I would have expected Mortal Engines to be right up my alley. I mean, airships, post-nuclear wasteland, wild skiffy machines, sentimental cyborg assassins, art historians with guns. And, in fact, I liked it a lot. Somehow, though, I didn’t feel the compulsion to keep reading it that I feel with many of my favorite books. I was quite able to set the book down for an hour or a day, and when I noticed it sitting quietly all bookmarked and waiting, I didn’t rush over to it to grab it up. I finished it, and I enjoyed finishing it, and it is, all in all, a good read, but somehow it didn’t grab me the way I would have expected it to.
Still, Philip Reeve has written three more, and I expect in the fullness of time I will read those and enjoy them, so that’s all right.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.