The edges of the pages are worn and smudged. A lot of people have read about the Devil…

The edges of the pages are worn and smudged. A lot of people have read about the Devil Woman's altercations with the Hjelmdall Man.

Look at the back cover.

The jacket copy proclaims: "Man from Hjelmdall returns in his most exciting adventure yet! After crashing into a strange jungle, cannibalistic natives abduct his only surviving comrade, noble Tyrbald. Before Man from Hjemdall can mount a rescue..."

"...he is ambushed by a tribe of female warriors and taken to the ancient citadel of Cloud City, where a mysterious and wicked queen rules supreme. Will Man from Hjelmdall be able to escape his dire situation and find his missing friend?"

Time to flip through the book.

You open the book to a random page. Man from Hjelmdall, wielding his two zweihänders, is carving through a sea of savages, his visage fixed in grim determination.

His arms, whirling like windmills, are soaked with the blood of his enemies. Mangled corpses litter the battlefield.

It calls out to you. This is the spirit of Revachol.

Ugh, vulgar. (Close the book.)

Let's give this a chance...

Berserker rage burns in his azure-hued eyes as he brings glory and honour to his long lost Hjelmdaller tribe from the village of Hjelmdall. The ivory giant roars like an ice bear, and the winds of Katla howl out his name.

Okay, got it. No need to read further.

Gimme more!

Man from Hjelmdall rides on a gilded gryffin, his golden mane billowing in the breeze. Both zweihänders sheathed on his back, he is off to war. Will he conquer his enemies? Will he conquer himself?

Onward!

The steel muscles of Man from Hjelmdall gleam in the humid jungle air, yet the man does not sweat. In meditation his soul drifts in the frigid Northlands he calls home.

"Holy shit, this is so me!" (Really get into the book.)

A passage reads: "The Man from Hjelmdall looks up, his eyes blue as the mountain lakes of his homeland. He rarely speaks, but now his voice booms in the darkened throne room: 'Do not try to sap my masculine essence, wicked temptress! Son of Hjelmdall will never succumb to your seductive wiles'."

"'Thine spells are no match for purity and strength of will. Brothers of Hjelmdall stand above the vices of flesh for it is weak and corruptible, yet mine is forged in gore and strife.' Queen Lydiaana just laughs, a sultry and salacious sound, then says..."

"'I have grand plans for you, Man from Hjelmdall.' She gestures her diabolical hand toward an array of potions and unguents. 'First you shall please me, then lead my armies against the vicious cannibals.' Not a muscle moves in the face of Man from Hjelmdall, yet inside there is turmoil -- this goes against all he holds sacrosanct."

This is beyond primitive.

I kept hoping it would get better but the writing is terrible and repetitive.

What do you even know about literature, have you ever read a book in your life?

Maybe, I don't know.

Man from Hjelmdall has no time for illiterates. The book is done with you.

Of course I have.

This is not just another book. It's Man from Hjelmdall. And it's done with you.

Excuse me, I know a thing or two about critical analysis. And art.

Write a thesis. Man from Hjelmdall is done with you.

I've had enough. (Close the book.)

Wow... this is epic!

In the final pages, Man from Hjelmdall mounts Galawaryn -- his mighty gryffin -- and turns his gaze to the horizon. Queen Lydiaana is dead, but an army of cannibals is storming the gates and still there's no word of trusty Tyrbald...

To find out what happens next, you'll have to pick up "Man from Hjelmdall and the Three-Eyed Skull", available in fine bookstores everywhere, spring '39.

Uh-huh. I'm done. (Close the book.)

Oh shit, gritty and heroic.

Good god this is some retrograde stuff. When was this shit written?

You flip to the copyright page. This book was written in '38.

Put book away.