Just finished Alan Campbell's Scar Night and, while I almost put it away several times, I finished it mostly out of curiosity. Not so much for plot resolution or character arc satisfaction, but to see how far into depravity this author was willing to go while still spinning a fascinating if credence-stretching tale. If there had been overt sexual content mixed in with the unceasing violence, that would have done it for me.
I found it fascinating, though, how much the destructive, bloody themes of "Grand Theft Auto" were mirrored in this story. The author is one of that game's developers. Kind of a social excursion into a genre I have learned to avoid. I should have known better, but I'm actually glad I finished it.
Having said that, and with my obvious distaste for the horror genre and its cheapening of human life and suffering, there was a lot to like in this generally distasteful book. The uncluttered prose and ghastly metaphors combined for an unsettling balance. The pace is rollicking, as advertised, but the content is not really emotionally satisfying, so the good pacing was mostly wasted on me. I am a demanding reader when it comes to believable interpersonal relationships. The motivations of the main characters didn't always ring true or stay consistent, but the like-able ones were very like-able. Not original, but intriguing nonetheless. Toward the last third of the book, I groaned each time the only half of the story that still interested me shifted to the cheerless other half. I almost skipped the above-ground battle scenes, especially since I was not fully invested in the story as a whole, but persevered. Again, it was just intriguing enough as a glimpse into a twisted perception of his world and for sometimes surprisingly good writing to keep me going.
The ending, and most of the intense action scenes, went bad-Matrix, but with a delicious cliffhanger ultimately. Almost good enough for book 2, but only if I get really desperate for a good read. Yes, I admit, this was a good read. In the meantime, I will cleanse my literary palate with Bujold and Rothfuss and maybe another sweet, older McKillip because I have had enough blood and guts for the present, thank you very much.