Ahh. 
 (That was meant to be a pain-filled gasp.) 
 I lost interest. Yes, I have attention-deficit syndrome. I'm also a dreadful pragmatist insisting on information (information!) spoon-filled into my needs-facts-for-fuel brain (there's a review somewhere by Greg about this despicable phenomenon and eventually I will hyperlink it). 
 Perhaps Mr Kay's editor was on holiday. I drowned in a sea of 'ly'. Continually. This was genre-bender of the gratuitous-sex-as-the-McGuffin-when-magic-fails kind. And in case I was so attention-deficit as to misplace character motive or forget where I was, I was reminded every few pages (oh sorry, chapters). 
 The premise was good, the plot should have worked. But in the end, I didn't care any more what was going to happen. Not even enough to skip the excruciating middle and read the end. Which, if other reviews are anything to judge, may have held a redeeming surprise or two. 
 I believe in hard-nosed, flinty-eyed, butchering editors. It's a pity that they only ever seem to make an appearance for debut novels.