Dirt, by Stuart Woods was a plethora of stink. This novel is quite possibly Woods' worst piece of literature ever. I, an avid Woods fan, was in the library one day and saw Dirt, a book that I had not read. I checked it out and anticipated a great piece of writing. Fifty pages into the book, I was, to say the least, extremely disappointed. Being the optimist that I am, I decided to give the book a chance, hoping it would get better. I was horribly mistaken. The further into the plot, the worse it got. Then, nearing the end, something miraculous occurred, I started to enjoy the book. I read faster and faster, enjoying every word. I turn to the last page two hundred sixty-something and then the book stops. No, I mean ends, without tying up the loose ends. It was the most disappointing ending I have ever read. I want to ask Mr. Woods for two things. First, three dollars for the late fee, and second, the two hours of my life back. Stay away from this book.
Dirt, by Stuart Woods was a plethora of stink. This novel is quite possibly Woods' worst piece of literature ever. I, an avid Woods fan, was in the library one day and saw Dirt, a book that I had not read. I checked it out and anticipated a great piece of writing. Fifty pages into the book, I was, to say the least, extremely disappointed. Being the optimist that I am, I decided to give the book a chance, hoping it would get better. I was horribly mistaken. The further into the plot, the worse it got. Then, nearing the end, something miraculous occurred, I started to enjoy the book. I read faster and faster, enjoying every word. I turn to the last page two hundred sixty-something and then the book stops. No, I mean ends, without tying up the loose ends. It was the most disappointing ending I have ever read. I want to ask Mr. Woods for two things. First, three dollars for the late fee, and second, the two hours of my life back. Stay away from this book.