|Reviews for Torchwood: Another Life|
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|By:||H. N. Y., Mid, Nowhere|
|Date:||Wednesday 5 December 2007|
|Rating: || 3|
Seriously? I had to check the title twice: seriously, this was a Torchwood novel? Sure it contains all the character's, the Hub, even the SUV, but this book is anything but a Torchwood novel.
This book lacks quite a bit but what it lacks above all else it characterization. I truly felt as though the author had no idea who Cap'n Jack or Gwen or any of the various reoccurring characters were. There were so many times when a major part the the team would do something so out of style for them such as Owen recruiting an old girlfriend to join him at Torchwood over the internet. First of all Owen--he's a swinger, and in no point in the series is shown to care for anyone one he once dated; that's the point of his character: he's almost completely self-centered. Second, the Owen on the show certainly doesn't seem the one to promote his work, especially as negatively and coldly he refers to it, so why would he need to in a book. This sadly is only one of many character holes found in this book.
Another loss in this story is the it factor which is slightly harder to explain. By it factor , I mean that special something the author puts into the plot that really can't be pinned down that really makes the story stick out from all the other blah you may read or watch. Everyone knows what I mean: think about how repetitive Doctor Who can get in its plot lines (how many times can the Doctor say so-and-so-companion from the Daleks, right?) but for some reason, we all keep tuning in to watch. That's because the writers are pretty good at incorporating that little twist that makes the episode unique to all the others. Well, this novel comes without none. And due to this, it drags and becomes repetitive and just down right uncreative.
In all ends, this novel is full of repeated words structures, nails-on-chalkboard character demolitions, and a rather mediocre bought-the-same-thing-yesterday story. So if you enjoy eating a bucket of nails, enjoy swallowing the disgusting piece of regurgitated writing.