“Aliens are stupid. I’m not talking about real aliens. The Others aren’t stupid. The Others are so far ahead of us, it’s like comparing the dumbest human to the smartest dog. No contest. No, I’m talking about the aliens inside our own heads. The ones we made up…” (The Fifth Wave by Rick Yancey)
Some books make you feel like a reading fortune-teller. After the first few chapters, you find yourself making predictions and being right, right, right. At the end of the book, you kick yourself for not having placed bets on how it would turn out because you were just so damn right. If money could be made through reading, you tell yourself, you’d be a millionaire. Or at least a thousandaire. In any case, better off than you are now.
Unfortunately, I don’t know any bookie who would take a bet on book endings. This either has to do with the fact that you could always skip to the last chapter… or that I don’t know any bookies. Too bad, because this book was 100% predictable. If you read it, read it for the teenaged, irreverent narrative style – not the plot. And don’t bother hoping that Yancey will dig YA literature out of the love-triangle/defiant heroine rut it has wallowed in since Twilight. He won’t.