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The Atlantis Plague by A.G. Riddle.

A.G Riddle’s books are what I would call a guilty pleasure. His Winter World series and Pandemic novels were easy-read page turners that were perfect holiday fare. The first book in this series, The Atlantis Gene was similar in that it was a fast-paced sci-fi action adventure story that was good enough for the sequel to beckon.

While there were some worthy moments in this second book, especially near the beginning, I’m afraid that even for this genre, there were times it was impossible to suspend my disbelief. Not only did dead characters keep resurrecting but one of the main characters performs the equivalent of an ex machina manoeuvre, meaning that all the questions the reader and thus characters had could be (conveniently) answered as she suddenly became a font of all knowledge (because… shhhhh… she’s not who we think she is). It became a bit too much.

So, while the book and characters were pitched into chaos which had folk flying, sailing, running, digging beneath the earth and making all kinds of discoveries and taking incredible risks, being transported here and there, I virtually ceased to care. My investment in the story, which became incredibly convoluted and expedient, ran its course. Not even the science was plausible or even, for that matter, interesting enough to give the wild tale credibility anymore. Don’t get me wrong, Riddle knows how to write and the short pacey chapters keep you turning the pages, even if it’s only to get to the end. Nah, that’s not entirely fair. There’s a smidgin of wanting to know left that did that.

The ending prepares the reader for the third instalment. Not sure I have the energy.

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