by Ken Follett
Dutton (Penguin) 2010

First Sentence: On the day King George V was crowned at Westminster Abbey in London, Billy Williams went down the pit in Aberowen, South Wales.
Worst sentence: This was how the world appeared on the second day of Creation, Billy thought…
Even worse-than-that sentence: Inside the room there was even less to look at.
Gratuitous words that let you know this is historical fiction: gramper, underdrawers, mam, diphtheria, whooping cough, dram (“one of the wheeled tubs that carried coal”), moleskin, skullery, bath night, Ethel
Alternative uses for this book: 1. use to beat children (when they ask for more porridge), 2. use to beat grampers (when he asks for a new wheelchair), 3. flotation device (in the event of water landing, if you survive, which you won’t), 4. insulation

First, if you don’t already know that Westminster Abbey is in London (England) then put this book away now and go check on your baby, because the thing is likely dead in the tub. Remember: a baby can drown in even an inch of water.

Second, if you already knew that Aberowen was in South Wales put this book away because you will feel pandered to. (I thought it was in North Wales, but I was actually thinking of Blaenau Ffestiniog, which is a mistake everyone makes.)

The first character we meet in this book is Billy Williams. That would be William Williams as his Christian name. It’s as if Ken Follett was thinking up character names, and, realizing he has already used every other name in the world in his nine hundred other works, he thought “William….” then got stumped and said, “Aw fuck it. Good enough,” then went for a swim in his money pool.

The second character we meet is Willy William’s father, who he calls “Da”, which is probably a typo caused by Follett’s noiseless typewriter, and therefore the most important artistic contribution to his 5.5 million page oeuvre, or possibly a Welsh dialect. I don’t have time to check. I’m busy.

That’s the first three sentences.

The three pages that follow are mostly description of the poor miners’ humble home, introduction to some issues of masculinity and manhood, and some other stuff I can’t even remember or care to.

The back flap has the following paragraph, by the publisher: “In future volumes of The Century Trilogy, subsequent generations of the same families will travel through the great events of the rest of the twentieth century, changing themselves and the century itself…” I admire Mr. Follett for taking on such an ambitious project. Too bad he writes like an illiterate homeless man with AIDS. Looks good in a tie, though. A little bit better than a homeless man with AIDS. Also, how does he already know it’s a trilogy if he hasn’t even written it yet? Explain that, Mr. Follett!

Other reviews: Sam Still Reading, Bippity Boppity Book, The Lit Witch

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