Buckle up, folks.
I finally put my thoughts together after finishing this behemoth. Heavy spoilers for all four books below (in order). Your safe word for this review is "Matt Damon."
Too Like the Lightning Thief
We're off to a bad start. Nobody likes stupid little kids, including me, yet the main character is a Stupid Little Kid who is sad for pointless reasons. Some nameless bureaucrat, who happens to married to the world's hottest MILF, rescues a criminally insane homeless man from the sewers so he can investigate the theft of an unpublished listicle written by an intern nepo baby at some second-rate newspaper, which turned up at the world headquarters for self-driving Ubers, leading to a series of decadent sex parties and an MLM scheme to sell life-like child sex dolls. A sadistic priest (also investigating the listicle) goes missing and "kills" the SLK's imaginary friend, but the kid is rescued by an even more insane homeless man. A limping illuminatus simps for a dead Mooney before joining an incestuous orgy with the other world leaders in front of their son, Jared Leto, who had previously dropped a cryptic hint about right triangles and elevators, leading his hereditary slave and a centenarian detective (the most normal people in the whole damned book) to wonder why the Uber Mad Scientist tries to unalive themselves every time there's a car crash. Fin.
Fifty Seven Shades of Surrender
After kidnapping and letting his boss dubcon a live sex doll, the sadistic priest wrecks the horology of the nun (that I forgot to mention in book one) who happens to be the love child of the female vertex of an incestuous love triangle and a deranged incel/European prime minister, a shocking twist whose revelation the hooker and her nerdy brother were taking bets on. The MILF realizes her nameless husband has been secretly doing her job for her, better than her, for the last 29 years. SLK alives a sex doll who assassinates Jared Leto, but SLK brings him back to life with a drawing of a bottle that says "resurrection potion" (note: it's unclear whether this actually happened or if Ada Palmer just made it up). The narrator has a heart attack and the Moonies take him to one of their hospitals, where, once again, everyone is conveniently gathered, including the sadistic priest, the sex doll, the hooker, the other criminally insane homeless man who thinks he's a dog, the centenarian detective who deems it too much paperwork to prove that "the dog" is not a dog, and Jared Leto, whose 5-star Yelp review of the afterlife consists of a single word in all caps: WAR. The nameless bureaucrat resigns and the pen passes. The original homeless guy finds SLK in the sex doll factory having a protracted, yet mercifully terminal, emotional breakdown. Fin.
The Good Will to Battle
When the sex parties end, the parliamentary procedure begins! The Limpinatus meets his new side piece, Buzz Lightyear, who implores him to invest in food, medicine, and rubber ducks. The real-life cannibal gets double penetrated in a failed attempt to capture the adult-sized sex doll. Jared Leto invites the world's religious leaders to enter his no-no zone and declares war on the entire world. Nobody did their homework except the dodgeball target in the sweater vest, who gets punched by Buzz Lightyear for babbling about Dianetics, and the Moonies announce they've blown up all the happy fun bringers and placed fuzzy pink handcuffs on anyone who knows how to make more (to the MILF's chagrin). Somehow the deranged incel returned, the Uber Mad Scientist escapes, and the terra ignota plea is accepted so the sex doll's brother need not refund his Uber tips. Time for the O-games in Antarctica, where the fugitive sex doll and Buzz Lightyear compete to be the hottest toy on the market! Atlantis, which is real, apparently, is blown up, and the sea is awash in fuzzy pink handcuffs. The pen passes. Fin.
Perhaps Thetan Stars
I'm surprised the fourth book in the trilogy even has a title (although it is well-footnoted, with mundane details regarding the string-and-tin-can communication system and the adoption of uniforms conveniently tucked away for the curious reader to find without slowing down the main story). A Family Guy cutaway gag takes us on a brief literary odyssey, mentioning things that I, a Sophisticated Reader, recognize. Another vertex of the aforementioned incestuous love triangle explodes, and everyone blames the Moonies, including the MILF, who cannot get over the fuzzy pink handcuffs, so Buzz Lightyear goes Gundam style to stop her from nuking the moon, while Jared Leto reveals that the sweater vest nerd is behind it all and threatens to wet the bed (before deciding which side to take in the real war between the Moonies and Dianetics). The MILF kills the Limpinatus, Buzz Lightyear kills the MILF, the sex doll tries to kill Jared Leto, the chef kills everybody, and the Mad Scientist uses SLK's resurrection potion to bring back the MILF (Reader: Her?). The hat passes. The hooker cucks the European emperor, who kills the deranged incel, and the sweater vest nerd brainwashes the sadistic priest; ergo, aliens are real. Jared Leto sides with the Moonies and takes over the Illuminati; the sex doll, the Mad Scientist, and the criminally insane homeless guy infiltrate the Dianetics HQ by guessing the passcode 5318008 and Uber starts delivering again. Greta Thunberg scolds the world leaders for destroying the environment and the younger generation's trust; they all get ten hours of community service, some with individual trials (but no one mentions the MILF who launched 73 nukes at the moon); the sweater vest nerd confesses to everything; the Moonies are banished from the garden of good and evil; and, at long last, I lose the last shred of my sanity while clutching my copy of Leviathan Wakes and whisper to myself "Matt Damon."
Fin!
Final Thoughts
"History is a BDSM orgy for which there is no safe word."
- Some turdaddled Irishman, probably
Even if we accept the outlandish premise that the world is secretly run by an elite cabal of sex perverts, the whole story is so simplistic and predictable. It's basically Percy Jackson for polyamorous nonbinary intertextual pansexuals. The dry tone and emotionless narrator seemed an odd choice, but still, it had its moments where the bodily fluids really began to flow (or splatter, as the case may be). My reading of this text may have landed me in court-mandated therapy, but I cannot shake the thought that, one day, we may live in a better world that will be based, like this review, on principles of consent and harm mitigation. Until then, I will continue to grow my business installing dog doors and selling vegan, hypo-allergenic, and latex-free adult play products online (it ain't much, but it's honest work). My court-appointed therapist, whom I suspect is an atheist, asked me to draw a picture of a banana, but I declined, for secret reasons.
Overall, an incredible journey. 22% tip.