I am slogging may way through
Deadhouse Gates by Erickson. This is my second run at it and I'm on p.325 (I'd got up to about p.180 before). There are nearly 1000 pages in this mother, but I might just have enough momentum now.
What can I say, except what I've said before, 'Too much magic. Too many gods. Not enough human characters I care about (not one actually, so far
)'. Everyone seems to be being shunted here, pushed there, destined for this, fated for that; for me it leaves almost no room for a story. It's as if it's all mapped out already and no one can change a thing. I'm not sure why anyone bothers to do anything. And everyone is a million years old, or possessed by a god or a demon or an artichoke (okay, that'd be funny, and boy is there little humour in this book
).
It may simply be that Malazan is not for me.
u.