“The Devil Wears Nada” Reviewed By A Christian Humanist and A Christian Anarchist (something here is not right)

Click here to read a review of The Devil Wears Nada by The Christian Humanist.

And/or . . . click here to read a review of The Devil Wears Nada by Jesus Radicals.

Both are solid reviews, and I say that not because they are relatively positive (with stellar criticisms) but because they actually read the book.

I know.

Incredible, right?

But you can’t always count on reviewers reading the material–even from the so-called professionals. I won’t name any names, but one reviewer (it rhymes with Fublisher’s Meekly), literally, skimmed the first two pages and then concluded, incorrectly, it was a book about theodicy. Wow. Good job failing miserably. Not even close.

You know, it’s not that the reviewers at Publisher’s Weekly, aw crap, I mean, Fublisher’s Meekly, are incompetent–at least, I don’t think they are incompetent–it’s just that they are lazy and immoral. It is absolutely nefarious to review a book one did not read. Their “reading” of the book consisted nothing more of scanning the back summary and the first two pages. Citing from pages one and two, commenting that cynics would enjoy the book (cynics of what?), and that I failed to engage sincere thinkers contemplating theodicy. Um . . . first of all, the book is not about theodicy, and second, I engaged thinkers such as David Bentley Hart, Thomas Aquinas, Karl Barth, Herbert McCabe, Hans Urs von Balthasar, John Milbank, Dante . . . oh, and, what’s that dude’s name . . . most prominent thinker in Christian history . . . oh yes, Augustine . . . but apparently, none of them are sincere thinkers.

Again, I say, “wow.”

Congratulations, Publisher’s Weekly (well, dammit, there I go again), I mean Fublisher’s Meekly: my barely literate undergraduates in Kentucky write better reviews than you. At least they know how to pretend they read more than . . . let’s see . . . oh, 2 goes into 164 . . . that would be . . . um, more than 1.22% of the book.

So, come on, be honest . . . were you just so busy reviewing the same old schlock that you couldn’t be bothered? Were you staying up late at night weeping over the rocky romances found within the pages of An Amish Love when you should have been reading about a match made in hell?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And don’t even bother asking how I know about An Amish Love. That’s quality literature.

(Actually, I wouldn’t know. I pulled a card out of your deck . . . I didn’t read it.)