Having read it, I think that may be unfair, but not wholly unfounded. I didn’t think this book was particularly good, but numerous sequels, a failed movie franchise, and viable name recognition for it’s author are all a result of a driving need for something to fill the void of a Harry Potter franchise that was soon going to end.
With that said, I have a crazy soft spot for Greek mythology. So I’ll at least read the next book in the series.
The story follows Percy Jackson, a 12 year-old with dyslexia and ADHD. He’s a troubled child, and has bounced around through various schools. He doesn’t know who his father is, but lives with his mother and step-father. His step-father is a pretty terrible person.
(There’s something about heroic fiction that compels creators to give the children negligent or absent parents. I guess it’s easier to give your protagonist something to run towards if they’re also running away from something.)
12 year-old Percy Jackson seems to be surrounded by amazing creatures and events, but never really seems to find it odd. Oh, his teacher just turned into one of the Fury’s? Nothing to see here. You’re giving me a magical sword that turns into a ballpoint pen? Perfectly normal. My best friend is actually a satyr? Huh. How could I have possibly known?
Anyway. Jackson ends up figuring out that he lives a bit of an abnormal life, and he ends up leaving for Camp Half-Blood, which is home to a bunch of demi-god’s waiting for their chance to go on a quest. Turns out, Percy’s father is a Greek god – but he doesn’t know which one, at first. But there are a bunch of clues.
Ok. I’m probably being overly harsh, here. This book was entertaining, for what it was. I didn’t hate it.
If you want to read about a kinda thick 12 year old (who doesn’t remotely sound like a 12 year old), and somehow haven’t read this book yet. It’s probably worth your time.
I mean, what else do you have going on right now?