I’ve heard people say this is the best book ever written. They lie. I mean, come on, it’s just shallow fantasy. It is, however, definitely one of the most profoundly captivating works of shallow fantasy ever written. You can’t help but love and bond with the main character: cheer his triumphs, mourn his tragedies, shedding tears either way. A whole 700 pages, and you’re still left wanting a lot more. Fortunately, it’s the start of a trilogy.

Granted, this book is supposed to be the first of a trilogy, but the story is nevertheless self-contained, and in my opinion it just went nowhere. The story was unengaging, the characters sometimes improbable, sometimes just flat and boring. The setting, which seems to be the novel’s selling point, was no doubt carefully developed, but failed to capture the imagination at all. After finishing the last page, the only sentiment I could muster was “well, I’m glad that’s finally over.”

This is basically the Da Vinci Code, if Dan Brown had plagiarised Graham Hancock rather than Henry Lincoln. If Brown appeals to you, you might enjoy this too. I couldn’t stomach either of them.

Instructive, but rather limited in scope. I’d have wished for a book that covers more than the basics.

So far, the most brilliant book of the 21st Century, even without the lobsters.

Not up to Grimwood’s usual standard. Left me with a sense of having wasted time.

I’m still not at all sold on that “landmark of 21st Century SF” thing, but still a highly worthwhile read.

Entertaining, but that’s all.

This is what William Gibson would read like if he were Scottish.

It’s a testament to the truly awesome mind of James Joyce that he could write several hundred pages of total incomprehensible gibberish and manage to be acclaimed one of the greatest authors of all time on account of it. And don’t get me wrong – there’s no sarcasm in that statement.