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Stolen by Steel


by Danielle Steel, 2008

As I recall, the conversation with one of my more literate friends went like this:

Mike: "Have you ever read Danielle Steel?"

Me: "I... don't think so. She writes romances."

Mike: "No. She writes literature. Her books cover the gamut of human experience. She's the best selling author in the world today."

Me: "Oh. OK, I'l have to give her a try."

Soon after, I came across one of Steel's books, "Rogue". Always willing to have my assumptions proved wrong and anxious to find another great storyteller, I dove in.

Wow. Talk about bad. The reader is told that the title character is a great guy but something of a Peter Pan—he refuses to grow up. Told, mind you, not shown. And then... we're told again.

And again.

And again.

And... OK, you get the idea.

I've never seen so much repetition in a book. If each instance was clever or insightful, I might forgive her. Make that, any instance. But I couldn't finish this one. I barely made it through the first chapter.

Seriously, is this what sells in America these days? Now I'm depressed.

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