Ah, 42. As special a number to geeks as 69 is to horny douchewangers. So why not select a special book to read for this number? A book that cannot fail to make me happy? A book about my most favoritist television series, written by the author I have stated here at the lair as being “the author I would trust the most with my precious Star Trek characters”?
Surely, Peter David will be able to deliver to me the TNG novel that I have been waiting to read since those halcyon days of Keith Birdsong covers and awesome non-canonical plots!
I wish I could undo the horrific damage done by this novel, not only to many of my beloved Trek characters but also to my opinion of Peter David. I wish I’d listened to my own words with my previous post-Nemesis TNG book experiences and simply walked away.
Plot synopsis? As if that’s even necessary anymore. It’s about the bloody Borg again. Only now the Borg have evolved. Instead of assimilating, they now absorb. Everything. People. Ships. Planets. I kid you not with what I’m about to quote you from this book:
The bastards ate Pluto!
Yeah. A Borg cube absorbed Pluto (which apparently regained and re-lost its “planet” status several more times from now until its absorption). Not long after, the cube was heard to state, “We cannot believe we ate the whole thing.”
I can’t go on anymore. There’s so much wrong with this book that I’m literally drained by the weight of my ineffable disappointment. Let’s just say that if you are looking for the very definition of “wrongs darker than death or night,” then this is the book you should read. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Especially when you reach the end and realize that Peter David has done something so utterly horrifying and, quite frankly, unforgivable to a character who shouldn’t have even been in a TNG novel in the first place…
Enough. I’m finished. Literally. I swear to you right now, unless Beverly Crusher herself comes to me and personally tells me to read the latest TNG novel, I’m never again reading anything new from the TNG series. At this point, I don’t even think I can go back and revisit those TNG books I once loved. Perhaps I might find them to be every bit as shit as this one was.
No. No, that’s simply not possible. This is the king of that dung heap of misery.
Final score: …
How on earth can one give a score to the book that has effectively drawn the curtain on my love affair with TNG novels AND has made me question every bit of praise I have ever spoken about Peter David’s Trek offerings? There is no score right enough for this wrong of a novel. To misquote the Coen Brothers, burn BEFORE reading. Or at the very least, save your money. This book is so horrible, it’s not even worth stealing.