Gratuitous Cranky Literary Observation

Yesterday, just for the hell of it, I polished off Bernard Cornwall's Sharpe's Battle.

You know, as much as I enjoy the Richard Sharpe series, I am sick and tired of reviewers who call Cornwall "the direct heir of Patrick O'Brian" and the like. This is either hopelessly naive or brazenly dishonest: there simply is no comparison between Cornwall and O'Brian. The former writes entertaining popular fiction. The latter wrote something not far off genuine liddershur. Apples n' oranges. (Of course, I also dislike people who call O'Brian the male version of Jane Austen. This, too, is nonsense.)

There! I feel better now.