Partway in this book, our hero Sir Apropos of Nothing travels into the
Tragic Waste, and I can’t help thinking that that is, indeed, apropos.

The book begins with a ridiculously obscene satire on The Lord of the
Rings. I suppose it was funny if you like that sort of thing; I
thought it was marginal at best. Not, I hasten to add, because I think
Tolkien is above being satirized; but because David elevates a
not-very-good dirty joke into an entire chapter.

It improves after that, but you still end up with the same kind of uneven
tone the previous book had–it’s trying to be farcical and serious at the
same time. Not even P.G. Wodehouse could do that successfully.

I don’t know what it says that I’ll probably buy the next book in the
series when it comes out in paperback.