Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

This book brings to bear all the political and historical acumen one would expect from a college drop-out who has invested most of his time hitting people and who was given Russian citizenship by Vladimir Putin himself, collaborating with an obscure and mediocre songwriter. Of course, the added bonus of a foreword by convicted criminal Joe Arpaio is truly icing on the cake. Pandering to xenophobes and conspiracy theorists, the book hits all of the important rhetorical pressure points. Oddly, it attempts to paint Native Americans in a positive light while appealing mostly to those who would prefer to see them marginalized and deprived of sovereignty and their lands. If one can overlook that glaring inconsistency, there are satisfying anti-immigrant tropes aplenty! But by far the best surprise is the book's anti-Catholic sentiment! Indeed, we learn that Catholics are apparently particularly susceptible to collaborating with the terrorist "jihadis." For example: “It all comes down to money. The jihadists have plenty of it, and the Catholics who are working with them want plenty of it. As long as that’s a factor, the whole thing works. The people who are being victimized there are the peons who have to work for these tyrants." This all has the added benefit of being delivered in the form of wooden dialog spoken by cardboard-cutout characters that have all the depth of a sock puppet. In fact, the abysmal quality of the writing may be the only reason to actually purchase the book, either as pure amusement, or as a particularly apt example to students of creative writing of precisely what not to do. Here is one of my favorite passages, where the creatively named character "John" encounters the spirit of his grandfather while attempting to urinate: "I have to go and find a bush. Wait for me there. Be right back.” He moved to a spot behind the building for privacy, but what he got was much more than that. He came face to face with his dead grandfather, putting him in a semi-stupor. Recovering quickly, he stammered, “Grandfather. Is this really you?” Chilling, right? By the way, we don't find out if he actually gets to relieve himself, or perhaps urinates on himself - which would at least be more interesting than the speech delivered by the dead grandfather. This, folks, is the gold standard in horrendous writing: “Listen closely, John Gode, because this is the only time I’m going to be able to talk with you. The one and only time I’m going to hold your face and lift your face up and tell you something. You must look forward and not backward. If the Great Spirit wanted you to live in the past, He would have given you eyes in the back of your head. Do not allow your heart to be painted with the brush of false division. Find your way in all the dimensions. You are a spirit of the universe. You are a part of everyone. When you understand this, you can walk this earth like I walked it once. I have told you this since you were a baby—you can always judge a man by the way he walks. By the tracks he leaves. Read those tracks, my grandson." So much there for future generations of aspiring writers to flee from in utter horror and despair... So, if you would like to immerse yourself in the verbal detritus of a bloviating has-been actor and his linguistically-challenged sidekick, this book is for you - particularly if you enjoy fixating on the paranoid fantasies of jihadist hordes flowing across the Mexican border, disparaging Catholics and Muslims, or imagining a vast conspiracy rotting the US government from within. There are multiple themes sure to delight the tin foil hat crowd and the ardent alt-right stormers (but only if they like Native Americans too). It is exquisitely awful. And really, I hope Mr. Seagal and Mr. Morrissey get some help - and I don't mean for their writing.