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To be fair, this book is exactly what the title sells it as. But it is nothing more than that. It is basically one long Brandon Sanderson fight scene. Epic? Maybe, but self-consciously epic, unbelievably epic; and therefore I found it powerless. And the writing is terrible.
"The more miserable the conditions, the more convulsing the jokes become, or at least that's how it seems. I have witnessed venerable Peers of fifty years or more, with thick gray in their beards and countenances as distinguished as Zeus', dropping helpless with mirth onto hands and knees, toppling onto their backs and practically pissing down their legs they were laughing so hard. Once on an errand I saw Leonidas himself, unable to get to his feet for a minute or more, so doubled over was he from some otherwise untranslatable wisecrack."
Good thing the joke was untranslatable, because otherwise Pressfield might have had to write it, and dialog is beyond him.
"The more miserable the conditions, the more convulsing the jokes become, or at least that's how it seems. I have witnessed venerable Peers of fifty years or more, with thick gray in their beards and countenances as distinguished as Zeus', dropping helpless with mirth onto hands and knees, toppling onto their backs and practically pissing down their legs they were laughing so hard. Once on an errand I saw Leonidas himself, unable to get to his feet for a minute or more, so doubled over was he from some otherwise untranslatable wisecrack."
Good thing the joke was untranslatable, because otherwise Pressfield might have had to write it, and dialog is beyond him.