Reviews: Thirty Hs

A triumph

Thirty Hs isn't good in any traditional sense. It's not bad in any traditional sense either.

It's commonly compared to My Immortal, but that's really not warranted. The enigma of My Immortal comes from the question "is it truly terrible, or is it a brilliant satire"? There are no such questions with Thirty Hs: it clearly is the way it is deliberately.

Thirty Hs is also well-written. It's uses proper spelling a grammar, a respectable vocabulary, most of the sentences are well-crafted, and it really is quite eloquent. For example, take this line:
The silent killers of the night had negated their innate advantage by only plying their craft on surf boards. During the day.
This is clearly the work of someone who knows how to write.

So Thirty Hs is really nothing like My Immortal. While My Immortal is—or at least pretend to be—an idiot's disaster, Thirty Hs knows what it's about and pretends nothing.

Thirty Hs is the pinnacle of Refuge in Audacity. It is outrageous beyond belief, nonsensical beyond (at least my) imagination, extreme beyond insanity. It makes me laugh so hard my face hurts.

Reading Thirty Hs leaves one filled with uncontrollable joy, and in complete awe of the author. It's not good, but it is great.


Simply, 30H is a work of sublime glory. The author commands the english language with splendid aplomb and grace. Every single word speaks to my finer sensibilities, and the characterization is flawless.

You could place this in the Harry Potter canon universe, and no-one would be the wiser.

I weep salty tears, knowing that there will never be a sequel.

Alas, for now, I must make do with the charming creature that is called A RAPE APE!