Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse may have been partly the victim of excessive expectations from me: I love the title, and it had extravagant blurbs from authors I admire. But it left me cold. Aside from the conceit hinted at in the title — that a strip-club franchise could become the nucleus of a new post-apocalyptic economy — it seemed disappointingly linear and short on surprises. The episodic encounters on the obligatory quest across a the ruins of America have a fill-in-the-boxes quality: crazed cannibal cult, check; hospital of the creeeepy, check.
I might’ve liked it better if it’d been campier or more satirical, if it’d had fewer guns*, been more divergent from stereotypical gender roles (title notwithstanding), or just plain more inventive.
It did take a sharp turn toward camp for the grand finale, but it was too little, too late to engage my interest.
* Summervillain’s Rule: if a book mentions three or more firearms by make/model, it’s prolly not for me.
needs more demons? kinda sorta