World Without End
by Ken Follett
I think Danielle Steele might have written parts of this; she must have at least been responsible for the overwrought plot and the ridiculous, unnecessary sex scenes. It was bawdy and endless, just like every Steele book I read as a blushing 12 year old. I also kept imagining Richard Chamberlin as Merthin, as the plot just kept going and going like the Thornbirds miniseries. There were about seven-hundred and fifty climaxes and denoument. Just when a character was happy, he or she would be destroyed or detoured. I felt like I was reading a medieval soap opera and, though readable and entertaining, for the last 600 pages, I just wanted it to end.
And then it finally did. But, sadly, not with the sentence with which I predicted it would end; "Caris sneezed."