I'd seen the ads on Goodreads for Helen Smith's Alison Wonderland, and the premise sounded intriguing: A woman goes to work for a private investigation agency after her divorce. So when it popped up as the Kindle deal of the day, it was a no-brainer that I'd pick it up. Plus, it has a great cover, and I'm a sucker for great covers.Unfortunately, between that and the great opening line, that's where this book hit its peak.The rest appears to be a cobbled-together experiment of rapidly switching POVs attempting to pass off as quirky. Alison finds herself drawn into some bizarro world of hidden genetic experimentation, but everyone involved is such a bumbling idiot it's surprising anything ever succeeded. Each new plot twist tries to one-up the previous for shock value until the (and I'm going to spoil here, but I'm begging you not to read this book, so really, you'll thank me later) moment when Alison and her stoner friend/client Taron stumble upon a man having sex with the giant sheep/pig he's caretaker for while standing on a ladder over a giant painting of a naked man on a hillside.Yes, Smith went there. No, I can't unsee that. And now, neither can you. Sorry about that.At some point, I probably should have quit reading Alison Wonderland. In hindsight (horrible pun after that last scene, I'll admit), I wish I had, but I kept hoping that the conclusion would tie it all together in some spectacular way that would make sense, and I would be struck by the brilliance -- that all the seeming nonsense would be a stunning act of literary wonder.Instead, it was more nonsense, and if this was a paper book, and not a Kindle book on my iPad, I'd have Dorothy Parkered it, and thrown it with great force.I remain convinced that every review here on Goodreads that gave it anything over one star was given by someone who read it and thinks that they must have missed the brilliance, and by giving it anything less than the rating they did, they were somehow admitting ignorance. Instead, I'm going to be the one person at the parade who's going to stand up and say it: The emperor is wearing no clothes.