I just finished Altar of Eden by James Rollins. This is not a review, because I didn't like the book much. It was a bog standard thriller, fun as a rip off of The Island of Dr. Moreau, but with a sort of weak ending where the protagonists aren't responsible for much of everything. Not quite Deux Ex Machina, but close. As a thriller, it had the bonus of not including virulently crappy politics, like, say, Clive Cussler, but didn't have the advantage of a real personality, like say, Lincoln and Child. It had all the trade marks of the mass market thriller: poor characterization, improbable, kind of stupid plot twists meant to make you feel a certain way about the characters, lots of foolish coincidences, a smattering of feel good moralizing, and enough malapropisms that I wonder why the Anti-Selfpubbers insist that quality control is an issue with selfpub. Frankly, I'm also reading that Amanda Hocking thing. Which is poorly edited. BUT NOT MORE POORLY EDITED THAN THIS HARPERCOLLINS THRILLER. Caps is how you know I'm for srs.
"She both loved him for this effort and bristled against it, but in the machismo world of the South..."
I picked it up because of the jacket copy. "Polk investigates an abandonded shipwreck... carrying exotic cages animals, parrt of a black market smuggling ring. But... each is an unsettling mutation of the natural order..." dun Dun DUNNNNNN! Great stuff.
It's very affirming, because it means if I edit even a little, nobody can ever accuse me of shitting up the quality of the English Language more than Harper Collins already does.