Ever read a book and wonder how it got published?  No?  Well pooh to you.

Just finished up such a read, gave off vibes of community college writing class, which is meant as disrespectful as it sounds. 

Trite, superficial, predictable while simultaneously nonsensical.

Hmm.  Enjoyable?  Not really.  The type of story that must be finished, like a particularly unpleasant workout, or a child’s celebratory meal prepared with much fanfare and mess for one of those manufactured holidays for parents. 

Yeh, no.  

“Denisovans,” by Jeremy Bates, purportedly a best-selling author.  Not of this book. 

Old guy, closet sociopath, dying, goes back to ‘Nam to retrieve his buddy’s bones with his convicted felon not-granddaughter who he must save from prehistoric near-man creatures who abduct/rape/forcibly impregnate women to continue their species but who fail to understand suicide.

Yeh.  What that said. 

Recommend?  Definitely not.  Maybe this author’s other stuff is good but this is basura, muy mas loco. 

Hard pass.