The other day in class, my fellow students and I got to talking about some of the recent books that we had read, and one of them posed to me the following challenge: “Name a book that completely misses its own point.” I’m sure that many of us could answer this easily, as there are plenty of terrible novels out there, and my only restrictions set by my fellow students for my response was that the book couldn’t be Twilight, Eragon, Fifty Shades of Grey, or City of Bones. In this situation, my answer would be, without a doubt, Prophecy of the Stones.
I doubt many of you have heard of this book, let alone read it, and you should count yourself fortunate if that’s the case. This book is so bad that, despite being less than four hundred pages with large, double-spaced font, Rin and I have been trying to finish it for the past three years. I’d say that the reason it has taken so much time is because we can only laugh at stupid shit for so long before it pisses us off, but in this case the book’s just boring. It is utterly stagnant, and reading it actually feels like drowning.
That’s not to say that this book has no forgivable traits—it has quite a few, I’m surprised to find myself saying. Prophecy of the Stones actually has one of the more interesting premises that I’ve ever come across. The story itself isn’t bad. It’s the execution that ruins it.
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