I Hunt Killers (Jasper Dent #1)
Been
there, done that - all the teenage angst and then some. From rebel without a
pause (rock on, ooh my soul), to Dawson’s a creep and everyone else who
followed after the Beaver. There’s definitely a place for the sad adolescence
contemplating the universe, and ducks and going bat sh- crazy over the F-word,
but my level of identification, flowers and sympathy goes way below nil.
Jasper
Dent is not that guy. With a demeanor mostly heartbreaking, sometimes detached
Jazz contemplates eviscerations and escape routes. Nature verses nurture can
kiss my posterior. There’s a new kid in town.
And
please don’t get me started on G. Williams and “father of the year,” Billy Dent
because I will go on ad nauseam. And everyone knows a review should never
exceed the length of the novel. Still, let me pause for a brief intermission
and expound on the literary eloquence of Barry Lyga’s skill. Barry Lyga has
written (please insert a litany of adjectives which praise profusely here).
Read this and all the related book before they make the movie, because the
writing’s on the wall—sometimes it says, “Ugly J” and sometimes it says, “WELCOME
TO THE GAME, JASPER.”
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