A search for an honest review of work by this dynamic duo or either author returned nothing but promotional fluff, probably written or rewritten by Preston himself. In fact, rumor has it that he has commandeered this post as well. I would venture that he has also infiltrated Lincoln Child or perhaps merely recreated him as well.
"Help! Save us! We have become characters in a Douglas Preston multi-verse!"
A second opinion was desired after finding their work to be somewhat incredulous AND silly AND copious AND compelling enough to shamefully seek out "the next in series" after a close encounter with an audacious cliffhanger in Brimstone. (I do admire how it flip-flopped into and out of the supernatural.)
The Pendergast series is a bag of potato chips that the the reader may find themselves shamefully plowing through like a wood chipper. There must be some explanation for this horrifying magnetism! One can't witness a disaster with no inclination of aiding the victims without questioning one's humanity or very existence.
I can hear Mr. Preston snickering at my lack of literary prowess, while he flexes the prolific muscles of his forehead forged in the fires of word-smith-dom. He laughs manically as he enters his master password to all that he surveys, and thoughtfully edits every word relevant to himself, his work and his collaborations, suitable to his whim like a crudely fashioned lasagna Neapolitan.
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