In my experience, good Christian Fiction is hard to find, Enduring Justice is another prime example. The third book in a series I haven't read, and now never will, Enduring Justice is the story of Hanna Kessler, who was molested as a child, and Michael Parker, her FBI "boyfriend" tracking a white supremacist, although the relationship is unlike any such relationship I've ever experienced. I'm not referring to the lack of a sexual relationship, which one would expect in a Christian novel, but to complete lack of communication or understanding between the two of them. It seems an extremely unhealthy relationship.
In the interest of complete honesty, I'll admit that I was unable to get past the first 100 pages of this book. The prose was painful and dialogue even worse. I couldn't find a single sympathetic character in the book and the two separate storylines were confusing and uninteresting. Hanna, who we're of course supposed to feel for, spent so much of her time whining (internally) I found her completely unlikeable. Some of the whining was justified, I could live with her doubts about telling her family and friends about her childhood secret, but half of the time it was a "why doesn't Michael stop by to have lunch with me" moan, and it quickly grated on my nerves.
Michael, in the meantime, misses Hanna for the first two chapters of the book while she's away dealing with her feelings and then promptly disappears upon her return. Okay, he was called away to a crime scene, but then he makes no attempt to contact her. Then he starts thinking about proposing. SERIOUSLY?!
I refuse to torture myself anymore. I could count on two hands the books I've been unable to finish in my life, normally I'll force my way through, but I won't waste precious reading time on this one anymore.
- I'm human, so I've got some issues, but all things considered I guess I'm reasonably normal. My parents are still married. My best friends are my sisters...okay, so I'm normal for the 1850's whatever. I'm opinionated and nerdy. I'm walking the line between tweener-style pop culture love (witness my ever-burning New Kids love and inexplicable Twilight obsession) and elitist culture snob (I can't seem to get enough 19th century British Lit and historical biographies) but, after 30 years, I'm finally learning not to give a crap what anyone else thinks about me. Oh, and those are my feet in the picture. The socks were made by a friend.