BUT ‘TWAS A PRODUCT OF ITS TIME” since 1987 was–like–the fucking Middle Ages, man. It’s steeped to the eyeballs in what I’ll charitably call the American Dream, a heaping shitload of sexism that makes Philip K Dick look vaguely evolved, and an easy rival to both Jonathan Lethem and Jim Butcher when it comes to unrelenting misogyny. For fuck’s sake, the story begins with Our Hero–middle-class white dude experiencing a midlife crisis–being nagged by his disillusioned wife. Then he dies.
Unfortunately, that’s not the last we see of Jeff Winston.
Sixteen-year-old Celina was stressed out by the pressures of her life as a junior in high school. But that monotonous life of homework, SAT prep, and classes was all she wanted after she was kidnapped by a Demon King and dragged into a whole new world. Separated from her captor during the transportation process, Celina is left alone and helpless in a foreign and dangerous land. With newly formed allies, she sets out to discover why she’s been brought there and to solve the mystery of what makes her so sought after. She soon discovers that a power she wasn’t aware of has been within her, and not only is a Demon God interested in it, but so is an Angel God. And Celina, a mere human, is caught in a battle between the denizens of Heaven and Hell.
You know shit is awesome when the author has admitted that she’s submitted this word-vomit to “20-30 agencies,” none of whom wanted to look at it. Now there’s room for self-publishing–I’ve reviewed Sarah Diemer–when you’ve got an unconventional narrative or your protagonist is a minority and thus considered “unmarketable,” but given that The Hybrid Child is vacuous cliche-ridden pap about a straight white middle-class US teenager, it’s probably safe to say that agents refused to look at it for reasons other than bigotry or fear of experimental literary techniques. In short, Melissa Goldberg might have considered reevaluating her manuscript and her options, which shouldn’t have included “self-publish it and hope people will buy it for $2 a pop,” because that’s not going to happen. On account of it being shit and having a hilarious cover art. Maybe $0.3? Except you can read much, much better fiction that’s–you know–free, so what’s the incentive to fork over any amount of money at all to read this tripe? It is mainly this astonishment at her lack of good sense that made me decide to review this crud. Plus, I’m pretty sure this is the most publicity this book will ever get, so frankly I deserve compensation.
And what the hell are “Angel Gods” and “Demon Gods”?