Here we go again… again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again. That’s exactly how many again’s Benjamin January would have to say if he ends up having to find another friggin’ lost treasure… AGAIN!!! That’s right not once, not twice, but thirteen times he’s had to find a lost hoard of gold so everybody he loves doesn’t die. At this point he doesn’t even want to find any more treasure. He just wants to sit down and retire in New Orleans and drink from the crystal goblet he probably got from one of the last treasure troves he found.
That being said originally I didn’t know Crimson Angel was the thirteenth book in a series. I was reading it and I was thinking, “This book actually has a tremendously smart plotline, yet at the same time it also has absolutely no energy.”
Then I figured out it was the thirteenth book in the series and I thought so that’s why this is so boring. The mystical x factor is that it’s jumped the sharks’ ten novels ago and so all excitement hath been drained from it. A main character got killed off and it somehow didn’t create the smallest amount of suspense. If this book had some more energy in it, it might actually have been decent, But that’s a “what if?” question.
In short reading Crimson Angel is like watching blackstrap molasses slowly drip from a silver spoon. I’m not saying that because I’m one of those baboons who can only enjoy shoot’em ups and racing movies, because I’m not one of those people, but because it actually is that boring.