Review of All This & More by Andrew Shepherd
The moment I heard about Andrew Shepherd’s latest release, All This & More, I was brimming with anticipation. Shepherd’s previous book, The Cartographers, had me mesmerized with its intricate storytelling and vibrant characters. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this new offering might not be the eureka moment I was hoping for. It turns out, I was right. After finishing All This & More, I felt compelled to share my thoughts—not just to rant, but to unravel and reflect on what went astray in this ambitious narrative adventure.
At its core, All This & More is structured like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, a bold choice that promised thrilling possibilities. Unfortunately, the execution left much to be desired. The protagonist, Marsh, is meant to evolve into a remarkable figure, yet her character arc felt disjointed and unconvincing. Rather than feeling like a witty, capable individual navigating her many paths, she largely reacted to situations without depth, often hinging her decisions on the requirements of the plot rather than her own authentic growth. This made the reading experience frustrating, as I found myself longing for a more organically developed character.
The narrative is saturated with repetitive themes and dialogue that at times felt wooden and contrived. Characters were reduced to one-dimensional stereotypes, spouting lines that aimed for cleverness but fell flat. This was especially disappointing given how well Shepherd crafted dialogue in The Cartographers. Adding to the confusion, I couldn’t help but notice the glaring inconsistencies, particularly with the narrative surrounding Marsh’s career. Descriptions of the legal and creative worlds felt glossed over and unrealistic, lacking the nuance that would have grounded them.
In my mind, the concept of Marsh hopping between different life scenarios held great potential for exploration and intrigue. Yet, instead of feeling like fresh new paths, each iteration often felt like déjà vu—conversations recycling the same vague sentiments without offering any substantial insight. I kept hoping for an engaging dialogue, something more than exposition-heavy exchanges that didn’t sound like real people.
Highlighting moments such as the misuse of live chat dynamics only added to my frustration. The gimmick of threaded conversations in a streaming context was ill-executed, disregarding the human element of online interaction. It often felt like explanations were sacrificed for the sake of dramatic effect, leading to a disconnection in what could have been a nail-biting narrative. Remember the dialogue about Talia, too? Depending on the scene, she swung from being a world-renowned figure to just blending into the crowd—an oversight that pulled me further from the immersion I sought.
While I had grand expectations for this novel, the overall experience was overshadowed by an unfocused plot and a lack of compelling character development. The threads that bind this narrative together unravel far too easily, and I found myself disheartened by the missed opportunities.
This book might resonate with readers who enjoy experimentation in narrative structure. However, if you thrive on character depth and cohesive plotting, you might find yourself frustrated just as I did. For now, I’ll hold onto the hope that Shepherd’s next project will recapture the brilliance I encountered in The Cartographers. For those curious to explore new perspectives, jump in with caution and an open mind—just be prepared for a journey that may not lead where you expect.