If I had a Top 10 list of the worst books I’ve tried to read, Ready Player Two by Ernest Cline would undoubtedly make the cut. Perhaps I should create that list someday.
I couldn’t finish it. I abandoned it around 30% in (and I usually give books 15–20% to catch my attention). But it was Ernest Cline! His other works, Armada and Ready Player One, were such enjoyable reads. Sure, they had their flaws, but the stories were light, adventurous, and engaging. Both books are among my all-time favorites, not because they’re masterclasses in writing or narrative which they definitely aren’t, but because they’re easy to read, easy to relate to, fast-paced, and compelling. They grabbed my attention so thoroughly that I finished them in just a few days, flipping eagerly from one chapter to the next.
Then Ready Player Two came out.
I don’t usually read reviews before buying books, not even the descriptions on bookstore pages, which often spoil the story, especially for sequels. But this was Ernest Cline, the author of two books I hold dear. And this was Ready Player Two, the sequel to one of my favorites. Say no more. Shut up and take my money!
What a disappointment.
Both Armada and Ready Player One hooked me from the first chapter. With Ready Player Two, I trudged through ten chapters, forcing myself to turn each page. “It’ll get better soon,” I told myself. “This is Ernest Cline, it has to get better.” But each page delivered the same monotonous, sleep-inducing text. I couldn’t finish it.
While slogging through the first “Level,” I kept zoning out, my mind drifting away from the book. Then I’d snap back, realize I was supposed to be reading, and re-read the last paragraph, only for my thoughts to wander again. Ironically, one of the recurring thoughts I had while reading was how much this book screams “publisher’s product.” It felt like Cline didn’t want to write this sequel. It felt like there wasn’t even a story to tell, or at least not a complete one, but the publisher “strongly encouraged” him to churn it out quickly to capitalize on some hype. And so, we got a book. It certainly looks like a book, it has cover and words and everything.
After I dropped it, I went to read reviews. At that point, I didn’t care about spoilers anymore. Honestly, I wanted spoilers. I wanted someone to summarize the story for me so I wouldn’t have to suffer through it myself. But I also wanted to see if I was alone in my disappointment. Far from it, finding people defending the book was a challenge. Most reviews and comments were complaints. Some of these criticisms I didn’t agree with, like the overuse of pop culture references. This is Ernest Cline we’re talking about. If you’ve read Armada or Ready Player One, you know pop culture references are his bread and butter. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.
What did surprise me, and what ultimately made me give up on the book, was the pacing. It’s not an adventure anymore (at least not for the entirety of the first “Level” or ten chapters). It’s just a drawn-out exploration of one man’s self-destruction. Cline spends every paragraph of the first ten chapters detailing Wade’s depression with painstaking thoroughness. Look, I get it, the story of someone who gains fame and fortune only to lose everything else could work, I’d say it was even expected giving Wade’s history and personality. But did he need to dedicate every single word of ten chapters to Wade’s depression? I came to Ernest Cline for an adventure full of nostalgia, not a psychology paper! Keep the depression there, nice subject, but at least initially keep it at the background, come back to it every few paragraphs, don’t make the story only about it. It was supposed to be an adventure!
And Wade. He’s so dumb now. Yes, he’s depressed and still young, but every decision he makes in those first chapters is mind-bogglingly stupid. Fifteen-year-olds I know are more rational than this version of Wade. He went from a somewhat relatable, somewhat likable character to an insufferable mess of a human being I wouldn’t want anywhere near me. And this isn’t about his depression, that’s fine and again, even expected. It’s just that this Wade is unrecognizable. He’s more immature, more impulsive, and nowhere near the person we met ans saw evolving as a person in the first book.
There are other negative aspects to the book too, many recurring issues from Cline’s previous works. He doesn’t handle mental health well, for instance. But I can’t even go there because the book is just so unbearably boring to read.
It’s such a pity. A genuine shame. I’m no longer sure I even like Ernest Cline as an author from here on. The “shut up and take my money” enthusiasm I once had for his work is gone. If he releases another book, I’ll spend days scouring reviews before even considering a purchase.
Unfortunately, Ready Player Two belongs in the trash pile. Sometimes, when I abandon a book, I put the blame on me, maybe it was just bad timing or the wrong mood, and I’ll revisit it weeks or months later. But that won’t happen here. The disappointment, the drudgery, the agony of forcing myself through ten excruciating chapters, there’s no coming back from that. Good bye Ready Player two, you do not belong on my shelf with your older brothers.
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